Ooh. I just read through this whole thing, and it's very intriguing so far. I like how well you describe things, from quick glances at an area to the intricate detailing of something small.

-curls up in the corner and waits for the next chapter-

Another very enjoyable, and very tense part, Illy. I'm looking forward to seeing what nasty surprises could be in store for our (anti?)hero. There could be some pretty nasty ones there, I imagine.

Agreed Colonel. I'm sure getting caught is probably not the most of it either.

Oops. Always thought 'noisome' meant noisy . I'll go change it.

Thanks for the comments guys, I've been to Athens for a couple a' weeks so sorry for the absence, but now I'm back the next chapter will be up soon .

Here's Chapter 10:

Chapter X: A Locked Door

Nathaniel ascended the winding, creaking corkscrew staircase for what seemed like an age in the eerie darkness. The rusted iron frame groaned like a restless ghost in protest as he climbed, threatening to collapse under his weight, the haunting echoes that wailed from the old metal chilling Nathaniel to the very core. He had no idea how high he had climbed or for how long, time and space seemed to be nonexistent in the pitch blackness that enveloped him and the stairs in an inky opaqueness and obscurity. There was nothing to do but hold onto the cold, twisted rail of the staircase and keep climbing, into the enveloping gloom and the insidious unknown.

It was so dark Nathaniel could barely see his hands an inch from his own face - he had twice tripped on the rungs in the blackness, barking his shins painfully on the sharp metal edge of the stairs. The perpetual darkness seemed to make his every fear and nightmare thrive, and any second Nathaniel expected a step to fall away and he would plunge into the empty gloom, or a ghostly hand to brush against the bare skin of his neck.

His heart hammered in his chest and his thighs burned and throbbed from fatigue, but he knew he had to continue. There was no going back now.

I can do this, Nathaniel whispered, gritting his teeth and thinking of happy thoughts, trying to ebb away the fear that the darkness fed into his terrified conscience. He gripped the rail ever tighter, and continued his treacherous climb into the abyssal blackness ahead, one, wary, cautious step after the next…



Finally, after what felt like an age of traversing the winding steps in the unfamiliar gloom, Nathaniel arrived at the summit of the corkscrew stairway, panting with effort as his lungs burned and his mind raced. His gown was soaked in sweat and where he had scraped his shins, a crimson stain had seeped through the fabric from the painful wound like a dark blot of red ink. Every muscle in his body was aching from being rigid with apprehension; his breathing tearing out in harried rasps.

It was only after Nathaniel had taken a moment to compose himself and restore some of his strength that he could eventually take in his surroundings. He had little go by however; the landing he had arrived on was only meagrely lit by the waning glow of small oil lamp, resting in bract set into the stone beside him. Wishing it could have been brighter and wishing even more that he knew the correct incantation for a luminosity spell; Nathaniel reached toward the miniscule lamp and carefully took it out of the sconce’s protective wire bracket, holding it in front of him to ward off the encroaching shadows.

By the yellow globe of light that emanated from the candle, Nathaniel made his way forward, eyes constantly ahead of him and his tread wary. It wasn’t long before he came across an obstacle at the end of the small room atop the stairway, barring his path. Sweeping the lamplight across Nathaniel found himself standing before an ancient, decaying doorway, its whorled surface coated with a thick layer of dust and by the weak light of the flame, revealed to be succumbing to years of dry rot.

Despite the door’s condition, Nathaniel had no doubt that the thick, iron-reinforced wood could withstand all but the strongest of onslaughts. He moved the lamp down towards the handle, which was encrusted with dull red rust and tarnished with blackened scorch-marks. Nathaniel could only wonder who or indeed what could have made such marks trying to gain access to the Library. It only made his fears worse.
He lifted the candle-flame upwards again, inspecting every inch of the grained wooden surface. When the fading report of the lamp touched the top of the door, his attention was suddenly drawn as something caught the light and a glimmer flashed past Nathaniel’s eyes. There, hammered into the rotting lintel of the door with crude nails, was a wooden sign reading the ‘The Restricted Library’, the words ‘NO ENTRY’ painted under it in bold, capital letters.

