Prologue

3E 422

My eyes slowly opened to reveal bookcases lined with books, ingredients and trophies. I had fallen asleep in the Common House in the Wolverine Hall. This wasn’t that—it was something entirely different. The fungal walls were lined with book cases holding books, various alchemical substances and trophies.

I slowly forced myself into a standing position. The cold air hit me as soon as I managed to stand. The icy chill only bit into specific parts—it was as if invisible tendrils had a tightening grip on my body. The tendrils felt much more real when I tried to move my arms. They were completely immobilized by this abnormal cold.

A Dunmer garbed in flowing, ebon robes materialized out of thin air. Four others instantly appeared as well. The Dunmer stated with his raspy voice, “I am Lord Sarthon Kirth and you are in Tel Kirth.” My eyes widened slightly—Tel designated that I was in a Telvanni Tower.

“Bray-Hul demands to know why she is away from her master,” the Argonian questioned. My eyes took a quick glance to notice Bray-Hul was a relatively thin. Her tattered shirt hung off her as if she was only a skeleton and her pants were almost as loose.

“If I may explain,” Kirth responded. “You five are people no one will miss. You’re slaves, outlaws and paupers. This is why you have all been blessed with an opportunity to become Telvanni Wizards.”

The Nord to my right was a young man with shoulder-length blonde hair. He was breathing heavily and his face was flushed. “You damn dark elves are cowards,” the man blurted. “I’ll snap your spine like a skeever.” Sarthon shook his head and extended his open hand. He whispered something and out of his hand shot a bright chartreuse orb that slammed into the young man.

The Nord’s screams were sharp. I watched as the orb burrowed into his chest, dissolving his body as it went. As the screams continued, we all stood in silence as a puddle of viscera slowly formed at his feet. His entire body was eventually liquefied by the spell and then it just—disappeared.

“I do not appreciate threats,” the Wizard continued emotionlessly. “And you all need to learn the rules of what is going to occur over the next twenty-four hours. You’re going to be sent to the Canals beneath Vivec where you four will either kill each other or all die.”

“What—what are you talking about?” the Altmer Girl to my left said. “We…have to kill…each other?” Her voice was cracking as she struggled to say the words.

“You will all wear chokers. They are linked by your life force; if even two of you still live after twenty-four hours, then you’ll all be killed. If only one survives, you’ll be teleported back here and will gain the privilege of studying magic under me.”

What was the point of this game? What was he gaining out of this other than several corpses in the canals beneath Vivec? The Dunmer muttered under his breath and a black-metal collar appeared around my throat. One appeared around all of our throats. What was this thing?

There was a blinding flash of light and when I could see again, the world around me had changed. The bookshelves and walls had changed to a gargantuan metal pipe. In the center was a river slowly moving to its destination. Rats scurried around on the metal side-walks of the large pipe.

With a sigh, I knelt down and looked around for a tool to use in this fight. A skeleton with a steel stiletto between its ribs lay there peacefully. Next to it was a half-empty bottle with a label that was so old that it became too faded to read. And beside the bottle was a note that shared the same fate as the label. My hand firmly gripped the blade. The hunt had just began…

You have totally floored me with this one, Zalphon !!! How did you think of this? AWESOME !!! Great Write !!

You five four have the opportunity to become wizards. Oh, only one of you will be trained, the rest of you will be dead.

What a heck of a contest. Great story though!

I have to agree with mALX!! Words cannot describe how thrilling and tense this is!

It kinda reminds me of 'Saw', but that does not mean it doesn't seem like a great, original idea.

OOOHHH I can't wait for more! I can't wait to see who will survive, or even if the protagonist finds a way for them all to survive! Who knows?? Haha

You've got me very excited about this!

Can't wait for more!!

An interesting and creative proposition! Snatched up for some cruel Telvanni experiment/selection process. Armed with a dagger in the sewers, our protagonist faces a kill or be killed scenario – ‘there can be only one’. This is off to a nice start with plenty of crisis and mystery.

