I know, it's short; just bear with me.
Chapter I
Arvas sat in the dim, noisy tavern on the outskirts of the Imperial City. The drunkards stumbled about the room, bumping into tables and spitting curses at the more sober groups of people. Much raucous laughter filled the smoky air as traveling minstrels strummed their lutes and pounded on their drums. The innkeeper was hunched over a dirty glass, proceeding to wipe away the grime caked at the bottom of the mug. He was balding and almost as tall as Arvas; but due to his massive hunch, his head came up to Arvas’s chest. He was slowly swaying back and forth with to the tune of the music.
“Excuse me barkeep, can I have another tankard of beer, please,” Arvas asked, raising his cup up. The barkeep disappeared behind the counter and returned with a somewhat clean mug. He hobbled over to the beer tap and poured Arvas a generous amount. Arvas took the mug and raised it slightly, saying, “Thanks.” He downed the beer in minutes.
His life had recently taken a downfall. He had to flee Morrowind, as he wanted to free himself from the temple. He didn’t agree with all of their beliefs.
A man had stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. His staff glowed with bright blue magicka. No one seemed to care as he screamed into the face of a rather bulky man, who was unfazed by the dark-robed mage in his face. He rather stared off into space. “I…I could… kill ye righ’ now if ye wanted me too, Bjorn.” He stuttered as he wobbled to the door. Arvas stood from the creaky old stool and began for the door. The innkeeper looked at him and said, “Where you goin’ boy? Come pay for this.” He shook the empty mug at him. Arvas sprinted from the tavern, away from the Imperial City.
He entered the fort that he had cleared out a few days ago. It wasn’t very large because it was only built for a captain and several of his men. The beds were ancient and holes were eaten out of the sheets from the many moths that floated about in the darkness. He slumped down into his bed and attempted to sleep, which proved difficult. He was worried that at any moment someone could come in his small makeshift home and take him back to Vvardenfell.
After two hours of tossing and turning, he finally fell asleep, dreaming of one day becoming the greatest sorcerer of the ages…
Full Version: Necromancer's Dream
Chapter II
Arvas slowly sat up in his moth-eaten bed, looking through the slight darkness that surrounded him; his Dunmer skin was almost invisible, had it not been for the dim candle on the other end of the room. He stood up and walked over to his desk. It was filled with many cramped notes on the many books on the Dark Arts.
He put on his black chain-mail armor, and then placed his bright white tunic over it. It was emblazoned with the silhouette of a wolf, a symbol of his family. He had stolen it from his father before he left Morrowind, as it was to be passed on; but his father was reluctant to give it to him. He tightened his sword belt around his waist and hooked his sheath to it. He then proceeded out of the undersized fort and to the Imperial City.
As he walked past the inn from last night, he half expected the old hunchbacked man to run out and chase after him. But no man left the tavern. The striking bridge leading to the Imperial City had ancient Ayleid runes etched into the walls and arches of it. The ancient stone had been smoothed down over years of feet trampling them. In the distance, Arvas could see the White Gold Tower standing tall into the sunny morning.
At the gate, a guard stepped over to the grand doors leading into the wondrous city and knocked twice. The doors opened to reveal the Talos Plaza District. It was rather deserted, leaving Arvas to assume that the many residents had left for the Market District. Arvas meandered his way to the Market District.
As soon as he entered the market, he saw hundreds of people bustling about. The crowds were unbearable; many of the people cursed at Arvas for being in the way, others shoved him out of the way. Arvas could hear the many merchants yell about their wares and oddities; one was screaming into the crowd about a magical amulet capable of increasing your athletic prowess to superhuman levels. In the dark alleys, there was the constant sight of someone being beaten for their money or the item that they carried. He noticed a small boy, slowly cutting the purses from nobles’ belts; he chuckled and continued on his way. Arvas entered a staves shop in search of something new to add to his collection of stolen goods.
The room was brightly lit and the walls were lined with colorful Mages’ Guild recruitment posters. A small Bosmer man stood at the counter, eyeing the many mages that hovered about, looking for robes and magical enchantments. Along the walls, there were display cases full of rare books and ancient articles of clothing. The Bosmer man looked at him and asked, “Is there something I can help you with?” Arvas shook his head and looked filed through the bookshelves. After several minutes of searching, Arvas found nothing of interest and headed out of the tiny shop.
Arvas strolled along the sidewalk, when he heard a voice whisper in his ear. “Hey! Come ‘ere!” he said. Arvas turned his head in the direction of an alley and a long white finger appeared out of the darkness, gesturing for him to come. He ever so slowly stepped into the narrow alleyway. The scraggly disembodied voice called out. “ ‘Ow would you like to purchase a Black Soul Gem? It allows you to trap the souls of somethin’ far stronger than any regular beastie; a human soul. If you buy it, I’ll give you a letter that gives you access to a secret meeting for more of these wonderful stones of power.” Arvas thought of the offer for a moment and asked, “How much?”
“Only one hundred septims, mate,” he answered.
“I’ll take it along with that note,” Arvas said as he pulled his purse from the folds of his tunic and counted up a hundred septims. He handed the man the gold and in return, the man handed him the gem and the sealed letter. It felt cold to the touch and seemed as if it emanated an evil aura. It excited Arvas to have it in his possession. The letter was sealed with jet black wax and the symbol of a skull and two skeletal arms protruded from the dark wax. He opened it and it read:
Hello friend,
You have been chosen to participate in a meeting of sorts. Come to the ancient Ayleid ruin of Vilverin at midnight tonight if you wish to learn more; it is on the island east of the Imperial City. See you there.
Worm Anchorite
Ralvel Redoran
Arvas slowly sat up in his moth-eaten bed, looking through the slight darkness that surrounded him; his Dunmer skin was almost invisible, had it not been for the dim candle on the other end of the room. He stood up and walked over to his desk. It was filled with many cramped notes on the many books on the Dark Arts.
He put on his black chain-mail armor, and then placed his bright white tunic over it. It was emblazoned with the silhouette of a wolf, a symbol of his family. He had stolen it from his father before he left Morrowind, as it was to be passed on; but his father was reluctant to give it to him. He tightened his sword belt around his waist and hooked his sheath to it. He then proceeded out of the undersized fort and to the Imperial City.
As he walked past the inn from last night, he half expected the old hunchbacked man to run out and chase after him. But no man left the tavern. The striking bridge leading to the Imperial City had ancient Ayleid runes etched into the walls and arches of it. The ancient stone had been smoothed down over years of feet trampling them. In the distance, Arvas could see the White Gold Tower standing tall into the sunny morning.
At the gate, a guard stepped over to the grand doors leading into the wondrous city and knocked twice. The doors opened to reveal the Talos Plaza District. It was rather deserted, leaving Arvas to assume that the many residents had left for the Market District. Arvas meandered his way to the Market District.
As soon as he entered the market, he saw hundreds of people bustling about. The crowds were unbearable; many of the people cursed at Arvas for being in the way, others shoved him out of the way. Arvas could hear the many merchants yell about their wares and oddities; one was screaming into the crowd about a magical amulet capable of increasing your athletic prowess to superhuman levels. In the dark alleys, there was the constant sight of someone being beaten for their money or the item that they carried. He noticed a small boy, slowly cutting the purses from nobles’ belts; he chuckled and continued on his way. Arvas entered a staves shop in search of something new to add to his collection of stolen goods.
The room was brightly lit and the walls were lined with colorful Mages’ Guild recruitment posters. A small Bosmer man stood at the counter, eyeing the many mages that hovered about, looking for robes and magical enchantments. Along the walls, there were display cases full of rare books and ancient articles of clothing. The Bosmer man looked at him and asked, “Is there something I can help you with?” Arvas shook his head and looked filed through the bookshelves. After several minutes of searching, Arvas found nothing of interest and headed out of the tiny shop.
Arvas strolled along the sidewalk, when he heard a voice whisper in his ear. “Hey! Come ‘ere!” he said. Arvas turned his head in the direction of an alley and a long white finger appeared out of the darkness, gesturing for him to come. He ever so slowly stepped into the narrow alleyway. The scraggly disembodied voice called out. “ ‘Ow would you like to purchase a Black Soul Gem? It allows you to trap the souls of somethin’ far stronger than any regular beastie; a human soul. If you buy it, I’ll give you a letter that gives you access to a secret meeting for more of these wonderful stones of power.” Arvas thought of the offer for a moment and asked, “How much?”
“Only one hundred septims, mate,” he answered.
“I’ll take it along with that note,” Arvas said as he pulled his purse from the folds of his tunic and counted up a hundred septims. He handed the man the gold and in return, the man handed him the gem and the sealed letter. It felt cold to the touch and seemed as if it emanated an evil aura. It excited Arvas to have it in his possession. The letter was sealed with jet black wax and the symbol of a skull and two skeletal arms protruded from the dark wax. He opened it and it read:
Hello friend,
You have been chosen to participate in a meeting of sorts. Come to the ancient Ayleid ruin of Vilverin at midnight tonight if you wish to learn more; it is on the island east of the Imperial City. See you there.
Worm Anchorite
Ralvel Redoran
Chapter III
Arvas folded the letter up and placed it in his small pack. He had plenty of time to waste before it was time to go to the meeting. He decided that he would go to the arena to watch a few gladiators get butchered.
The area around the arena was serene and beautiful. Colorful flowers lined around the base of the gigantic statue of Saint Alessia, leader of the slave rebellion. Trees lined the walkways throughout the Arena courtyard, poplars and oaks. The entrance was crammed with people trying to get into their seats. Arvas walked up to the empty clerk’s desk. “Hello, care for a ticket?” The Altmer asked. Arvas pulled his gold pouch from his belt and asked, “How much?” The pale Altmer pointed to a sign to the left of him. A little ways down the sign, a price for a ticket was ten septims. He counted up ten coins and handed them to the High Elf.
Arvas sat down and the announcer’s voice rung out over the roar of people thirsty to see some blood. This match was supposedly between the Grand Champion, Bartholomeo and the Blue team’s Champion, a Nord; Arvas couldn’t remember his name. “PEOPLE OF CYRODIIL! BELIEVE IT OR NOT, THE GRAND CHAMPION HAS BEEN CHALLENGED! BY WHOM YOU ASK?! WHY, THE BLUE TEAM’S CHAMPION, ERIC SNOWMANE!” A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd, they obviously didn’t like Eric. “LET THE BATTLE… BEGIN!” The two men came rushing from the wrought iron gates that swung open. Their blades collided.
For several hours, Arvas watched with excitement at the blood being spilled for his entertainment. The Nord was very strong and Bartholomeo was very good at swordplay. The blue sky began to darken overhead and Arvas began to worry if the match would be over in time for him to arrive at the meeting. Then, a sickening crack pierced the air as the Grand Champion fell to the compacted sand and began to cry out in pain. Arvas began to scream, “Cut his throat! Cut his throat!” Soon, the whole of the Imperial City began to chant it with him. The Nord sliced his neck open, with blood gushing from the wound. As the Nord yelled, Arvas made his way to the door, so he wouldn’t be trampled by the many spectators packed into the giant stadium.
Outside, he made his way to the shore. He planned on swimming to the island, as he did not have a boat with him. He then came upon a small dock protruding outwards to the massive Ayleid ruin he had read about in the sealed letter.
The old planks creaked with every other step he took, making a noise similar to that of a slow dying mudcrab. When he reached the end of the dock he dove into the water. The cold water washed over him, his hair floating effortlessly in the ever slow churning waters of Lake Rumare; the end of his tunic was rippling at his knees. He resurfaced and swam the short distance to the shore of Vilverin.