A small grin escaped his mouth as he realised he had found it. The locked door. All that remained now was to unlock it…



Careful not to spill the oils that were pooled in the brass dish around the flame, Nathaniel set the small lamp in his hand on the hard stone floor beside him, where it burned quietly beneath him as he moved to examine the lock on the door. By its feeble light, Nathaniel placed two hands onto the deeply whorled surface of the door, and pressed his ear to the panel near the lock, just as he had done to Damyond’s door.

He turned the handle experimentally and listened carefully as it clicked and whirred beneath the wooden surface, like some kind of restive insect contained within. Nathaniel had picked a lock many a time during his years at the University, and was experienced enough to deduce from the various sounds that despite the aged appearance of the door, this lock in particular was of a very good quality. No surprise there. Out of all the doors in the University, Nathaniel doubted there was a lock more difficult than this one, and Nathaniel had lived in the school since he was born. There wasn’t a single nook, cranny, chest or container in the student’s section of the University that hadn’t been searched or unopened by Nathaniel.

At least it’s a challenge, Nathaniel sighed, flexing his hands and wrists. He’d gotten this far, what use was their wasting the opportunity. This was just another obstacle on his path to revenge, and he would reach that goal, no matter what. He would keep his promise.

Enlivened by this new measure of determination, Nathaniel cracked his knuckles and from within his pocket, procured a brass lock-pick, about as long as his middle finger and wire-thin. Whispering a short prayer to whatever divinities he could name, Nathaniel held the pick between his forefinger and thumb and by the light of the candle beneath him, inserted it carefully into the keyhole.

After a few seconds of manoeuvring the wire pick experimentally around, Nathaniel found one of the tumblers, and used the hooked head of the lockpick to raise it with a deft flick. There was a slight winding sound as the spring compressed and then relaxed, returning the tumbler to its original position. Breathing coolly, he flicked tumbler up again, and quickly pressed the catch in. He heard a clink and snapping noise as the thin metal wire of the lock-pick broke. He cursed under his breath, he had pressed the lock in too fast, and the pick had broken under the pressure. He pulled the useless pick out of the pad-lock and stuffed it into his other pocket.

Wiping his palms of the sweat on his jumper, he shook out his wrists in an attempt to calm his nerves. He had only seven of these lock-picks, so he couldn’t afford to rush things. His mission would be compromised before it had even started if he couldn’t even get in to the restricted library area.

Concentrating hard, he pulled out a pick and slotted it once more into the lock. Another chinking sound and Nathaniel withdrew a second, broken lock-pick. In his cautiousness not to repeat the first error he’d made, he’d pressed the latch in too slow this time and the tumbler had already fallen back into place. He cursed again, this time louder, and the sound echoed discordantly in the darkness.

Below him, the candle flickered, threatening to snuff out. He took out another lock-pick.

A moment later and Nathaniel growled as he stuffed the two halves of a third snapped pick into his pocket. He was beginning to panic, beads of sweat forming beneath his brow and anxiety gripping his guts tightly. He broke a fourth, and then a fifth, and finally a sixth. Frustrated and fearful at the same time, Nathaniel could feel nervousness and panic beginning to cloud his harrowed mind.

He tried to block them out, for he knew that the more agitated he got, the less he would concentrate and the more chance there was of making a mistake. Sweat now flowed freely from his forehead, following the edge of his sideburn and trickling down the side of his head. He wiped it off with his sleeve in annoyance.

Come on Nathaniel. You can do this.He said to himself quietly, gritting his teeth in determination and balling his fists. He procured the seventh and final lockpick from his pocket, stared at it hard as if willing it to be unbreakable, and then inserted it into the rust-rimmed keyhole.

He closed his eyes and wriggled the lockpick deeper and deeper to the various meticulous clicks and whirrs of the catch, the bolts rattling in Nathaniel’s ears as he fought to discern the different noises.