@mALX, thanks--you're always my Number One Fan

@King Coin, I'm glad to see you're intrigued.

@Rihanae, Telvanni live by Survival of the Fittest--I figured this was a great hook to the story. Not only does it start out by placing him in a struggle for survival, but I could easily see a Telvanni Wizard-Lord selecting an apprentice in such a way.

@Acadian, Especially in the Canals of Vivec--a place where the Slaughterfish and Rats may kill you before the competitors.

@All Readers, I'd like to assure you all that the protagonist's personality will become much more visible as the story goes on. I know that (s)he seems relatively devoid of emotion and personality at the moment, but (s)he'll seem much more...real as Chapter One progresses and the events of the Test occur.

Lol, you don't even want us to know the gender of our protagonist yet!

Too many mysteries! But I do love me some Telvanni lore, and you are right, they do live by that code. If they can murder, steal and destroy without getting caught, then it is encouraged. I love this little test to see which survives. It all boils down to:

"The strong survive, only because it is the strong who deserve to."

Chapter One: The Beauty of Death - Part I

The sounds of the flowing river created a soothing ambience. It was relaxing and in a strange way, it was hypnotic. “What are you doing here?” a voice interrupted on my serenity. It was a voice which demanded attention.

My grip on the dagger tightened as I turned around to see who was speaking to me. The man staring at me was a monstrous figure. His tightly-pulled skin was a pale grey and his eyes were a flushed scarlet. The silver hair falling from his head reached his shoulders and was matted with dirt and blood.

“I am hunting,” I softly said as I watched his reactions. “Why are you here?” He reacted with little movement other than taking a few steps closer. As the distance closed, my eyes noticed that his body was littered with scars.

“These canals are my home, Stranger.”

“Fair enough—what is your name?”

“I am Thanryn Broodikus, and yourself?” he asked. His raspy voice made him seem like he had spent a good time outside, too. As if this were a new home, because seldom did those who stayed indoors often gain that tone from the Ash-Storms.

“Minx…of a house I do not know.”

He looked appalled by the answer. Almost as if I had told him that I was a mythical creature. “That’s an unusual name for a daughter of Morrowind,” he paused momentarily. “And I assume you’re an orphan, yes?”

“Kar-Tolan named me Minx after an old friend of his,” I muttered. “That old lizard was crazier than a Khajiit, though.”

The old elf looked up at me curiously and shook his head, “You were raised by this ‘Kar-Tolan’, I’m assuming?”

“That’s a story for another time, Thanryn. Can you help me navigate these canals? I’m looking for an Argonian, an Altmer and two others.”

“Why are you looking for them?”

“If I told you, you’d call me a liar.”

“Try me.”

“I am being forced to fight for my life in a game of a Telvanni Lord’s. Sithron Kirth, I think his name was.”
“Sarthon. Sarthon Kirth is his name,” the Mer growled. “Follow close. I value the opportunity to meet Lord Kirth in person.” His eyes widened when I said the name Kirth. It was almost as if the fire of life had been reignited in this man’s spirit.

He began walking forward at a brisk pace and he stopped before a clay door. “Check in here.” When I pulled open the door, it felt weightless. I was stunned by what I found inside. An entire room had been tunneled into and lying inside was a human of some sort.

There was a small bookshelf with a few books. There was a pile of clothes in one of the rounded corners. In the furthest point in the room was a bedroll and gently resting in it was an Imperial. I think he seemed familiar, but I wasn’t too sure.

Only the head stuck out from under the blankets. I put the tip of the stiletto to the man’s throat and shoved him to wake him up. His eyes didn’t open—he just rest their motionlessly. This time I shoved more violently, but still not even a response.

With my freehand, I pulled the covers off of the Imperial. What I saw was something that I’ll never forget. His ribs were grotesquely ripped open and inside some of his organs were scratched open. Not cut—scratched. As I stared with a macabre fascination, Thanryn looked in and shook my shoulder.

“In all my years,” he muttered in disgust. “I have never seen something so…vile. I have even served at the Ghostgate, but not even there does something so monstrous happen.”