He took his tunic off and rung it out enough to not freeze him in the chilly wind. After he had shaken off most of the water from his armor, he walked up to the stone door of Vilverin and placed his hand in the center. It glowed a bright blue and slid into the walls.
He stepped inside to hear voices bouncing from the old walls of the once great city of Vilverin. He strode down the spiral stone staircase and opened the rust caked grate. A man wearing black robes, walked up to him; his face was obscured by a dark hood. The robes had the same symbol on the letter emblazoned upon the front of them. “Where is the letter?” He asked. Arvas handed him the letter; the man nodded and motioned for him to go deeper down the stairs.
Arvas carefully continued down the many flights of steps and opened several more sets of doors. Everything was dark; Arvas couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. When he arrived, a short woman stepped up to him and handed him the same dark robes she was wearing. “Put those on and step into your new life, brother,” she whispered in the utter darkness. He put on the robes and was lead into a brightly lit room.
Black banners fell from the ceiling, many mages roamed about in search of dark magical items to better their evil ways. Black Soul Gems were stacked in baskets on different tables, their dark power overwhelming in such great numbers. There were magical duels going on in the center of the room, mages being thrown into the walls with every spell thrown at them.
After hours of looking at dark artifacts, the mages had settled down and took their places in rows of chairs several yards away from the small market. A High Elven man stepped up to a podium, causing a loud chant from the mages seated in the many rows chairs. “Lord Mannimarco, we serve you and the Order of the Worm until our dying breaths.” Arvas sat and began to listen to Mannimarco present his speech…
Arvas folded the letter up and placed it in his small pack. He had plenty of time to waste before it was time to go to the meeting. He decided that he would go to the arena to watch a few gladiators get butchered.
The area around the arena was serene and beautiful. Colorful flowers lined around the base of the gigantic statue of Saint Alessia, leader of the slave rebellion. Trees lined the walkways throughout the Arena courtyard, poplars and oaks. The entrance was crammed with people trying to get into their seats. Arvas walked up to the empty clerk’s desk. “Hello, care for a ticket?” The Altmer asked. Arvas pulled his gold pouch from his belt and asked, “How much?” The pale Altmer pointed to a sign to the left of him. A little ways down the sign, a price for a ticket was ten septims. He counted up ten coins and handed them to the High Elf.
Arvas sat down and the announcer’s voice rung out over the roar of people thirsty to see some blood. This match was supposedly between the Grand Champion, Bartholomeo and the Blue team’s Champion, a Nord; Arvas couldn’t remember his name. “PEOPLE OF CYRODIIL! BELIEVE IT OR NOT, THE GRAND CHAMPION HAS BEEN CHALLENGED! BY WHOM YOU ASK?! WHY, THE BLUE TEAM’S CHAMPION, ERIC SNOWMANE!” A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd, they obviously didn’t like Eric. “LET THE BATTLE… BEGIN!” The two men came rushing from the wrought iron gates that swung open. Their blades collided.
For several hours, Arvas watched with excitement at the blood being spilled for his entertainment. The Nord was very strong and Bartholomeo was very good at swordplay. The blue sky began to darken overhead and Arvas began to worry if the match would be over in time for him to arrive at the meeting. Then, a sickening crack pierced the air as the Grand Champion fell to the compacted sand and began to cry out in pain. Arvas began to scream, “Cut his throat! Cut his throat!” Soon, the whole of the Imperial City began to chant it with him. The Nord sliced his neck open, with blood gushing from the wound. As the Nord yelled, Arvas made his way to the door, so he wouldn’t be trampled by the many spectators packed into the giant stadium.
Outside, he made his way to the shore. He planned on swimming to the island, as he did not have a boat with him. He then came upon a small dock protruding outwards to the massive Ayleid ruin he had read about in the sealed letter.
The old planks creaked with every other step he took, making a noise similar to that of a slow dying mudcrab. When he reached the end of the dock he dove into the water. The cold water washed over him, his hair floating effortlessly in the ever slow churning waters of Lake Rumare; the end of his tunic was rippling at his knees. He resurfaced and swam the short distance to the shore of Vilverin.
He took his tunic off and rung it out enough to not freeze him in the chilly wind. After he had shaken off most of the water from his armor, he walked up to the stone door of Vilverin and placed his hand in the center. It glowed a bright blue and slid into the walls.
He stepped inside to hear voices bouncing from the old walls of the once great city of Vilverin. He strode down the spiral stone staircase and opened the rust caked grate. A man wearing black robes, walked up to him; his face was obscured by a dark hood. The robes had the same symbol on the letter emblazoned upon the front of them. “Where is the letter?” He asked. Arvas handed him the letter; the man nodded and motioned for him to go deeper down the stairs.
Arvas carefully continued down the many flights of steps and opened several more sets of doors. Everything was dark; Arvas couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. When he arrived, a short woman stepped up to him and handed him the same dark robes she was wearing. “Put those on and step into your new life, brother,” she whispered in the utter darkness. He put on the robes and was lead into a brightly lit room.
Black banners fell from the ceiling, many mages roamed about in search of dark magical items to better their evil ways. Black Soul Gems were stacked in baskets on different tables, their dark power overwhelming in such great numbers. There were magical duels going on in the center of the room, mages being thrown into the walls with every spell thrown at them.
After hours of looking at dark artifacts, the mages had settled down and took their places in rows of chairs several yards away from the small market. A High Elven man stepped up to a podium, causing a loud chant from the mages seated in the many rows chairs. “Lord Mannimarco, we serve you and the Order of the Worm until our dying breaths.” Arvas sat and began to listen to Mannimarco present his speech…
Moving along nicely 
Did anyone catch the cameo?
Chapter IV
“…which is why we must bring down our fists against them for banning us. Their guild halls will be burned! Their bodies will dance for us. This is a declaration of the destruction of the Mages’ Guild and all their precious magical policies!” The entire room of necromancers burst into a round of applause and cheer. Mannimarco raised his hand and the yelling quickly stopped. “Now, we will finish this meeting with the induction of new members. First off, Nero, step up to the podium.” A man stood from the end seat on one of the rows; his black robes were tattered, one sleeve was missing, leaving a large muscular arm bare to the elements. Mannimarco waved his hand and a slight red glow emanated from the large man. Mannimarco continued on this pattern for several minutes until he reached Arvas.
“You, what is your name?” He asked as he leaned forward on the podium. Arvas stood up and placed his arm across his chest.
“My name is Arvas, sir.” Mannimarco raised his eyebrow; he seemed to be thinking hard.
“You seem familiar, but nevermind that. Welcome to the order, Arvas,” he said as he waved his hands in the same pattern as before. Arvas thanked him and sauntered back to his chair, head held high. He had always wanted to be something dark and malicious to spite his father. He had been a high ranked temple priest when Arvas left Morrowind. “Bolor! Come, we must leave.” Mannimarco grabbed his staff and headed for the door; it had a large skull on it with the same eerie skeletal hands scratching across the mauled face.
The group shortly dispersed and began to stride about the bright room, purchasing dark gems and evil jewelry from old, toothless hags. A short, squat man hobbled over to Arvas. “You have a strange aura emanating from your soul, my friend. You will make a fine brother, Arvas. Now, I need you to go on a collecting assignment for me. I need you to get two small pouches of bonemeal and a full set of skeleton bones. By the way, my name is Bandir,” he said with the utmost confidence. He handed his blackwood cane to Arvas; it had a large, finely cut ruby placed at the top. Arvas looked at him as though he had gone mad. “Why are you giving this to me?” The small man just smiled.
“You’ll need it much more than me, mate,” Bandir said as he walked away. Arvas left for the door, gently taking off his robes as he made his way to the surface with his wonderfully crafted cane.
When he got to the large stone door leading from the safe haven of Vilverin, the young doorkeeper snapped his fingers and the door opened to reveal the dark night surrounding the Imperial City’s White Gold Tower. Arvas decided he would take the bonemeal and skeleton bones from the graveyard in the Green Emperor Way outside of the Imperial Palace. It would be risky, but he knew that he would get them the easiest without much work.
He came down the alleyway leading to the Imperial Palace. Nothing moved around him except for the shrubs and bushes swaying in the cool night air. No one had noticed him entering the graveyard, which he was grateful for.
Everything was quiet in the graveyard; Arvas began digging in the silence, occasionally grunting whenever he shoved his spade into the cold hard dirt. He worked well into the night, not bothering to stop for a break…
“…which is why we must bring down our fists against them for banning us. Their guild halls will be burned! Their bodies will dance for us. This is a declaration of the destruction of the Mages’ Guild and all their precious magical policies!” The entire room of necromancers burst into a round of applause and cheer. Mannimarco raised his hand and the yelling quickly stopped. “Now, we will finish this meeting with the induction of new members. First off, Nero, step up to the podium.” A man stood from the end seat on one of the rows; his black robes were tattered, one sleeve was missing, leaving a large muscular arm bare to the elements. Mannimarco waved his hand and a slight red glow emanated from the large man. Mannimarco continued on this pattern for several minutes until he reached Arvas.
“You, what is your name?” He asked as he leaned forward on the podium. Arvas stood up and placed his arm across his chest.
“My name is Arvas, sir.” Mannimarco raised his eyebrow; he seemed to be thinking hard.
“You seem familiar, but nevermind that. Welcome to the order, Arvas,” he said as he waved his hands in the same pattern as before. Arvas thanked him and sauntered back to his chair, head held high. He had always wanted to be something dark and malicious to spite his father. He had been a high ranked temple priest when Arvas left Morrowind. “Bolor! Come, we must leave.” Mannimarco grabbed his staff and headed for the door; it had a large skull on it with the same eerie skeletal hands scratching across the mauled face.
The group shortly dispersed and began to stride about the bright room, purchasing dark gems and evil jewelry from old, toothless hags. A short, squat man hobbled over to Arvas. “You have a strange aura emanating from your soul, my friend. You will make a fine brother, Arvas. Now, I need you to go on a collecting assignment for me. I need you to get two small pouches of bonemeal and a full set of skeleton bones. By the way, my name is Bandir,” he said with the utmost confidence. He handed his blackwood cane to Arvas; it had a large, finely cut ruby placed at the top. Arvas looked at him as though he had gone mad. “Why are you giving this to me?” The small man just smiled.
“You’ll need it much more than me, mate,” Bandir said as he walked away. Arvas left for the door, gently taking off his robes as he made his way to the surface with his wonderfully crafted cane.
When he got to the large stone door leading from the safe haven of Vilverin, the young doorkeeper snapped his fingers and the door opened to reveal the dark night surrounding the Imperial City’s White Gold Tower. Arvas decided he would take the bonemeal and skeleton bones from the graveyard in the Green Emperor Way outside of the Imperial Palace. It would be risky, but he knew that he would get them the easiest without much work.
He came down the alleyway leading to the Imperial Palace. Nothing moved around him except for the shrubs and bushes swaying in the cool night air. No one had noticed him entering the graveyard, which he was grateful for.
Everything was quiet in the graveyard; Arvas began digging in the silence, occasionally grunting whenever he shoved his spade into the cold hard dirt. He worked well into the night, not bothering to stop for a break…
Chapter V
Arvas found the bonemeal and the skeleton. He did not know why he was sent on such a meaningless task, but he knew that he would be punished for not completing his assignment.
He got back to Vilverin with the large skeleton and the small pouches of bonemeal. Bandir was sitting in a chair in a dim part of the ruin, reading a scripture written by Mannimarco. Arvas handed him the items and he placed the skeleton next to him. He then poured a small amount of bonemeal into his wine; Arvas was enraged. All of that precious time grinding of bone into dust was wasted for bonemeal wine.
“You had me dig up bones and grind them up into powder, just to pour you’re your wine?! What a most useless task! I could have been doing something worthwhile, like reanimating dead corpses or anything that could benefit us in some way!” Arvas stood there indignantly, waiting on Bandir to reply.