Even though his heart hammered heavily in his chest and his breath came out in short, shaking rasps, Nathaniel heard the last tumbler lock into place and without a moment’s hesitation, instantly pressed in the catch. Then, heart in mouth, Nathaniel heard a sudden clack, accompanied by a squeal of brass scraping against brass and finally, the catch slid smoothly back. His whole body slackened as relief passed over him like a wave, and he soaked in every ounce of it.

He was in.



The ancient door swung open silently on its corroded hinges despite their defective appearance, and a rush of chilling air swept over Nathaniel, cooling the perspiration on his misted forehead and spreading goosebumps across his the bare skin of his forearms. Gulping nervously and rather too loudly than he would’ve liked, Nathaniel picked up the still glowing candle at his feet, breathing on it gently to keep the dying flame alive. If he was going to enter this mysterious library, he’d prefer to see what he was doing, and more importantly, what everything else was doing.

He bit his lip with fearful excitement and stepped into the room, silent as a ghoul, eyes wide and attentive even though every fibre of his body wanted to turn and run back, down the winding stairs and back safe to his bedroom. He fought the urge.

Willing his hesitant legs to move, one terrified step at a time, the dark corridor he had entered suddenly widened and gave way into an enormous, grand vestibule, its shrouded interior promising unknown secrets of old and forgotten terrors. The forbidden library of the University.

Huge, colossal bookcases, six times the height of Nathaniel and towering towards the ceiling like castle walls were arranged in neat rows across the entire breadth and length of the room, creating a maze of aisles and corridors that was almost unfathomable. Books from what seemed like the entirety of Tamriel filled each shelf, some huge, bronze-clad leather tomes the size of flagstones and other miniscule books that could barely fit on Nathaniel’s palm. Books with golden-laced spines and jewel-encrusted binding, intricate titles and beautifully grotesque pictures, whilst others wrapped in ancient, rotting scraps of yellowing parchment millennia-old and delicate to the point of disintegration at a mere touch. Books that were as thick as Nathaniel’s torso and so lengthy they just looked like cubes of paper. Books with runes, with puzzles and pictures, written in blood, ink or sweat, some with text so small Nathaniel could barely read off the titles whilst other books with nothing in them at all. Dictionaries and encyclopaedias, codices and catechisms, atlases, hymnals, missals, ledgers and logbooks, albums, abstracts and almanacs, journals and grimoires, every type of script you could name, it was there.

Nathanial was awed by the sheer amount of literature contained with the Library. Surely nobody could ever read all this, not even the greatest mage with all the time in the world. There were at least several thousands of books to each case, and there were twenty book cases in the entire room. Nathaniel had never been good at arithmancy, but he didn’t have to be to know that the number was very, very large indeed.

How could he ever hope to find his item of revenge amongst the tens of thousands of different books?

The answer escaped him. He would just have to get lucky. Problem was luck wasn’t really Nathaniel’s best fortitude.

Worried by this ominous new prospect, Nathaniel continued regardless, eager to explore the rest of the Restricted Library. Remembering his need for stealth, he crouched into the shadow and sneaked forward, cupping a hand around the candle’s flame to obscure its light. He suddenly found himself entering into a wide, spacious aisle, a passageway directly in the centre of the antechamber where the colossal bookshelves ended and created a sort of gorge amidst the library.

The carpeted pathway was wreathed in an azure-silver light, which tinted the shadowy hall in a moon-coloured shimmer. Pools of the hallowed, pallid brightness culminated in glittering pools on the red-rugged floor of the bookcase valley, dappling the surface and providing enough light for Nathaniel to forego the candle. He kept it anyway, just to be safe.

The blue-white light gave everything in the vestibule a bluish tinge of silver, making every object caught in its beam appear cold and unforgiving, like dull crystal. The stone walls seemed more drab and lifeless than ever, even Nathaniel’s own arm, when he dared stretch it out into one of the rays, appeared statuesque, frozen in the cold blue luminosity. Walking forward Nathaniel discovered that the source of the ethereal illumination were the magnificent arched stained-glass windows that were placed at each interval of the bookcases, spilling the light in through the patterned panes, each depicting a different divinity.