“This was one of the other contestants, I think.”

And the mysteries continue! Here we get a name and gender for our protagonist as well as some hints of her origins. She seems to have gained an ally and even learned a touch more of her Telvanni contest master. Broodikus – a name steeped in Zalphon lore. Nice touch how Minx assesses that his voice marks him as having spent much time in the blowing ash of the outdoors.

GAAAAH !!!



URK !! Gross, but very intriguing !! Great Write!

Chapter One: The Beauty of Death - Part II

Thanryn grabbed the corpse’s wrists and quickly dragged him out of the bed to the canal. With each step of the Dunmer’s, the trail of blood grew longer. After the corpse was right next to the canal, it was kicked in.

“Why did you do that?” I blurted. “He should be buried at least.”

The Mer did nothing, but motion for me to come closer. After I let out a weak sigh, I took a few steps closer and watched. The slaughterfish were ripping away chunks of flesh from his opened body. “Watch,” he whispered softly. “Through his death, they will live. In a way, he is giving back to the world which he took from to survive.”

I wanted to speak, but something told me not to. It was a different way of looking at things, but in its own way—it was serene. He was right; the Imperial was indeed giving back to the living creatures of Nirn. But such ways were so odd.

With another breath, he walked back into the room. There was a look of determination about him, as if he was looking for one specific thing. But what was it? When I looked back, he was pulling the books out and gently setting them down.

“What’re you looking for?”

Thanryn’s thin lips curled into a small grin as he reached in an arm’s length—likely he had found a hollow hiding spot. As his arm reached out, I noticed that his long fingers held a necklace of some sort. The black-metal chain was connected to a small face. Half of it matched the rest, but the other half was bright gold.

“What is that?”

“It is a rosary,” he explained. “The face is that of Lord Vivec, so that he may always see and guide my actions.” The tone in his voice was one of pride. As if following Vivec was something to be proud of.

“Come on,” I mumbled. “We need to find the other two.” He didn’t say anything, but I sensed by the frown that there was some disappointment. I just didn’t see the point in devoting one’s life to a god. I give prayer when I feel it right, because I feel it right—not because of some obligation.

I don’t know how much time passed as we trekked through the canals. Few things made any of the canals any different than any other. Occasionally some graffiti would be painted on in blood, but seldom was there anything interesting. As I took a step into another room, I found the Altmer Girl sitting against a wall farthest from the door.

She didn’t move much when she looked up at me. Her breathing was slow and labored and I could see that she wouldn’t live long. “What happened?” I questioned as I stepped closer. I noticed she was nursing her side and the entire left side of her blouse was drenched in blood.

“The Imperial,” she looked up at me with peaceful eyes. “He took a stab at my waist with his dirk.”

Thanryn’s interrupted me before I could speak, “He was—armed?” If the Argonian could do that against an armed man in good physical condition, what could she do against us? I had never been in a knife-fight and this man was an old pauper.

“Y-yes,” she coughed into her hand. “He am-ambushed me when I came in here.” The deep-red liquid truly contrasted to her bright yellow skin. This woman wasn’t going to live much longer. This was wrong. But this was Lord Kirth’s game.

I held the stiletto’s handle so tightly that my knuckles turned almost white. For what seemed like an eternity, I waited for her to close her eyes. She yawned and with that, I slid the dagger between her ribs—directly into her heart. For a moment, she got to look at me. It wasn’t a look of scorn, but of placid acceptance.

When the dagger slowly came out, it dripped with her blood. Then she simply fell to her side. Thanryn was screaming at me, but it’s as if his words went in one ear and out the other. All I could think about was what I had just done. What had I just done? I had taken her life. This wasn’t like how I pictured killing—I imagined it to be just a part of everyday life, not something so...gruesome.

The harsh sting of Broodikus’ slap pulled my mind away from her. And my fingers just let the blade go. “Why?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Why did you do it?” His eyes were completely focused on me.