“You will not speak to your superior like that! The skeleton you brought to me is going to be reanimated for you to do with as you please and not all of the bonemeal will be used in my wine,” he roared. By this time, the short man had stood up, barely reaching Arvas’ shoulder. He fixed his robes and said, “Take that skeleton to Geleborn, he will teach you how to reanimate it. I bid you goodbye!” He stormed off, leaving behind the scripture and his wine. Arvas lifted the old bones of the skeleton and gently placed them in his pack. He asked several of his guild-mates where Geleborn was; they told him he was in the small room off of the eastern passage leading to the bedrooms.
Arvas walked down the torch-lit hall, his cane tapped the floor every step. He had not put his robes back on since he left last night; he did not think they were important to wear, as they only weighed him down.
He entered the little room. Geleborne was sitting at a table, writing notes on pieces of parchment. The room was bright and the ceiling was low. There were calipers, tongs, knives, scythes and many alchemical ingredients lie strewn upon the bloody floor. Chains hung from the walls and a strange looking contraption lie crumpled in a corner. The smell of blood filled his nostrils and he began to feel exhilarated. “Hello. Are you Geleborne? I was told to come see you for the reanimation of my newly found skeleton.” Geleborne turned around and stood from his hunched position at the desk.
“Yes, I am. Go to the table in the middle of the room and assemble the bones of the dead onto it.” Arvas stepped to the scarred table and pulled the bones from his pack. He placed the skull on the table and continued until every bone was perfectly placed on the body. “Good, you passed the first test. Now, I want you to think of the bones coming to life in front of your very eyes, moving from place to place, protecting you forever. Place your hand on the skull and send your magicka flowing into the rotted bone marrow.”
Arvas removed his black chain mail glove and moved his hand to the skull. He concentrated on the very thing that Geleborne had described and sent his magicka into the lifeless corpse lying before him. A black haze left his fingertips and floated around the body. It began to quake; Arvas began to feel dizzy and he lost his concentration, the dark haze swept back into his outstretched hand. The skeleton fell back to the table with a dull thud. “Don’t lose your concentration, my friend. You must have your mind set on the very thing that I have explained to you and nothing else. Ignore your queasiness and push your magicka into the very soul of this dead creature.”
Arvas tried once again. This time, more of the black smoke fell from his palm and enshrouded the body. The body parts began to assemble themselves with an invisible force and Arvas could feel the drowsiness come back. He moved his hand and spun around to vomit onto the floor; he retched up several times. He wobbled over to a chair and sat down. He downed a few glasses of water before being instructed to get some rest, but not before he had been assured that those bones would still be lying there for him in the morning…
Arvas found the bonemeal and the skeleton. He did not know why he was sent on such a meaningless task, but he knew that he would be punished for not completing his assignment.
He got back to Vilverin with the large skeleton and the small pouches of bonemeal. Bandir was sitting in a chair in a dim part of the ruin, reading a scripture written by Mannimarco. Arvas handed him the items and he placed the skeleton next to him. He then poured a small amount of bonemeal into his wine; Arvas was enraged. All of that precious time grinding of bone into dust was wasted for bonemeal wine.
“You had me dig up bones and grind them up into powder, just to pour you’re your wine?! What a most useless task! I could have been doing something worthwhile, like reanimating dead corpses or anything that could benefit us in some way!” Arvas stood there indignantly, waiting on Bandir to reply.
“You will not speak to your superior like that! The skeleton you brought to me is going to be reanimated for you to do with as you please and not all of the bonemeal will be used in my wine,” he roared. By this time, the short man had stood up, barely reaching Arvas’ shoulder. He fixed his robes and said, “Take that skeleton to Geleborn, he will teach you how to reanimate it. I bid you goodbye!” He stormed off, leaving behind the scripture and his wine. Arvas lifted the old bones of the skeleton and gently placed them in his pack. He asked several of his guild-mates where Geleborn was; they told him he was in the small room off of the eastern passage leading to the bedrooms.
Arvas walked down the torch-lit hall, his cane tapped the floor every step. He had not put his robes back on since he left last night; he did not think they were important to wear, as they only weighed him down.
He entered the little room. Geleborne was sitting at a table, writing notes on pieces of parchment. The room was bright and the ceiling was low. There were calipers, tongs, knives, scythes and many alchemical ingredients lie strewn upon the bloody floor. Chains hung from the walls and a strange looking contraption lie crumpled in a corner. The smell of blood filled his nostrils and he began to feel exhilarated. “Hello. Are you Geleborne? I was told to come see you for the reanimation of my newly found skeleton.” Geleborne turned around and stood from his hunched position at the desk.
“Yes, I am. Go to the table in the middle of the room and assemble the bones of the dead onto it.” Arvas stepped to the scarred table and pulled the bones from his pack. He placed the skull on the table and continued until every bone was perfectly placed on the body. “Good, you passed the first test. Now, I want you to think of the bones coming to life in front of your very eyes, moving from place to place, protecting you forever. Place your hand on the skull and send your magicka flowing into the rotted bone marrow.”
Arvas removed his black chain mail glove and moved his hand to the skull. He concentrated on the very thing that Geleborne had described and sent his magicka into the lifeless corpse lying before him. A black haze left his fingertips and floated around the body. It began to quake; Arvas began to feel dizzy and he lost his concentration, the dark haze swept back into his outstretched hand. The skeleton fell back to the table with a dull thud. “Don’t lose your concentration, my friend. You must have your mind set on the very thing that I have explained to you and nothing else. Ignore your queasiness and push your magicka into the very soul of this dead creature.”
Arvas tried once again. This time, more of the black smoke fell from his palm and enshrouded the body. The body parts began to assemble themselves with an invisible force and Arvas could feel the drowsiness come back. He moved his hand and spun around to vomit onto the floor; he retched up several times. He wobbled over to a chair and sat down. He downed a few glasses of water before being instructed to get some rest, but not before he had been assured that those bones would still be lying there for him in the morning…
Very nice learning reanimation stuff 
... and good to see that Arvas is still behaving like a complete idiot
Would like to see different phrasing for the start of the Chapter if you have time: 'Arvas found the bonemeal and the skeleton.' needs re-animation
... and good to see that Arvas is still behaving like a complete idiot Would like to see different phrasing for the start of the Chapter if you have time: 'Arvas found the bonemeal and the skeleton.' needs re-animation
I think was a pretty well typed story if you ask me. I would like to more stories from you.
thanks guys
Chapter VI
Arvas woke from his sleep and went to the reanimation room. Geleborne was at the table, examining the dirty bones of the skeleton Arvas had brought in the night before. Geleborne tensed up, seeming to notice he had entered the room. “Are you ready to try this again?” He asked. Arvas nodded and stepped up to the large table. “Now do as you did last night, except for the excessive vomiting haha.” Arvas scolded at the remark.
He stepped up to the body and placed the tips of his fingers against its skull. He focused his eyes and his mind on his task. The same dark haze shot from his fingers and covered the entire length of the carcass; it slowly rose from the table and assembled itself as it floated toward the ground. The dizziness returned, but Arvas ignored it. The haze lifted and Arvas could see cartilage reforming on its joints; however, he did not let his awe distract him from his work and he kept pushing his magicka into its decrepit soul. Its feet landed on the cold stone floor and a hiss erupted from its gaping mouth.
Arvas stepped back and moved his hand from the skull; it moved to him and a voice sounded in his head, “Hellooo, massster. I am your loyal sservant; myyy name isss Belator. May I forever ssserve under your great command.” Arvas was taken aback; he had never read in his books of a telepathic connection between the raiser of the body and the body itself. Geleborne went to examine the skeletal servant swaying in front of him.
“This is very good, Arvas. You have done well, Jalbert will here about this. Oh, and I meant to tell you that you will have the ability to speak with your servant with telepathy. Of course, by the look on your face, you’ve already had that connection with him,” he said with a smile. Arvas left the room with Belator in tow.
Arvas was standing on the serene coast of the island, staring blankly at the White Gold Tower. Belator had been instructed to stay inside so he wouldn’t attract attention to the guild haven. Bandir hobbled from the door hidden behind a large copse of trees over to him.
“I need you to go to the Wellspring Cave and kill the mages there. They work at the grove making magical staves for the use of the Mages’ Guild. This has been ordered by Lord Mannimarco himself. Do this or face punishment,” Bandir turned and headed for the door; Arvas went in as well.
He and Belator waited until nightfall to go on their assignment. As they were beginning to leave, Belator said, “Massster, would you be ssso kind as to give me a weapon?”
“Yes, here take mine,” Arvas answered as he untied his sword belt and strapped it to Belator’s waist. They left Vilverin and headed down the runed path leading to the Red Ring Road.
“May I assssk you a few quesssstions, milord?” The voice rang out in Arvas’s head, frightening him. The skeleton was lumbering beside him, the steel short sword in his old hand.
“Yes, of course; what is it that you would like to know?”
“Where are you from?”
“Morrowind.”
“I’ve been there before, masssster. It was a terrible placcce; I am assssuming that isss the reassson you are here?”
“Yes, it is. I hated living there; my father was a priest of the Tribunal Temple, always criticizing me for not being more like him, worshiping the Tribunal. He always treated me the poorest of my three brothers: Galvon, Martos, and Travius. He acted as though I were not his son. I stole our family chain mail and fled here in search of more religious freedom and, it seems, I have found it and a new companion.” Arvas and Belator continued having their telepathic conversation all the way to their destination, both learning something different about one another…
Arvas woke from his sleep and went to the reanimation room. Geleborne was at the table, examining the dirty bones of the skeleton Arvas had brought in the night before. Geleborne tensed up, seeming to notice he had entered the room. “Are you ready to try this again?” He asked. Arvas nodded and stepped up to the large table. “Now do as you did last night, except for the excessive vomiting haha.” Arvas scolded at the remark.
He stepped up to the body and placed the tips of his fingers against its skull. He focused his eyes and his mind on his task. The same dark haze shot from his fingers and covered the entire length of the carcass; it slowly rose from the table and assembled itself as it floated toward the ground. The dizziness returned, but Arvas ignored it. The haze lifted and Arvas could see cartilage reforming on its joints; however, he did not let his awe distract him from his work and he kept pushing his magicka into its decrepit soul. Its feet landed on the cold stone floor and a hiss erupted from its gaping mouth.
Arvas stepped back and moved his hand from the skull; it moved to him and a voice sounded in his head, “Hellooo, massster. I am your loyal sservant; myyy name isss Belator. May I forever ssserve under your great command.” Arvas was taken aback; he had never read in his books of a telepathic connection between the raiser of the body and the body itself. Geleborne went to examine the skeletal servant swaying in front of him.
“This is very good, Arvas. You have done well, Jalbert will here about this. Oh, and I meant to tell you that you will have the ability to speak with your servant with telepathy. Of course, by the look on your face, you’ve already had that connection with him,” he said with a smile. Arvas left the room with Belator in tow.
Arvas was standing on the serene coast of the island, staring blankly at the White Gold Tower. Belator had been instructed to stay inside so he wouldn’t attract attention to the guild haven. Bandir hobbled from the door hidden behind a large copse of trees over to him.
“I need you to go to the Wellspring Cave and kill the mages there. They work at the grove making magical staves for the use of the Mages’ Guild. This has been ordered by Lord Mannimarco himself. Do this or face punishment,” Bandir turned and headed for the door; Arvas went in as well.
He and Belator waited until nightfall to go on their assignment. As they were beginning to leave, Belator said, “Massster, would you be ssso kind as to give me a weapon?”