The aisle through which he sneaked was littered with allsorts of different desks and display cases placed at the ends of the bookshelves, each flaunting a considerable variety of different treasures, oddities, artefacts and other of the Restricted Library’s most valuable items on their tabletops. Hewn jewels the size of his fists caught Nathaniel’s eyes, along with various amulets and talismans and rings that sparkled with magical energy almost palpable through the cold, tension-choked air. Skulls and bones, stone tablets and even, to his great surprise, a fork, a worn paint-stained apron and even a pair of seemingly ordinary scales were included amongst the display. Nathaniel knew better than to open the cases and take any of the items. He was afraid of getting caught with them, but not nearly as much as he was frightened of what the objects would do to him – Nathaniel knew not all enchanted things were for the benefit of the user. He would have to search for a less dangerous and risky mode of vengeance if he didn't want to end up being a murderer, or worse, dead himself.

At the back of the chamber and at the end of the long passageway, he spied more bookshelves, smaller than the rest, almost concealed by the shadow. However, even with the encroaching darkness Nathaniel could see that the books and items contained on those shelves were far more interesting looking and unique than the previous ones.

Nathaniel grinned. He would start his search there.

Well about time!

Another enjoyable part here Illy, and you're still not letting anything slip about Nathaniel's vengeance. And I love the mention of the all the daedric artefacts (the fork of Horriplation and the Scales of Merciless Justice by any chance?).

Yes sorry bout' the wait. You'd think I wouldn't be busy with it being the summer hols and all .

And you are correct, sir, I thought I'd add a couple of easter eggs here and there.

Good update, do we get any more soon?

hadn’t been searched or unopened by Nathaniel. Unopened makes a strange double negative thingy.

Has been a long time, but I've had renewed inspiration and here, ladels and jellyspoons, is the eleventh chapter, sorry for the wait:

Chapter XI: Mazes and Mysteries

Nathaniel began his search hastily, not needing to hear the tolling bells of the Imperial tower to realise that dawn was soon approaching across Cyrodiil. In but a few hours time he would see the first golden beams of the morning sunlight stream through the stained glass windows, and the entire University would wake to its warming rays. With luck, however, by that time Nathaniel would be long gone from this forsaken library and prepared to put his plan for revenge into action.

He would have to work fast though. Creating some space on the shelf in front of him, he set the flickering candle on the dusty ledge, its weak flame a beacon in the cold darkness of the library. Silence gripped Nathaniel as he began to search, an icy feeling of vulnerability making his every sense aware and heightened to a frightening level. Every single sound made his hair stand on end, every touch making his skin ripple. It was an odd, thrilling sensation that Nathaniel would never have liked to experience again, yet as it grew, so did his excitement.

His fingers traced shaking paths over the dusty spines of assorted books, occasionally stumbling over the odd item or two. He could barely read the titles in the gloom, despite the waxen light of the candle, though his eyes swam with the different texts that flashed past, curled runic symbols and strange words. The Black Arrow v1, Mystery of Talara, Mannimarco: The King of Worms, the Horrors of Castle Xyr, all were books that Nathaniel bore no recognition too, so ancient was their origin.

Some were written in entirely different languages, others, like the curiously one-paged Mysterium Xarxes, consisted only of runic language and symbolic the likes of which Nathaniel had never seen before. Many books were so old they just crumbled to dust in hands before he had a chance to open them, their pages ash. The most strange and weirdest book he came across was a tiny, pocket-sized tome, stained a filthy brownish colour, the writing scrawled across it reading 'Ohgma Infinium’. He found nothing of interest with it however, and subsequently threw it to the back of the shelf.

At this rate I’ll never find anything to use, Nathaniel cursed, wondering if he’d made a mistake and his preparations had been for nothing. He threw the last book back onto the shelf and went to the next bookcase, all the while conscious of the time as it slipped away. Something sparkled in the darkness, sitting on top of the bookshelf, draped in wispy cobwebs. His attention captured momentarily, he stood on his tip-toes and retrieved the item from the spiderweb latticework, bringing it to the candlelight.