I wanted to tell him I did it for her. I wanted to tell him, but the words just wouldn’t form in my mouth. My eyes moved from him back to her and I uttered at nothing more than a whisper’s volume, “What have I done?”

He looked down at her, “May you find peace in death, Altmer.” His hands grabbed her and dragged her to the canal. As I watched the slaughterfish go into a feeding-frenzy, all I could see in my mind was that look she gave me. There was no anger, but almost thanks. But that didn’t change how I felt. I felt like a monster—and maybe I was.

Feeding the slaughterfish!

You are doing a nice job of painting the gray morals that Minx is struggling with.

I absolutely love this line, this thought process!

The description of the Vivec amulet was great !!

I have to quote this whole section, this was a huge display of the protagonist's thought process here. A bit of the Kevorkian:



You are building a complex character, as always - Love it !!!

Chapter One: The Beauty of Death - Part III

For what felt like hours passed as we stood there staring into the water. Even after only bones remained, we just were there silently. The soothing sounds of the Canal gave no peace this time. They had no hypnotic effect. All I could think about was what I had done.

“You did what you thought was best, right?” he asked. His voice had lost the anger. But his voice pulled me away from my thoughts.

I looked up to him with teary eyes and whispered, “I only did what I thought was right, Thanryn. She was going to die anyway.” No matter how fast I blinked my eyes, I still felt the burn of a tear against my cheeks. In a vain attempt to hide my shame, my body turned away from him.

“Have you ever heard of Restoration magic?”

“I just know there is magic. I’ve seen wizards fight in Sadrith Mora using fireballs and lightning bolts, but all I know is that they use magic.”

He knelt down and grabbed the stiletto and snapped his fingers. Then he snapped his finger and pulled the dagger sharply against the palm of his left hand. “What are you doing?” I blurted in shock. What was he doing? Had he lost his mind?

“Shush,” Broodikus muttered as he stared at the wound. He whispered something and then I watched his hand’s wounds close. It was as if nothing had ever happened to his hand. What had he just done? Was that even possible with magic?

“What did you just do?”

“I cast a spell to regenerate the damage done by the wound.”
“But how? I’ve never seen someone cast a spell to do something like that?”

“Magic can be manipulated in many ways, Minx. I am merely a minor practitioner, trained in a few spells to help with my line of work.”

“What exactly is your line of work?”

“I used to be a Buoyant Armiger.”

“What exactly is a Buoyant Armiger, Thanryn?”

He stared at me and calmly said, “There’s so much you have to learn about what it means to be Dunmer.” He didn’t say it condescendingly and for some reason I think he really did care. Why did he care so much? I was just some stranger to him.

We both stood there and looked into the canals. There wasn’t anything being said, but I felt close to Thanryn. Something about him really made me feel safe with him. Maybe it was that he was a Buoyant Armiger—whatever that meant. Or maybe it was that he genuinely seemed to be a good person.

That serenity was interrupted when I heard the throaty voice of Bray-Hul. “Bray-Hul has found you. Bray-Hul will kill you as she did with the others.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Broodikus said. “We don’t have to fight. This doesn’t have to end like this.” As he finished the sentence, I watched the Argonian leap up and I scattered in an attempt to avoid the force of her mighty kick. A loud splash occurred and then I understood that she wasn’t aiming for me.

“We don’t have to fight, please—don’t make this be this way.”

“Bray-Hul knows how it must be. Your blood will run in the canals so that Bray-Hul may survive.” Her voice was emotionless. She had made no attempt to hide her intention; she was planning to kill me. But that couldn’t happen. I had to survive.

I darted for the dagger that he had dropped—what was only a few feet felt like a thousand miles. As I finally got my fingers around the hilt, I felt a set of claws dig into my shoulder and pull me back. Everything felt surreal as I was being jerked back. As if the world had slowed down. Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was the realization that I could very well die down here—but I was filled with vigor I had never experienced.

As my body pulled away from Bray-Hul, I cringed from the pain of her claws raking my shoulder. I had to have the dagger. I needed it. My arm extended to reach the blade, but just as I was about to grab it—the agony of her claws shot up my arm as she scratched at it.