“Yes, here take mine,” Arvas answered as he untied his sword belt and strapped it to Belator’s waist. They left Vilverin and headed down the runed path leading to the Red Ring Road.
“May I assssk you a few quesssstions, milord?” The voice rang out in Arvas’s head, frightening him. The skeleton was lumbering beside him, the steel short sword in his old hand.
“Yes, of course; what is it that you would like to know?”
“Where are you from?”
“Morrowind.”
“I’ve been there before, masssster. It was a terrible placcce; I am assssuming that isss the reassson you are here?”
“Yes, it is. I hated living there; my father was a priest of the Tribunal Temple, always criticizing me for not being more like him, worshiping the Tribunal. He always treated me the poorest of my three brothers: Galvon, Martos, and Travius. He acted as though I were not his son. I stole our family chain mail and fled here in search of more religious freedom and, it seems, I have found it and a new companion.” Arvas and Belator continued having their telepathic conversation all the way to their destination, both learning something different about one another…
sleletons 'r us! I am just wonderin if the bonemeal that Bandir ingested has something to do with this skeleton 'talking' - as in maybe the other mage is using the bonemeal as a medium so that he can find out more about Arvas.
And I do hope that poor Arvas is going to join up with reinforcements on the way to the Weaponmakers'. Wizards who make weapons are likely battlemages as well as enchanters, and well able to deal with a tyro like Arvas and his random bony pal.
Chapter VII
“What were you before you died?” Arvas asked. Belator looked at him, his bones creaking with every step.
“I wasss a warrior; I ssserved next to Tiber Ssseptim himssself, the greatessst hero of the agesss. I wasss born a Nord to poor farmersss from the sssouth and I left to find my fortune in the Arena; I quickly grew tired of the unchallenging sssport and enlisssted in the Legion. Tiber sssaw my fighting prowesssss and wanted me to become hissss general; there, I ssserved him until his death.” Belator answered.“I died in my home just outssside the city wallsss.”
“Interesting; well, it looks like we’re here,” Arvas said as he pointed at the tiny cave. The entrance was open and many mages in the skull and cross-bones robes were hovering nervously around it. “Hello, I was sent here to help kill the mages at this cavern.” They all shot glances at him and a tall, thin Altmer strode up to him.
“Who are you?”
“Arvas.”
“Oh, you’re the one who was inducted into the order a few nights ago?” He asked through his dark hood.
“Yes,” he answered. “When are we going to start?”
“Now.” The Altmer sauntered over to the group of necromancers and said, “Come on! It’s time to kill these scum!” They all rushed through the door, leaving Arvas and Belator behind. Arvas followed after them, but as soon as he entered the room, a fire ball flew past his head with powerful force. It blasted a large hole into the cavern wall. A mage jumped through the group of necromancers at Arvas; he readied himself.
Their blades collided, sending sparks flying through the damp air. His legs buckled underneath him, causing him to fall to the rocky floor. He pulled his cane from his belt and hit the man on the shin with it; he shouted in pain and grabbed the jagged wall next to him for support. Then, Belator ran down the hallway towards Arvas and swung his sword at the pained mage. He attempted to block but Belator was very quick and lopped his head off. The man’s body crumpled to the floor and the head rolled down the sloped hallway towards the main room, leaving an ocean of blood in its path. Belator bent over to help Arvas up.
“Thanks,”Arvas said as he and Belator jogged into the large room. The fighting was intense, lightning bolts buzzed through the air and cold winds froze men in their tracks. Tables were overturned, tapestries burned, and dismembered body parts scattered the bloody floor. Arvas saw the Altmer man resurrect a dead mage; its eyes glowed a bright purple as his body moved to the right of the Altmer and fought alongside him.
Several minutes later, the necromancers had defeated all of the mages and had begun to turn it into a new safe haven for traveling guildmates. Arvas had been instructed to stay in the Wellspring Grove. Then, a loud clap rang from inside the cavern; fighting could be heard inside. A necromancer from inside ran into the grove. “It’s only one man! He’s slaughtering everyone; he even killed Tyrius! I’m getting away from this place!” He ran and jumped into the water surrounding the small island. A scream sounded as a man was thrown through the hardwood door into the grove, he did not move; Arvas and Belator dove behind a rock. A man wearing blue robes walked through the dusty opening and touched his finger to the man’s forehead; the man shouted and his limbs froze in mid-air. He searched around and grabbed a large wooden staff from a stone crafting bench and left the grove.
Arvas walked throughout the halls of Wellspring Cave, bodies lie everywhere. Many of the men and women were frozen in place. How could one man kill this many people? Arvas thought to himself. He decided he would return to Vilverin and tell Bandir what happened.
“What were you before you died?” Arvas asked. Belator looked at him, his bones creaking with every step.
“I wasss a warrior; I ssserved next to Tiber Ssseptim himssself, the greatessst hero of the agesss. I wasss born a Nord to poor farmersss from the sssouth and I left to find my fortune in the Arena; I quickly grew tired of the unchallenging sssport and enlisssted in the Legion. Tiber sssaw my fighting prowesssss and wanted me to become hissss general; there, I ssserved him until his death.” Belator answered.“I died in my home just outssside the city wallsss.”
“Interesting; well, it looks like we’re here,” Arvas said as he pointed at the tiny cave. The entrance was open and many mages in the skull and cross-bones robes were hovering nervously around it. “Hello, I was sent here to help kill the mages at this cavern.” They all shot glances at him and a tall, thin Altmer strode up to him.
“Who are you?”
“Arvas.”
“Oh, you’re the one who was inducted into the order a few nights ago?” He asked through his dark hood.
“Yes,” he answered. “When are we going to start?”
“Now.” The Altmer sauntered over to the group of necromancers and said, “Come on! It’s time to kill these scum!” They all rushed through the door, leaving Arvas and Belator behind. Arvas followed after them, but as soon as he entered the room, a fire ball flew past his head with powerful force. It blasted a large hole into the cavern wall. A mage jumped through the group of necromancers at Arvas; he readied himself.
Their blades collided, sending sparks flying through the damp air. His legs buckled underneath him, causing him to fall to the rocky floor. He pulled his cane from his belt and hit the man on the shin with it; he shouted in pain and grabbed the jagged wall next to him for support. Then, Belator ran down the hallway towards Arvas and swung his sword at the pained mage. He attempted to block but Belator was very quick and lopped his head off. The man’s body crumpled to the floor and the head rolled down the sloped hallway towards the main room, leaving an ocean of blood in its path. Belator bent over to help Arvas up.
“Thanks,”Arvas said as he and Belator jogged into the large room. The fighting was intense, lightning bolts buzzed through the air and cold winds froze men in their tracks. Tables were overturned, tapestries burned, and dismembered body parts scattered the bloody floor. Arvas saw the Altmer man resurrect a dead mage; its eyes glowed a bright purple as his body moved to the right of the Altmer and fought alongside him.
Several minutes later, the necromancers had defeated all of the mages and had begun to turn it into a new safe haven for traveling guildmates. Arvas had been instructed to stay in the Wellspring Grove. Then, a loud clap rang from inside the cavern; fighting could be heard inside. A necromancer from inside ran into the grove. “It’s only one man! He’s slaughtering everyone; he even killed Tyrius! I’m getting away from this place!” He ran and jumped into the water surrounding the small island. A scream sounded as a man was thrown through the hardwood door into the grove, he did not move; Arvas and Belator dove behind a rock. A man wearing blue robes walked through the dusty opening and touched his finger to the man’s forehead; the man shouted and his limbs froze in mid-air. He searched around and grabbed a large wooden staff from a stone crafting bench and left the grove.
Arvas walked throughout the halls of Wellspring Cave, bodies lie everywhere. Many of the men and women were frozen in place. How could one man kill this many people? Arvas thought to himself. He decided he would return to Vilverin and tell Bandir what happened.
My prayers are answered. Lo and behold:
Lucky he had Tiber Septim there to protect his back in his first life Mind you, now I am wondering how a general died in hios own home and yet lay unshriven? Was there no priest to bless his corpse? I recon Belator has quite a story to tell.
I just hope this one man is not the Hero of Kvatch - I am rather enjoying it si far :nods:
QUOTE
I wasss a warrior; I ssserved next to Tiber Ssseptim himssself, the greatessst hero of the agesss. I wasss born a Nord to poor farmersss from the sssouth and I left to find my fortune in the Arena; I quickly grew tired of the unchallenging sssport and enlisssted in the Legion. Tiber sssaw my fighting prowesssss and wanted me to become hissss general; there, I ssserved him until his death.” Belator answered
Not only can Belator fight, he also knows the most inportant strategies = run away and undead to fight another day. Lucky he had Tiber Septim there to protect his back in his first life
Mind you, now I am wondering how a general died in hios own home and yet lay unshriven? Was there no priest to bless his corpse? I recon Belator has quite a story to tell.I just hope this one man is not the Hero of Kvatch - I am rather enjoying it si far :nods:
I have left the telepathic communications between Belator and Arvas un-italicized. Just remember that when they talk, they are holding a telepathic conversation, not one out loud.
Chapter VIII
“It was one man, sir. He killed everyone and I was lucky to hide before he burst through the door into the grove. He grabbed a staff and walked out like nothing had happened. He was of the same Dunmer race as I!” Arvas shouted.
“Slow down, Arvas! You have been through a lot today; go get some rest,” Bandir wheezed. He went back to his chair and sat down.
“I can’t and I won’t, Bandir! He killed our brethren and you’re not even going to do anything about it?” Arvas said with rage. He had never seen a leader so reluctant before and it angered him. Bandir just sat in his chair and sipped wine while he read yet another scripture written by Mannimarco.
“You can’t do anything, Arvas, and I cannot tell you what to do. You have risen in rank and you are being moved to another guild hall. The haven you will be traveling to goes by the name of Fort Wendelbek, located directly south of Chorrol. Farewell, my friend,” Bandir said. Arvas nodded and went to gather his things. He put the two pouches of bonemeal into his pocket and strapped his sword to his back.
He and Belator were making their way down the Ayleid stone path to the Red Ring Road. Every so often, Arvas would run across a goblin or wolf, but Belator would quickly dispatch the scrawny creatures. “What books have you read, massster?” Belator asked in the silence.
Arvas looked at him and said, “I’ve read many books, but one of my favorites is the story of Queen Potema, the Wolf Queen. How she turned Emperor Pelagius into a madman was very clever indeed; he had absolutely no idea that she had given him such a powerful amulet capable of draining a man’s intelligence and wisdom.”
“I will have to read that one, massster,” Belator replied. Arvas thought he saw a smile on Belator’s face, but quickly shook the thought from his head and carried on. “I would do anything to have flessshhh again, milord.”
“You will have skin soon enough, Belator.”
They headed north through the rocky paths to Bruma. They came across a small inn and Arvas told Belator to collapse himself behind it. He entered the bright tavern to see several men up on stage, waving their mugs in the air. They were quite obviously drunk, as their beer was flying all over the room, landing on the several patrons whose tables were closest to the stage, angering them. The men were singing a song that Arvas had never heard before.
“Thar once was hardy young lad of the sea, a Redguard of courage and honor was he. Sail on, my Cyrus, sail on!” They all sang in slurred unison. Arvas chuckled as one slipped and fell on the hard stone floor, knocking over several tables in the process. He stood and not a single drop of beer had fell out of his outstretched mug, but he had a nasty nose bleed. He simply ignored it and stood back on the stage with the rest of the drunkards.
“Give me a goblet of wine, barkeep,” Arvas said. The innkeeper ignored him. “I asked for a goblet of wine, sir!” He was getting frustrated; the barkeeper was staring into space. “SIR!! Answer me, you honoured user.” That set the barkeeper off and he leapt over the counter, tackling Arvas to the ground. “Get off me!”