It was a ring, Nathaniel discovered, black as night, though it shined glossily in the pale blue moonlight. An inscription ran across its surface, reading ‘Blackwood, Ring of Silence’, in fiery writing that glowed a brazen orange. Immediately crazy and peculiar ideas sprung into Nathaniel’s imagination as to what it could do. Would it stop the wearer from speaking? Or even better, grant the user the ability to silence anyone it touched? If so, it could be just the item he was looking for…

Nathaniel’s curiosity got the better of him, and he decided that the best way to find out would be to put the strange ring on. He scrutinised the ring and the inscription, with a careful eye in the sallow light of the candle, trying to decipher any other, more dangerous meaning it may have. Finding none, Nathaniel extended his fore-finger, his other hand holding the ring steady as he prepared to put on the dark piece of jewellery - it would be a perfect fit.

The ring was inches from the tip of his finger when a sudden noise made Nathaniel bolt. His fingers fumbled, and before he knew it the ring had slipped from his grasp tumbling to the floor. Before he could catch it again, it hit the cold ground beneath him, the distinct ‘clink’ of metal upon stone ringing out, shattering the choking pall of silence that had been so discomforting before.

Nathaniel winced as the sound echoed around the library, harsh and discordant, reverberating off the cold stone walls and rows upon rows of bookcases. The ring revolved on its axis like a spinning top before finally succumbing to gravity, and falling with a loud metallic ‘clunk’ which belied its small size and weight. Inwardly, Nathaniel spat every curse under the moon, wondering why on Tamriel such a tiny thing could make such a loud noise.

“Who goes there? Gerom, is th-that you?”

The voice – a woman’s – was clear and strident; though fringed with edges of fear. Nathaniel instantly recognised it Shoba Felldame, the University’s Librarian – Madame Felldame to Nathaniel. In the space of a second, Nathaniel’s heart rate increased tenfold. He pressed his body into the bookcase, seeking concealment in its shadow, hiding himself as best as he could.

“Yes, it is, Shoba. I’m over here.” A man’s voice this time, dark and grating – most probably the ‘Gerom’ that the frail, dithering Librarian was calling for. If Nathaniel’s memory served, it was Gerom Spellclaw, the conjuration teacher.

Footsteps, clapping on the cold stone floor of the library, getting steadily closer and closer.

Nathaniel ears pricked up instantly. Another few moments and she would pass his alleyway where he was hidden. He couldn’t be seen now, at his most vulnerable moment. The fear and dread of being caught gripped him like icy claws, refusing to let his mind think straight.

I won’t be caught now, Nathaniel promised. Not after coming this far.

The footsteps drawing closer, Nathaniel thrust a hand into his robe pocket, feeling something cold and smooth within its folds. He withdrew the miniscule potion vial he had stolen from Damyond’s cupboard, watching its glossy surface glint in the moonlight as the viscous liquid sloshed around inside.

There was no other reason for it, he’d intended to save the potion for later when the correct time and need arose, but considering the circumstances, he’d have to compromise. If he drank just a slight fraction of the liquid now, maybe he’d still have enough for later. Again, it seemed, Nathaniel’s fate was down to luck.

With no time for contemplation, Nathaniel peered into the colourless glass of the bottle for a hesitant moment, gauging its capacity, before pinching out the stopper and raising the rim of the vial to his lips.

Bottoms up, he thought as he sipped Damyond’s chameleon potion, fervently hoping that his trust in the Redguard’s alchemy skills was not misplaced.

The concoction was lumpy and cold as it ran down his throat, like porridge gone stale. He retched at the foul taste and texture of the potion, struggling to not make a gagging sound and fighting desperately against his urge to spit it out immediately. He fell to his knees on the stone floor, heaving and silently choking.

Iron-willed however, he forced himself to swallow the revolting mixture, feeling it slide down his gullet like mid-winter sludge.

At first, Nathaniel thought nothing had happened. His heart sank like a stone as he heard the footsteps of Madame Felldame draw closer, knowing at any moment she’d turn the corner and find him there, on his knees in the pale turquoise-tinted light of the moon. He lifted a hand to wipe away the glistening ropes of saliva that hung from his mouth, only to find, curiously, it wasn’t there.