A kick pushed her back, but it also extended the length of her scratch. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I couldn’t stop. With a quick lunge, I had the dagger. “Surrender,” I barked with a ferocity that scared even myself. “Or I’ll kill you.” Quietly, she backed away.

I looked into the water to see a cloud of red. “No,” I shouted into the water as I shoved my hand into the water. A tight, bony grip grabbed around my wrist and he slowly emerged from beneath the water. As the Dunmer pulled himself up onto the walkway, he coughed up water and pointed to his leg.

On his leg was a slaughterfish that didn’t want to give up. With the dagger in hand, I plunged it into the beast and watched as what I was trying to avoid came to be. It bit down with all its might and fell lifelessly onto the walkway. Thanryn lost a chunk of flesh the size of my fist from his lower leg. He growled at the pain and then looked up to Bray-Hul.

The Argonian was charging at us. And with supernatural speed, he pulled the dagger out of the slaughterfish and threw it into her chest. It was amazing to see how accurate he was—right through the sternum. She died mid-run and collapsed into the canal.

“Are you…okay?” he coughed.

I simply nodded. Thanryn was covered in the needle-like bite marks of slaughterfish and missing a chunk of muscle from his leg—but he didn’t complain. He was more concerned with my well-being than his own. Why did he care so much?

It was right as that thought entered my mind that the bright light flashed and the world around me changed. The Canals dissolved into the fungal tower that I had known. It felt like an eternity ago, but in reality—it had been no more than a few hours. “I am pleased,” the unsettling voice of Kirth said as he slowly clapped. “You pushed yourself to limits I did not expect.”

“Where’s Thanryn?” I asked as I scanned the room for him. He wasn’t there. Had Kirth left him there to die?

“He’s in your quarters, Minx.”

“Does this mean you will teach me magic, Lord Kirth?”

“I will teach you nothing,” Sarthon explained. “I will give you the tools to make yourself a wizard unlike any before you, though.” What did he mean? He’d give me the tools? I traditionally thought an apprentice was taught under the watchful eye of their mentor.

“Rest, Apprentice,” he ordered. “For tomorrow, your new life begins. You will learn to value sleep as much as life itself, for this may be the last time you get the opportunity for quite some time.”

I tried to ask him a question, but my energy suddenly felt drained out of me. When I attempted to speak, I just collapsed. My mind was taken captive by my dreams…the horrible dreams.

Loved the whole conversation leading up to Broodikus's lesson in healing, and his explanation for how healing magic works! A Buoyant Armiger, and that explains his chivalrous attitude. You just made my day !!!!!!! AWESOME !!!! That is exciting !!

LOVED this line:



Awesome Write, Zalphon !!

So Minx has survived, and therefore ‘wins’ the contest to be Kirth’s new apprentice. It was nicely presented that she was unfamiliar with the existence of restorative healing. Well, she knows about it now! And her new friend is quite a mystery still.

Chapter Two: The Grimoire of Pure Arcana

As I stirred into the world of the living, my blankets and robes were drenched in sweat. My muscles were so tight that it hurt and my mind was racing. But what I dreamt of that had me so tense? What had created such stress in my mind that I could just forget it?

I looked around the dark room to see Thanryn. But he wasn’t dressed in rags anymore. He was dressed in a suit of armor that I would occasionally see adventurers walk in. The only piece he wasn’t wearing was the helmet, which sat at his side. Chitin was the name of it, I think. In a way, the armor gave him a majestic look. He didn’t look like a street urchin anymore, but a hero like in stories.

He was kneeling peacefully and holding the amulet in his hands. I noticed his lips were moving; I could only assume he was giving prayers to Vivec. My arms pushed the thin sheets away and I sat up, my eyes never moving from him. Eventually he tucked the rosary into the cuirass and pulled a whetstone out of a knapsack. With one hand, he held a short sword and with the other, he sharpened it.

“Thanryn?” I called out as I approached. “Where did you get the armor?” He looked up from the blade and to me. It was a beautiful sword made of bright silver.