Everyone had stopped singing and was staring at Arvas and the barkeeper tangled up on the floor, hitting each other in the face with any solid object they could find. Then, a crash resounded in the window at the back of the tavern. Arvas and the barkeep stopped to see what it was; Belator was throwing people to the side as he moved towards the barkeeper, sword drawn. The barkeeper stumbled to his feet and Belator cut the man’s chest diagonally. He backed up and tripped over a stool, cracking his head against the wall.
Arvas shot up and grabbed Belator. They ran from the inn and when they had made it a long way from the tavern, Arvas said, “What were you thinking!? You could have gotten us killed; what if a Mages’ Guild member had been sitting in that tavern?”
“Sssorry, massster. I wasss only doing what I wasss sssupposssed to do,” Belator said with the utmost solemness.
“C’mon. We’ll talk about this later,” Arvas bellowed as they ran down the compacted dirt path north.
Chapter VIII
“It was one man, sir. He killed everyone and I was lucky to hide before he burst through the door into the grove. He grabbed a staff and walked out like nothing had happened. He was of the same Dunmer race as I!” Arvas shouted.
“Slow down, Arvas! You have been through a lot today; go get some rest,” Bandir wheezed. He went back to his chair and sat down.
“I can’t and I won’t, Bandir! He killed our brethren and you’re not even going to do anything about it?” Arvas said with rage. He had never seen a leader so reluctant before and it angered him. Bandir just sat in his chair and sipped wine while he read yet another scripture written by Mannimarco.
“You can’t do anything, Arvas, and I cannot tell you what to do. You have risen in rank and you are being moved to another guild hall. The haven you will be traveling to goes by the name of Fort Wendelbek, located directly south of Chorrol. Farewell, my friend,” Bandir said. Arvas nodded and went to gather his things. He put the two pouches of bonemeal into his pocket and strapped his sword to his back.
He and Belator were making their way down the Ayleid stone path to the Red Ring Road. Every so often, Arvas would run across a goblin or wolf, but Belator would quickly dispatch the scrawny creatures. “What books have you read, massster?” Belator asked in the silence.
Arvas looked at him and said, “I’ve read many books, but one of my favorites is the story of Queen Potema, the Wolf Queen. How she turned Emperor Pelagius into a madman was very clever indeed; he had absolutely no idea that she had given him such a powerful amulet capable of draining a man’s intelligence and wisdom.”
“I will have to read that one, massster,” Belator replied. Arvas thought he saw a smile on Belator’s face, but quickly shook the thought from his head and carried on. “I would do anything to have flessshhh again, milord.”
“You will have skin soon enough, Belator.”
They headed north through the rocky paths to Bruma. They came across a small inn and Arvas told Belator to collapse himself behind it. He entered the bright tavern to see several men up on stage, waving their mugs in the air. They were quite obviously drunk, as their beer was flying all over the room, landing on the several patrons whose tables were closest to the stage, angering them. The men were singing a song that Arvas had never heard before.
“Thar once was hardy young lad of the sea, a Redguard of courage and honor was he. Sail on, my Cyrus, sail on!” They all sang in slurred unison. Arvas chuckled as one slipped and fell on the hard stone floor, knocking over several tables in the process. He stood and not a single drop of beer had fell out of his outstretched mug, but he had a nasty nose bleed. He simply ignored it and stood back on the stage with the rest of the drunkards.
“Give me a goblet of wine, barkeep,” Arvas said. The innkeeper ignored him. “I asked for a goblet of wine, sir!” He was getting frustrated; the barkeeper was staring into space. “SIR!! Answer me, you honoured user.” That set the barkeeper off and he leapt over the counter, tackling Arvas to the ground. “Get off me!”
Everyone had stopped singing and was staring at Arvas and the barkeeper tangled up on the floor, hitting each other in the face with any solid object they could find. Then, a crash resounded in the window at the back of the tavern. Arvas and the barkeep stopped to see what it was; Belator was throwing people to the side as he moved towards the barkeeper, sword drawn. The barkeeper stumbled to his feet and Belator cut the man’s chest diagonally. He backed up and tripped over a stool, cracking his head against the wall.
Arvas shot up and grabbed Belator. They ran from the inn and when they had made it a long way from the tavern, Arvas said, “What were you thinking!? You could have gotten us killed; what if a Mages’ Guild member had been sitting in that tavern?”
“Sssorry, massster. I wasss only doing what I wasss sssupposssed to do,” Belator said with the utmost solemness.
“C’mon. We’ll talk about this later,” Arvas bellowed as they ran down the compacted dirt path north.
Any comments? Suggestions?
Chapter IX
Arvas, still upset over the brawl in the tavern, made no attempt at conversation with Belator, who did not understand. Occasionally, Belator would say something but Arvas would simply ignore it; he tried to make amends for doing what he did, but nothing seemed to work.
The night could not have been any calmer; the trees were swaying in the gentle breeze and the leaves rustled. The two moons were full and shining brightly upon the hard ground, making the dirt road look as though it were paved with silver. In the moonlight, Belator’s old bones looked like they were washed very carefully, not leaving a single speck of decay in any crevice. Arvas’s chain mail armor glistened and his cane sparkled a deep red.
They arrived at the path leading up to the castle of Chorrol and Arvas turned immediately south. “We’ll head this way. Once you see a large fort, tell me.” Belator nodded his head and they entered the forest. The usual chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl didn’t really bother Arvas, but another sound made Arvas tense up; a rustle in the leaves. When he had deemed it safe to move further, they continued to travel futher south.
They came upon a large surface ruin; it looked as though it had been worked on. Some of the old, mossy stones did not match some of the most recently placed ones at the top. Then, the same rustle came from in front of them and Arvas pulled his sword out. A figure bounded from the shadows and landed several feet in front of Arvas. “Who are you and what are you doin’ here?” A rough voice came from the figure. A smell of rotting flesh wafted into the air and Arvas knew he had found the place.
“I’m Arvas. I was sent here due to my rising in rank, sir. If you do not believe me, look at this,” he answered at the silhouette as he pulled the black soul gem from his pack. The man tilted his head and moved forward.
“Follow me,” the man said in a hushed voice. His breath smelled as though he had been chewing on mint leaves; Arvas was glad he was at a more cleanly place than Vilverin, inside of which everyone had the odor of a cesspit. Arvas waved his hand behind him to signal for Belator to follow. He slowly inched forward and the man opened the great wooden door with several large bolts hammered into the side. It creaked very loudly as they entered; the man’s feet made no noise a he moved along the halls, but Arvas’s leather boots slapped against the cold stone. He could feel an aura blasting from every doorway, it was a warmth but a chill all at the same time. The man opened a smaller door and said, “This’ll be where you’re stayin’. Try not to do anythin’ stupid, okay?” He strode from the room and Arvas placed all of his belonging under his rather little bunk. The blankets were emblazoned with the tattered skull and skeletal hands as everything else around him was.
He lie down and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
A freezing wind rushed past his ear. He was at the cliffs near the Abecean Sea and a blue robed man, with his hood very low over his face, stepped towards him. His hands were that of a Dunmer’s and the same cold, steel blue glow emanated from his hand. He raised it and the blue glow shot forward hitting his leg. The ice quickly crept up his paralyzed body; he was staring wide-eyed at the blue robed man with a look of despair and horror as his body was frozen solid. The man began to laugh maniacally as he threw a stone at the body, watching it shatter to millions of tiny pieces…
Arvas woke up in a cold sweat; his hair was stuck to his face and his blankets were on the floor. He grabbed one of his shirts and wiped his face with it. He laid his head back down in an attempt and hope of a more peaceful sleep.
Arvas, still upset over the brawl in the tavern, made no attempt at conversation with Belator, who did not understand. Occasionally, Belator would say something but Arvas would simply ignore it; he tried to make amends for doing what he did, but nothing seemed to work.
The night could not have been any calmer; the trees were swaying in the gentle breeze and the leaves rustled. The two moons were full and shining brightly upon the hard ground, making the dirt road look as though it were paved with silver. In the moonlight, Belator’s old bones looked like they were washed very carefully, not leaving a single speck of decay in any crevice. Arvas’s chain mail armor glistened and his cane sparkled a deep red.
They arrived at the path leading up to the castle of Chorrol and Arvas turned immediately south. “We’ll head this way. Once you see a large fort, tell me.” Belator nodded his head and they entered the forest. The usual chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl didn’t really bother Arvas, but another sound made Arvas tense up; a rustle in the leaves. When he had deemed it safe to move further, they continued to travel futher south.
They came upon a large surface ruin; it looked as though it had been worked on. Some of the old, mossy stones did not match some of the most recently placed ones at the top. Then, the same rustle came from in front of them and Arvas pulled his sword out. A figure bounded from the shadows and landed several feet in front of Arvas. “Who are you and what are you doin’ here?” A rough voice came from the figure. A smell of rotting flesh wafted into the air and Arvas knew he had found the place.
“I’m Arvas. I was sent here due to my rising in rank, sir. If you do not believe me, look at this,” he answered at the silhouette as he pulled the black soul gem from his pack. The man tilted his head and moved forward.
“Follow me,” the man said in a hushed voice. His breath smelled as though he had been chewing on mint leaves; Arvas was glad he was at a more cleanly place than Vilverin, inside of which everyone had the odor of a cesspit. Arvas waved his hand behind him to signal for Belator to follow. He slowly inched forward and the man opened the great wooden door with several large bolts hammered into the side. It creaked very loudly as they entered; the man’s feet made no noise a he moved along the halls, but Arvas’s leather boots slapped against the cold stone. He could feel an aura blasting from every doorway, it was a warmth but a chill all at the same time. The man opened a smaller door and said, “This’ll be where you’re stayin’. Try not to do anythin’ stupid, okay?” He strode from the room and Arvas placed all of his belonging under his rather little bunk. The blankets were emblazoned with the tattered skull and skeletal hands as everything else around him was.
He lie down and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
A freezing wind rushed past his ear. He was at the cliffs near the Abecean Sea and a blue robed man, with his hood very low over his face, stepped towards him. His hands were that of a Dunmer’s and the same cold, steel blue glow emanated from his hand. He raised it and the blue glow shot forward hitting his leg. The ice quickly crept up his paralyzed body; he was staring wide-eyed at the blue robed man with a look of despair and horror as his body was frozen solid. The man began to laugh maniacally as he threw a stone at the body, watching it shatter to millions of tiny pieces…
Arvas woke up in a cold sweat; his hair was stuck to his face and his blankets were on the floor. He grabbed one of his shirts and wiped his face with it. He laid his head back down in an attempt and hope of a more peaceful sleep.
QUOTE
He lie down and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
I'm guessing this was a typo, but you'll want to replace it with either laid down or the older-but-more-universally-correct lay down.
Thanks. Microsoft Word wasn't working real well with its grammar corrections.
Chapter X
Arvas awoke from his mostly restless sleep and pulled his sword from its sheath, commencing to shine it. The mint leaf man entered his room, drinking from a bottle. “Hello, we’ve heard from a messenger that the Dunmer mage from the Mages’ Guild is on his way to the city of Skingrad. We do not know the nature of the assignment he has been given, but a brother of ours, Mercator Hosidus, is the count’s steward. He has told us he will set up an ambush for the unsuspectin’ mage and kill him. You are goin’ to go there as well and help in the attack against him. I shall see you later on tonight friend.” He turned from the room, still drinking from the large bottle.
The beds were tightly made and no one was in there with Arvas. He stood and made his dark bed and put his equipment on himself; he left the room with Belator in tow. “Massster, where mussst we go now?”