Where his hand and wrist once was, there was only thin air. He could see straight through, as if his skin were glass.

“What the…” Nathaniel whispered, as he felt a tingling sensation crawl across the whole length of his body, surging through his veins and making his bones shiver, like being submerged in cold, icy water of the purest kind. Still looking through his now invisible palm, Nathaniel watched with incredulity as the transparency began to creep up his forearm, engulfing his wrist and elbow. Before he knew it, the effects of the chameleon potion had grown past his shoulder, and onto his torso, spreading across his chest and up his neck.

Inwardly, he thanked Damyond for his talent at alchemy, wishing he’d never doubted him as he observed with wonder the sensation that was now spreading down his legs, shins and ankles.

As Madame Felldame rounded the corner at long last, Nathaniel felt the effects reach the tips of his toes and vanish, leaving him completely invisible. And where the Librarian should have seen a startled, dark-haired boy in his dressing gown, she saw only thin air…



Nathaniel held his breath as she passed, but his hopes were confirmed. Damyond’s powerful concoction had rendered him completely indistinguishable to the naked eye, and Madame Felldame walked past Nathaniel’s position completely oblivious to his presence.

He made to breathe a sigh of relief, but stopped himself imminently. It was easy to forget that just because they couldn’t see him, did not mean they couldn’t hear him. He stood back onto his feet, realizing that dawn was fast approaching and he needed to continue on his mission. He’d sneak past the two teachers and further into the dark recesses of the Library – surely he would find his desired object there.

Wondering idly how long the effects of the chameleon potion lasted, Nathaniel took a first step out of the bookcase alley, and subsequently stumbled, off-balance. It seemed walking without knowing where your legs were was much harder than it looked. He’d just have to get the hang of it.

Half-crouching, Nathaniel crept – quite awkwardly – across the carpeted passageway that ran through the middle of the library, aiming for the very end of the Mystic Archives forbidden section. He soon passed Felldame and Gerom, who had found an aisle of themselves and were now murmuring amongst one another amidst the bookshelves in secrecy. Nathaniel crept past noiselessly, hearing a glimpse of their conversation.

“…these are turbulent times in Cyrodiil. People are scared, Shoba, the nation is restless it seems. There have been more accounts of thieveries and murders this past month than ever!” Professor Spellclaw whispered in harsh tones, too much gasping and gawping of the old dunmer librarian. Nathaniel could feel his hairs go rigid at the mention of thievery.

“Yes, definitely. Tis’ why I’ve had to lock the door now everytime I come in. There’s no telling who might be seeking some of the powerful artefacts contained within this library. Soon as Harpfeather finishes that anti-intruder seal, the better!” Madame Felldame bleated. "Even the Arch-Mage is concerned, having those big brutes parading the streets of the University at late hours. Something big’s about to happen, I tell you…”

“I’ve heard there are rumours of a powerful rogue mage rising in the west – foresters have been entering the mountains and not returning. Yes, there is definitely something foul afoot. Still, I think…”

Nathaniel tuned out at the moment; there was nothing of interest for him in the conversation. Thinking nothing of it, he left the two teachers to gossip amongst the towering bookshelves, invisibly making his way further and further into the never-ending maze that was the Restricted Library...

Good to see this is one the go again. A good update, your writing has improved, I think, since the first part. Nice bit of foreshaowing in the last section too.

so ancient was there origin -- trivial grammatical error, there should be their.

Otherwise nicely done, I particularly like the description of the potion, I'd never thought of how foul they would probably taste...

Ah, an update. Hurrah!

Good job here, Illy, and I liked the description of the potion, which was interesting to say the least. A well written part, and as far as I can tell the only spelling mistake has been tackled by Olen.

Let's just get the next one up sooner, eh?

Wow. Been a while since I've been to these forums. Anyhoo, during the easter hols, I aim to continue with my work so be prepared

It will take me a while to catch up, this past week has been so hectic I could barely get on here! Look forward to updates though!