“We’re going to the city of Skingrad to kill that blue robed man at Wellspring Grove,” Arvas answered. Belator shook his ancient head in disapproval.
“We cannot do that. It’ssss too dangeroussss. Massster, did you not sssee what he did to that cowering man? He froze the man’sss body with no effort. He isss very powerful.”
“I feel as though I’ve seen that spell before; I just can’t place my finger on it. Also, it is Lord Mannimarco’s orders. If we do not follow them, I’m positive he’ll kill us.” They were in the Great Forest going south to the Gold Road. To their right, mountains in the Colovian Highlands rose high and the cool air would occasionally blow past them. The smell of oh-so-sweet smell pine wafted into Arvas’s nostrils, making him feel calm and at ease. However, he knew he could not trust the calming scents and happy nature of the Great Forest; or any other soothing surroundings, as they are full of deceit and imminent danger. He kept his guard up, wanting some practice with his swordplay.
Belator had not said much during the trip; he had gotten to where he would fall into a somber mood occasionally for hours at a time. Arvas didn’t mind the silence, he had gotten quite used to it over the days he spent hiding away in the cleared out ruin west of the Imperial City. But Belator had always seemed the talkative type.
A boar dove from a bush, wildly throwing its tusks in every direction, trying to hit anything and everything. Arvas backed up and yanked his steel long sword from its sheath and swung it at the bulging boar. He cut the tough hide of it, but the boar did not acknowledge that it was just struck rather powerfully. Belator was crumpled in a pile of bones on the ground. Dammit! I’ll have to fix him once I am done with this boar. Arvas thought to himself. His heart was racing, though he didn’t know why. The boar charged and he rolled out of the way; he arced his sword back and brought it down on the head of the boar. It squealed and fell to the loose dirt.
Arvas cut strips of bloody boar hide and bound Belator’s bones back into place. He fixed the last strip and placed his hand upon the head of the skeleton. The dark magic erupted from his fingertips, surrounding the dirty corpse. It began to quake and it slowly rose from the ground. It seemed a bit more difficult this time; the dizziness came back but Arvas kept pushing his magicka into the lifeless bones lying before him. After several long minutes of magicka being drained into the old corpse, Arvas decided there was nothing more he could do for Belator except let him pass back on to Aetherius. A tear rolled down his cheek. I should not have ignored him like that! He’s saved my life many a time, but his re-death will not be in vain. He felt a darkness wash over him.
He wanted to find more bodies to reanimate, even though he knew he could not replace one of his closest friends.
Arvas awoke from his mostly restless sleep and pulled his sword from its sheath, commencing to shine it. The mint leaf man entered his room, drinking from a bottle. “Hello, we’ve heard from a messenger that the Dunmer mage from the Mages’ Guild is on his way to the city of Skingrad. We do not know the nature of the assignment he has been given, but a brother of ours, Mercator Hosidus, is the count’s steward. He has told us he will set up an ambush for the unsuspectin’ mage and kill him. You are goin’ to go there as well and help in the attack against him. I shall see you later on tonight friend.” He turned from the room, still drinking from the large bottle.
The beds were tightly made and no one was in there with Arvas. He stood and made his dark bed and put his equipment on himself; he left the room with Belator in tow. “Massster, where mussst we go now?”
“We’re going to the city of Skingrad to kill that blue robed man at Wellspring Grove,” Arvas answered. Belator shook his ancient head in disapproval.
“We cannot do that. It’ssss too dangeroussss. Massster, did you not sssee what he did to that cowering man? He froze the man’sss body with no effort. He isss very powerful.”
“I feel as though I’ve seen that spell before; I just can’t place my finger on it. Also, it is Lord Mannimarco’s orders. If we do not follow them, I’m positive he’ll kill us.” They were in the Great Forest going south to the Gold Road. To their right, mountains in the Colovian Highlands rose high and the cool air would occasionally blow past them. The smell of oh-so-sweet smell pine wafted into Arvas’s nostrils, making him feel calm and at ease. However, he knew he could not trust the calming scents and happy nature of the Great Forest; or any other soothing surroundings, as they are full of deceit and imminent danger. He kept his guard up, wanting some practice with his swordplay.
Belator had not said much during the trip; he had gotten to where he would fall into a somber mood occasionally for hours at a time. Arvas didn’t mind the silence, he had gotten quite used to it over the days he spent hiding away in the cleared out ruin west of the Imperial City. But Belator had always seemed the talkative type.
A boar dove from a bush, wildly throwing its tusks in every direction, trying to hit anything and everything. Arvas backed up and yanked his steel long sword from its sheath and swung it at the bulging boar. He cut the tough hide of it, but the boar did not acknowledge that it was just struck rather powerfully. Belator was crumpled in a pile of bones on the ground. Dammit! I’ll have to fix him once I am done with this boar. Arvas thought to himself. His heart was racing, though he didn’t know why. The boar charged and he rolled out of the way; he arced his sword back and brought it down on the head of the boar. It squealed and fell to the loose dirt.
Arvas cut strips of bloody boar hide and bound Belator’s bones back into place. He fixed the last strip and placed his hand upon the head of the skeleton. The dark magic erupted from his fingertips, surrounding the dirty corpse. It began to quake and it slowly rose from the ground. It seemed a bit more difficult this time; the dizziness came back but Arvas kept pushing his magicka into the lifeless bones lying before him. After several long minutes of magicka being drained into the old corpse, Arvas decided there was nothing more he could do for Belator except let him pass back on to Aetherius. A tear rolled down his cheek. I should not have ignored him like that! He’s saved my life many a time, but his re-death will not be in vain. He felt a darkness wash over him.
He wanted to find more bodies to reanimate, even though he knew he could not replace one of his closest friends.
Chapter XI
Arvas arrived at the castle several minutes after noon. A group of Necromancers were standing underneath the enormous bridge leading to the well guarded castle of Skingrad. He walked up to the shady looking men and asked, “When is the assignment going to take place?” A man wearing green velvet clothing moved towards him.
“Tonight, two hours after midnight. We are going to ambush the Mages’ Guild member over by the sheep pasture. We’ll need all the help we can get if we plan on killing this wizard,” the man said sternly. He walked away and headed up the hill to Castle Skingrad.
Arvas went to an overgrown stump under the shade of the great bridge above him and rested. A Bosmer limped over to him. “Hey! Why aren’t chu wearin’ your robes?” Arvas looked at the Wood Elf and chuckled.
“Why should it matter? The robes only weighed me down; this tunic and mail will do just fine with me,” Arvas shot back. He was still rather upset at the death of his friend. “If you have a problem with it, you can talk to the edge of my blade.” He did not know what had come over him; he felt complete hate for everyone around him. He wanted only to suffice for the death of Belator by taking as many lives as he could.
“There’s no need in jumpin’ down my throat about it, mate,” the Bosmer said. The look on his face told many lies. He was trying to hide his fear of Arvas, but his expressions deceived him. He pulled his hood over his head and limped away.
Arvas pulled Belator’s bones from his bag and placed them on the dirt in front of him. He grabbed the bloody strips of hide and bound the skeleton’s bones together. He tried hard to keep the tears from running down his gaunt face, but they persisted and eventually Arvas let them fall freely.
The other Necromancers didn’t notice what he was doing, as they were all sitting in the center of a copse of redwood trees, drinking away; and the fact that under the bridge was rather dark. He removed his black leather glove and placed it upon Belator’s cracked skull. A wave of black essence flew from his hand and wrapped itself around the lifeless bones. The body began to quake yet again and it slightly rose from the dusty ground. Arvas could feel something creep into his mind; a soul or thought perhaps? He fell backwards and his vision slowly faded.
He awoke several hours later. It was very dark and he could hardly see a few feet in front of him. The others were still in the cluster of trees, talking with one another.
Belator’s body was gone. Arvas stood from his spot under the bridge and strode angrily over to the group of necromancers. “Alright! Which one of you flagons of hist piss took the body?!” They looked at him as though he had gone mad. The Bosmer covered his face as to not look at Arvas’s face.
“We didn’t take your body! From what I can see, it looks like you’ve got it hanging off your Dunmeri bones,” an Imperial answered with a smirk. Arvas whipped his blade from its sheath and stuck it under the man’s neck. The man’s eyes showed fear.
“Tell me now! Give me the body or I’ll rip your damn throat out!” Arvas’s rage pulsed through him. He had been pushed to the brink and he was ready to lash out on the Imperial’s young face.
“Calm down, elf! He’s o-over there!” The man pointed to a bush. “We t-t-tried to reanimate him for…” Arvas strode off to the bush. The body of Belator laid there, arms across his chest; his sword lying next to him. Arvas gathered him up and put him in his bag. He went back to his spot under the bridge, ignoring the looks he received as he stormed past the group of necromancers.
He waited patiently for the ambush to take place…
Arvas arrived at the castle several minutes after noon. A group of Necromancers were standing underneath the enormous bridge leading to the well guarded castle of Skingrad. He walked up to the shady looking men and asked, “When is the assignment going to take place?” A man wearing green velvet clothing moved towards him.
“Tonight, two hours after midnight. We are going to ambush the Mages’ Guild member over by the sheep pasture. We’ll need all the help we can get if we plan on killing this wizard,” the man said sternly. He walked away and headed up the hill to Castle Skingrad.
Arvas went to an overgrown stump under the shade of the great bridge above him and rested. A Bosmer limped over to him. “Hey! Why aren’t chu wearin’ your robes?” Arvas looked at the Wood Elf and chuckled.
“Why should it matter? The robes only weighed me down; this tunic and mail will do just fine with me,” Arvas shot back. He was still rather upset at the death of his friend. “If you have a problem with it, you can talk to the edge of my blade.” He did not know what had come over him; he felt complete hate for everyone around him. He wanted only to suffice for the death of Belator by taking as many lives as he could.
“There’s no need in jumpin’ down my throat about it, mate,” the Bosmer said. The look on his face told many lies. He was trying to hide his fear of Arvas, but his expressions deceived him. He pulled his hood over his head and limped away.
Arvas pulled Belator’s bones from his bag and placed them on the dirt in front of him. He grabbed the bloody strips of hide and bound the skeleton’s bones together. He tried hard to keep the tears from running down his gaunt face, but they persisted and eventually Arvas let them fall freely.
The other Necromancers didn’t notice what he was doing, as they were all sitting in the center of a copse of redwood trees, drinking away; and the fact that under the bridge was rather dark. He removed his black leather glove and placed it upon Belator’s cracked skull. A wave of black essence flew from his hand and wrapped itself around the lifeless bones. The body began to quake yet again and it slightly rose from the dusty ground. Arvas could feel something creep into his mind; a soul or thought perhaps? He fell backwards and his vision slowly faded.
He awoke several hours later. It was very dark and he could hardly see a few feet in front of him. The others were still in the cluster of trees, talking with one another.
Belator’s body was gone. Arvas stood from his spot under the bridge and strode angrily over to the group of necromancers. “Alright! Which one of you flagons of hist piss took the body?!” They looked at him as though he had gone mad. The Bosmer covered his face as to not look at Arvas’s face.
“We didn’t take your body! From what I can see, it looks like you’ve got it hanging off your Dunmeri bones,” an Imperial answered with a smirk. Arvas whipped his blade from its sheath and stuck it under the man’s neck. The man’s eyes showed fear.
“Tell me now! Give me the body or I’ll rip your damn throat out!” Arvas’s rage pulsed through him. He had been pushed to the brink and he was ready to lash out on the Imperial’s young face.
“Calm down, elf! He’s o-over there!” The man pointed to a bush. “We t-t-tried to reanimate him for…” Arvas strode off to the bush. The body of Belator laid there, arms across his chest; his sword lying next to him. Arvas gathered him up and put him in his bag. He went back to his spot under the bridge, ignoring the looks he received as he stormed past the group of necromancers.
He waited patiently for the ambush to take place…
Hist piss, eh? Couldn't resist using it, I see! 
Anyway, looks like Necromancy is a popular subject for fan fiction right now...
Anyway, looks like Necromancy is a popular subject for fan fiction right now...
I saw it and I wanted to use it! I love it
Chapter XII
It was two in the morning; the sky was pitch black, save for a few lone stars floating in the abysmal night. The smell of fresh Colovian air brought energy back to Arvas, making him more aware of his surroundings. Crickets chirped and the occasional squeak of a rat could be heard in the distance. Arvas was full of sorrow and anger; he was beginning to think that those two emotions would stay permanent in his mind, never leaving nor faltering within him.
The Bosmer hobbled over to him, his wrinkles appeared deeper under what little light there was around them. “It’s time. Come with me, please,” He rasped. Arvas stood up and followed him, cane in hand. The others must’ve already arrived at the pasture as they were not in their usual spot in the copse of redwoods. He and the Bosmer went down a worn path towards the post which marked the beginning of the sheep pasture. They stopped a little ways from the post; no one was there. “Jus’ wait, Mercator will be here with the others in a moment.” Arvas nodded and ducked down behind a shrub.
A familiar figure strode down a cobble-stone path, his hood thrown over his head. He walked over to the post and stopped, looking for the count. Arvas grinned at how ignorant the man was.
Arvas looked to his right and noticed a group of five; four were hooded, the other was at the front of them, wearing no hood. They strode up to the Dunmeri mage and the man at front began to speak, “Hello, mage. You see, I told you a little lie; Count Hassildor will not be meeting you here. Instead, you will not return to the Arcane University, you will perish here tonight. Now!” At that, Arvas and the rest of the men rushed at the mage.
He grabbed Mercator and twisted him around to face the group. His eyes were wide with fear. The mage placed a single finger to the temple of Mercator and muttered a spell; Mercator shouted but was quickly silenced by a thick layer of ice wrapping itself around his head and it continued to the rest of his body. Soon, he was completely rigid; the tiniest of movements could have broken him to pieces. The group of men stood there, shocked at the scene they had just witnessed.
Then, two of the men bounded after the mage. The mage dropped Mercator; in which he shattered. He pulled his dagger from his belt and elbowed the first man in the face; his face gave a sickening crack and he fell to the cold, hard ground. The other man raised his hand and began to shout a spell, but the mage grasped his arm and twisted it behind his back. The mage stuck the edge of his dagger to the throat of the necromancer and plunged it into his flesh. His mouth opened and a sputtering noise sounded from him. Blood began to pour from the poor man’s mouth as he fell to the ground as well.
There were only four of the men left; each of their hearts could be heard in the quiet. Arvas charged at the mage, hoping he would not meet the same fate as the others. He reached the mage only to receive a paralysis spell flung upon him; he fell to the ground, his limbs incapable of moving. His heart began to pound ever harder, fearing that he would have no way of defending himself as he died.
The other men charged at the mage, but were cut down from another source. Arvas could hear fire fly above him and then he could smell burning flesh. Soon, the fighting stopped and all was quiet again. A voice rang out, breaking the solemn silence. “You impossible fool! What made you even begin to think that I would set up a meeting here of all places?!” It was the count.
“I was sent to get a book! I had no idea that I was to be ambushed!” The mage shouted.
“No, there is no book for you to retrieve. I am assuming that you were sent here to see if I was connected to the Necromancers. Well, quite obviously, I am not. So go back to your superiors and tell them what just happened. I must go,” He said roughly as he walked away.
The sound of footsteps could heard coming closer and Arvas could see the Dunmeri mage lean over and whisper in his ear, “You are lucky, Arvas. Tell your leader what happened tonight.” He stood from his crouched position and left. A heavy weight had been lifted from Arvas’s frightened body. Arvas soon found himself dozing off into the chilly night…
It was two in the morning; the sky was pitch black, save for a few lone stars floating in the abysmal night. The smell of fresh Colovian air brought energy back to Arvas, making him more aware of his surroundings. Crickets chirped and the occasional squeak of a rat could be heard in the distance. Arvas was full of sorrow and anger; he was beginning to think that those two emotions would stay permanent in his mind, never leaving nor faltering within him.
The Bosmer hobbled over to him, his wrinkles appeared deeper under what little light there was around them. “It’s time. Come with me, please,” He rasped. Arvas stood up and followed him, cane in hand. The others must’ve already arrived at the pasture as they were not in their usual spot in the copse of redwoods. He and the Bosmer went down a worn path towards the post which marked the beginning of the sheep pasture. They stopped a little ways from the post; no one was there. “Jus’ wait, Mercator will be here with the others in a moment.” Arvas nodded and ducked down behind a shrub.
A familiar figure strode down a cobble-stone path, his hood thrown over his head. He walked over to the post and stopped, looking for the count. Arvas grinned at how ignorant the man was.
Arvas looked to his right and noticed a group of five; four were hooded, the other was at the front of them, wearing no hood. They strode up to the Dunmeri mage and the man at front began to speak, “Hello, mage. You see, I told you a little lie; Count Hassildor will not be meeting you here. Instead, you will not return to the Arcane University, you will perish here tonight. Now!” At that, Arvas and the rest of the men rushed at the mage.
He grabbed Mercator and twisted him around to face the group. His eyes were wide with fear. The mage placed a single finger to the temple of Mercator and muttered a spell; Mercator shouted but was quickly silenced by a thick layer of ice wrapping itself around his head and it continued to the rest of his body. Soon, he was completely rigid; the tiniest of movements could have broken him to pieces. The group of men stood there, shocked at the scene they had just witnessed.
Then, two of the men bounded after the mage. The mage dropped Mercator; in which he shattered. He pulled his dagger from his belt and elbowed the first man in the face; his face gave a sickening crack and he fell to the cold, hard ground. The other man raised his hand and began to shout a spell, but the mage grasped his arm and twisted it behind his back. The mage stuck the edge of his dagger to the throat of the necromancer and plunged it into his flesh. His mouth opened and a sputtering noise sounded from him. Blood began to pour from the poor man’s mouth as he fell to the ground as well.
There were only four of the men left; each of their hearts could be heard in the quiet. Arvas charged at the mage, hoping he would not meet the same fate as the others. He reached the mage only to receive a paralysis spell flung upon him; he fell to the ground, his limbs incapable of moving. His heart began to pound ever harder, fearing that he would have no way of defending himself as he died.
The other men charged at the mage, but were cut down from another source. Arvas could hear fire fly above him and then he could smell burning flesh. Soon, the fighting stopped and all was quiet again. A voice rang out, breaking the solemn silence. “You impossible fool! What made you even begin to think that I would set up a meeting here of all places?!” It was the count.
“I was sent to get a book! I had no idea that I was to be ambushed!” The mage shouted.
“No, there is no book for you to retrieve. I am assuming that you were sent here to see if I was connected to the Necromancers. Well, quite obviously, I am not. So go back to your superiors and tell them what just happened. I must go,” He said roughly as he walked away.
The sound of footsteps could heard coming closer and Arvas could see the Dunmeri mage lean over and whisper in his ear, “You are lucky, Arvas. Tell your leader what happened tonight.” He stood from his crouched position and left. A heavy weight had been lifted from Arvas’s frightened body. Arvas soon found himself dozing off into the chilly night…
Chapter XIII
The fiery sun was slowly rising among the ever snowy mountain tops of the Jeralls and Arvas began to stir. His body had gained back its ability to move during the night and so he picked himself up from the cold dirt. Blood had been spilled all over the pasture and it had painted the soil a sickly crimson. He dusted himself off, quickly said a prayer to Sithis over his fallen guildmates, and headed towards the fort.
How did he know my name? I just arrived here in Cyrodiil only a few years ago. He thought to himself. He went to the stables at the rear entrance of the castle and began eyeing the horses. A hardy, white stallion stood near the old decaying fence. The many black horses in front of him had gained prestige all over Cyrodiil as the fastest, most well bred horses that could be bought. He decided he would take a black one and call it Altor, after a powerful mage he once met in Vvardenfel. He slowly untied his reins and gently spoke to him as he guided the horse over to the low-hanging gate. He mounted and shouted, “Hyah!” He heeled the horse and he began a gallop. Altor jumped over the fence and rode up into the Great Forest. Shouting could be heard behind him as they rode away.
They slowed once they were very deep into the forest, away from the city. The morning sun washed over Arvas, warming his bones. He fretted whether he would be punished for it being the second time he failed to kill the mage. But, he quickly reassured himself that he wouldn’t be punished as any necromancer that has gone against the mage has not lived to tell it. He may be spared just for the fact that he has lived through two battles without being frozen solid by the Dunmeri mage.
Arvas arrived at the slowly renewing fort to see many necromancers pacing around in regular clothing, planting gardens for both food and certain ingredients for their experiments. The vibrant reds of tomatoes, the bright orange of carrots, and the lush green of cabbage and lettuce came together in a beautiful banner under the cloudless sky above.
He tied Altor to a nearby stump and entered the fort. He looked for the familiar face and smell of the man who chews mint leaves. Along the halls, there were many tapestries of the infamous symbol for the Necromancers and many benches and chairs were there as well. He entered the dining hall of the fort and found him at the table, having his lunch. “There seems to have been a problem with the ambush, sir. He killed them all, either they were run through by his blade or frozen in their tracks. I was lucky enough to have been paralyzed by him. I tried to stop him, sir, I honestly did. He’s just too quick. I’m sorry,” Arvas said with great gloominess. He stopped chewing and stood from his chair.
“Dammit! This is the second time you have failed at eliminating that elf! From here on out, no more will you have any assignments that deal with the Dunmeri mage, do you understand?” He shouted into Arvas’s face. He nodded and walked away. “Now go find something to bide your time until we have this menace dealt with.”
Arvas walked from the fort, completely disheartened at the event that took place. He decided that he would go to Chorrol and sit at the Oak and Crosier, drinking his sorrow away.
His journey to Chorrol through the wilderness was uneventful; not a single animal had even appeared in front of him. But he did not care, the only thing he wished to do was prove the Necromancers wrong. He wanted to slaughter the Dunmeri mage that caused all of the trouble he had been involved in.
He arrived at the tavern and sat at the bar. But not before he noticed a gorgeous Altmer standing in front of a group of people, talking. She was stunning; her eyes were an icy blue, capable of calming even the most vicious of animals. Her hair was a golden blonde and her facial features were that of a goddess. He did not wish to embarrass himself, so he sat at the counter. “I’ll have the strongest thing you’ve got, barkeep,” he said slowly. The Khajiit at the bar leaned down, grabbed a mug and poured a strong smelling liquid in it. She handed it to him and he took a great gulp. I feel better already. He thought to himself.
The High Elf had finished her story and went to sit at the bar as well. She caught a glimpse of him and said, “Hi there, I’m Mera. You look quite sad, what’s the matter?” He looked up from his mug to see the beautiful Altmer, staring at him with questioning eyes. His heart began pound in his chest and his stomach felt a tad bit odd.
“N-nothing, M-Mera. I-I’m Arvas, b-by the way,” He stuttered; he had never been in such close range to such a dazzling woman.
“You’re not going to ask me what I would like to drink?” She asked. His heart began to slow down and he leaned towards the bartender.
“Oh s-sorry. G-give her a…” She cut him off.
“I’ll have a small glass of wine, please,” she said politely as the barkeeper grabbed a rather small goblet…
The fiery sun was slowly rising among the ever snowy mountain tops of the Jeralls and Arvas began to stir. His body had gained back its ability to move during the night and so he picked himself up from the cold dirt. Blood had been spilled all over the pasture and it had painted the soil a sickly crimson. He dusted himself off, quickly said a prayer to Sithis over his fallen guildmates, and headed towards the fort.
How did he know my name? I just arrived here in Cyrodiil only a few years ago. He thought to himself. He went to the stables at the rear entrance of the castle and began eyeing the horses. A hardy, white stallion stood near the old decaying fence. The many black horses in front of him had gained prestige all over Cyrodiil as the fastest, most well bred horses that could be bought. He decided he would take a black one and call it Altor, after a powerful mage he once met in Vvardenfel. He slowly untied his reins and gently spoke to him as he guided the horse over to the low-hanging gate. He mounted and shouted, “Hyah!” He heeled the horse and he began a gallop. Altor jumped over the fence and rode up into the Great Forest. Shouting could be heard behind him as they rode away.
They slowed once they were very deep into the forest, away from the city. The morning sun washed over Arvas, warming his bones. He fretted whether he would be punished for it being the second time he failed to kill the mage. But, he quickly reassured himself that he wouldn’t be punished as any necromancer that has gone against the mage has not lived to tell it. He may be spared just for the fact that he has lived through two battles without being frozen solid by the Dunmeri mage.
Arvas arrived at the slowly renewing fort to see many necromancers pacing around in regular clothing, planting gardens for both food and certain ingredients for their experiments. The vibrant reds of tomatoes, the bright orange of carrots, and the lush green of cabbage and lettuce came together in a beautiful banner under the cloudless sky above.
He tied Altor to a nearby stump and entered the fort. He looked for the familiar face and smell of the man who chews mint leaves. Along the halls, there were many tapestries of the infamous symbol for the Necromancers and many benches and chairs were there as well. He entered the dining hall of the fort and found him at the table, having his lunch. “There seems to have been a problem with the ambush, sir. He killed them all, either they were run through by his blade or frozen in their tracks. I was lucky enough to have been paralyzed by him. I tried to stop him, sir, I honestly did. He’s just too quick. I’m sorry,” Arvas said with great gloominess. He stopped chewing and stood from his chair.
“Dammit! This is the second time you have failed at eliminating that elf! From here on out, no more will you have any assignments that deal with the Dunmeri mage, do you understand?” He shouted into Arvas’s face. He nodded and walked away. “Now go find something to bide your time until we have this menace dealt with.”
Arvas walked from the fort, completely disheartened at the event that took place. He decided that he would go to Chorrol and sit at the Oak and Crosier, drinking his sorrow away.
His journey to Chorrol through the wilderness was uneventful; not a single animal had even appeared in front of him. But he did not care, the only thing he wished to do was prove the Necromancers wrong. He wanted to slaughter the Dunmeri mage that caused all of the trouble he had been involved in.
He arrived at the tavern and sat at the bar. But not before he noticed a gorgeous Altmer standing in front of a group of people, talking. She was stunning; her eyes were an icy blue, capable of calming even the most vicious of animals. Her hair was a golden blonde and her facial features were that of a goddess. He did not wish to embarrass himself, so he sat at the counter. “I’ll have the strongest thing you’ve got, barkeep,” he said slowly. The Khajiit at the bar leaned down, grabbed a mug and poured a strong smelling liquid in it. She handed it to him and he took a great gulp. I feel better already. He thought to himself.
The High Elf had finished her story and went to sit at the bar as well. She caught a glimpse of him and said, “Hi there, I’m Mera. You look quite sad, what’s the matter?” He looked up from his mug to see the beautiful Altmer, staring at him with questioning eyes. His heart began pound in his chest and his stomach felt a tad bit odd.
“N-nothing, M-Mera. I-I’m Arvas, b-by the way,” He stuttered; he had never been in such close range to such a dazzling woman.
“You’re not going to ask me what I would like to drink?” She asked. His heart began to slow down and he leaned towards the bartender.
“Oh s-sorry. G-give her a…” She cut him off.
“I’ll have a small glass of wine, please,” she said politely as the barkeeper grabbed a rather small goblet…
This has turned out to be a very well written story. It has been awhile since I was able to catch up on this and I'm very happy I did!
Thanks, Steve. 
Chapter XIV
Arvas had no intention on getting drunk. He wanted to, but he decided against it as it seemed ignorant on his behalf. He looked up from the bar at Mera and said, “I have to go, Mera. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He stood from the stool and tossed the innkeeper ten septims and headed up to his room.
Mera moved towards him, her icy blue eyes stopped him in his tracks. She leaned down and gave him a peck on his cheek. “I will come to see you in the morning. We’ll have breakfast here,” she said as she moved towards the door. Arvas touched his hand to his cheek while he walked up the stairs towards his room. He wondered whether she was genuine in her intentions, because female Altmer are usually deceitful and carry a hidden agenda on their shoulders. He would decide that in due time.
He entered his room, it was a large one. The roof was low, Arvas could barely raise his hand up and he could touch the ceiling. The wood was of a mahogany color but had the texture of oak. Along the walls, there were two portraits; one of the emperor and the other of the late count of Chorrol. They were extremely lifelike and Arvas could feel their happiness when the portraits were painted. There was a beautifully crafted desk in the corner of the room, it had empty pieces of parchment, a quill and a bottle ink lying on its smooth surface. Arvas looked over the bed positioned on the center of the back wall; its quilt was red, with gold satin trim and pillows of silk. This was by far the most comfortable bed Arvas had ever laid eyes on.
Arvas took his black chain-mail off and laid it next to the bedside table. He hung his tunic in the wardrobe and put on his black leather pants. Then, he laid in the bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the soft silky pillow.
He woke the next morning feeling like an entirely new person. He put his chain-mail back on and pulled the bright white tunic over him. His black leather gauntlets and boots were put on last. He clasped his silver longsword to his belt and sat at the desk, wondering when Mera would show up.
A knock on the door sounded in the silence that surrounded Arvas. He got up and went to answer the door. When he opened it, he saw Mera in front of him, holding a large plate with ham and potatoes. She motioned for him to follow. Arvas nodded and strode behind her down the steps. They went to sit at a table closest to the door. Mera put the plate down and took a piece of ham from it.
“Well… I’m new to this. I haven’t found anyone who is intriguing to me,” She said as she cut the ham. Arvas looked from his plate and gave her a smile.
“What makes you think that I’ll be any different? I am just a normal Dunmer doing normal Dunmer things, you know?” He replied politely. “And besides, wouldn’t you with a Dunmer make you look bad?”
She smiled and said, “You are very intriguing, Arvas. I know you don’t do ‘normal’ Dunmer things. Me being with you would make me look bad, yes. But I don’t really care what others think. My Altmer brethren are ignorant and don’t realize what the other cultures of the many different races have brought to us.”
“But, how are Altmer ignorant? Summerset has some of the most powerful mages and most intelligent scholars in all of Tamriel,” Arvas argued. It was odd hearing that come from a High Elf’s mouth.
“I meant in the ways of traditions and values, Arvas. They cannot understand what benefits can be reaped through diversity.”
“Oh, I see. So you don’t see other races as lowly as or less knowledgeable than your own?” Arvas asked. He hadn’t met many Altmer in Morrowind who didn’t think of him as a dirty low-life, even though his father is a famous priest of the Temple of the Tribunal.
“No, of course not. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you that for a while now. Haha, you are very much different from the other Dunmer I’ve met. You’re not arrogant at the others.”
“Yes, that’s true. Wait! What’s that supposed to mean?” Arvas asked, taken aback at her comment.
“I was just kidding, Arvas. Haha. You are not arrogant at all. You’re more of the kinder ones.” She smiled at him. Arvas felt that this woman was genuine in her intentions. “Well I have to go. Important business you know.” She stood from the table and made her way to the door.
“Are you going to be back later on today?” Arvas asked. He was hoping he would get to see her again before the day was over. She nodded and left the inn; Arvas saw her slender body saunter down the street. He smiled and sat back in his chair.
Arvas had no intention on getting drunk. He wanted to, but he decided against it as it seemed ignorant on his behalf. He looked up from the bar at Mera and said, “I have to go, Mera. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He stood from the stool and tossed the innkeeper ten septims and headed up to his room.
Mera moved towards him, her icy blue eyes stopped him in his tracks. She leaned down and gave him a peck on his cheek. “I will come to see you in the morning. We’ll have breakfast here,” she said as she moved towards the door. Arvas touched his hand to his cheek while he walked up the stairs towards his room. He wondered whether she was genuine in her intentions, because female Altmer are usually deceitful and carry a hidden agenda on their shoulders. He would decide that in due time.
He entered his room, it was a large one. The roof was low, Arvas could barely raise his hand up and he could touch the ceiling. The wood was of a mahogany color but had the texture of oak. Along the walls, there were two portraits; one of the emperor and the other of the late count of Chorrol. They were extremely lifelike and Arvas could feel their happiness when the portraits were painted. There was a beautifully crafted desk in the corner of the room, it had empty pieces of parchment, a quill and a bottle ink lying on its smooth surface. Arvas looked over the bed positioned on the center of the back wall; its quilt was red, with gold satin trim and pillows of silk. This was by far the most comfortable bed Arvas had ever laid eyes on.
Arvas took his black chain-mail off and laid it next to the bedside table. He hung his tunic in the wardrobe and put on his black leather pants. Then, he laid in the bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the soft silky pillow.
He woke the next morning feeling like an entirely new person. He put his chain-mail back on and pulled the bright white tunic over him. His black leather gauntlets and boots were put on last. He clasped his silver longsword to his belt and sat at the desk, wondering when Mera would show up.
A knock on the door sounded in the silence that surrounded Arvas. He got up and went to answer the door. When he opened it, he saw Mera in front of him, holding a large plate with ham and potatoes. She motioned for him to follow. Arvas nodded and strode behind her down the steps. They went to sit at a table closest to the door. Mera put the plate down and took a piece of ham from it.
“Well… I’m new to this. I haven’t found anyone who is intriguing to me,” She said as she cut the ham. Arvas looked from his plate and gave her a smile.
“What makes you think that I’ll be any different? I am just a normal Dunmer doing normal Dunmer things, you know?” He replied politely. “And besides, wouldn’t you with a Dunmer make you look bad?”
She smiled and said, “You are very intriguing, Arvas. I know you don’t do ‘normal’ Dunmer things. Me being with you would make me look bad, yes. But I don’t really care what others think. My Altmer brethren are ignorant and don’t realize what the other cultures of the many different races have brought to us.”
“But, how are Altmer ignorant? Summerset has some of the most powerful mages and most intelligent scholars in all of Tamriel,” Arvas argued. It was odd hearing that come from a High Elf’s mouth.
“I meant in the ways of traditions and values, Arvas. They cannot understand what benefits can be reaped through diversity.”
“Oh, I see. So you don’t see other races as lowly as or less knowledgeable than your own?” Arvas asked. He hadn’t met many Altmer in Morrowind who didn’t think of him as a dirty low-life, even though his father is a famous priest of the Temple of the Tribunal.
“No, of course not. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you that for a while now. Haha, you are very much different from the other Dunmer I’ve met. You’re not arrogant at the others.”
“Yes, that’s true. Wait! What’s that supposed to mean?” Arvas asked, taken aback at her comment.
“I was just kidding, Arvas. Haha. You are not arrogant at all. You’re more of the kinder ones.” She smiled at him. Arvas felt that this woman was genuine in her intentions. “Well I have to go. Important business you know.” She stood from the table and made her way to the door.
“Are you going to be back later on today?” Arvas asked. He was hoping he would get to see her again before the day was over. She nodded and left the inn; Arvas saw her slender body saunter down the street. He smiled and sat back in his chair.
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