His eyes dropped to his weapon. “Lord Kirth agreed that you need protection and allowed me to take from the arsenal of a few dead thieves,” he explained. His tone was not backed by a sense of pride like it usually was. He seemed almost ashamed.

“So…why did you want to meet Lord Kirth?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t,” he snapped. “If I wanted to talk about why, I would probably tell you about it in the first place.” The man looked back down to his sword and started to use the whetstone more rapidly. I could see the frustration in Thanryn’s face as he mercilessly struck the stone against the blade.

It was as I began to walk away that a flash of bright light blinded me and then the world started to change around me. The beds, dressers, basins and nightstands all changed into what appeared to be a study. Lining the walls were bookcases upon bookcases, each filled and not a single duplicate to be found.

“You did not sleep well?” the cold voice of Sarthon asked. He was sitting at a rather exquisite desk with a book that looked to be centuries old in his hands. Beside him was a small, carnelian-orange humanoid with furry legs and long ears.

“N-no,” I shook my head. “I was quite—uneasy due to the dreams.” He gently placed a strand of cloth in the book and looked up at me. His blood-red eyes stared into my soul, or at least it felt that way. As if he was searching for weakness—any reason to just strike me down where I stood.

“That is truly a shame, Pupil. I have your first spellbook for you to study from.” When he lifted his hand as if about to grab a book—one simply appeared in his grasp. It was strange to see magic used in ways other than killing. Why didn’t mages ever use this kind of magic more often?

With slow footsteps, I came closer and grabbed it from him. It was strange to touch the black-leather binding, but in a way it was exhilarating. Emblazoned in the spine were words with a faint, blue glow. They said in the language of the Daedra: “The Grimoire of True Arcana”. I could feel the raw energy rippling through it and this was only the cover, not yet had I even opened the book.

“Lord Kirth, do grimoires typically contain magic that is often—unwise to study? That’s what I’ve always heard from adventurers in taverns.”

“I gave you my word that I would give you the tools to make yourself into a wizard unlike no other,” he explained. “It is indeed ripe with knowledge many consider to be forbidden—but you are Telvanni, not a meek neophyte.”

“You call me ‘Telvanni’, but what does that word even mean?”

“It means you recognize that you have the right to take what you want, because you have power. The Telvanni Way of Life is focused on power. If you have more than someone, you have the right to take from them or even kill them.”

I looked down to the Grimoire and smiled. “When may I begin my studies, Lord Kirth?”

“Immediately. You are welcome to study as long as you wish and to do as you wish—as long as your tasks are completed.”

“When will I be given tasks?”

“When I need something to be done and feel it would be most beneficial to use you, rather than one of my other servants.”

“I understand,” I said as I walked away. As I was walking away, the only thing on my mind was the thoughts of finally getting to read the contents of this spellbook. Somehow, I found my way back to my quarters.

Thanryn looked up at me, but said nothing and I simply planted myself on my bed. My legs were criss-cross as I sat down and I opened the book to the first page. I saw someone suddenly appear standing in front of me. The ghostly figure standing near me was dressed in robes as black as night and not a single inch of his body was visible beneath the clothing.

In a startled fright, I jumped back away from him. Then his head moved to look at me—I think. I could not see his eyes beneath the black veil he wore. “You have summoned me?” his hoarse voice managed to say. “Who are you?”

Through him, I saw Thanryn preparing to impale the specter. And then I watched as it extended its open palm to him and I saw him collapse in his footsteps. “Do not test your strength against me,” the Apparition stated when it looked back to him. “You will stay down until I am done speaking to her. When I am done, you may have control of your body back.”

Fear circulated through my body. I was barely able to speak, “I-I-I am M-Minx. Wh-who are you?”

“I am Seryn Tamarion.”

“W-why are you here?”

“I am the sworn guardian of the magic within the Grimoire.”

“Why would a spellbook need a guardian?”

“There are things that I inscribed within that need to be watched. That I need to ensure do not fall into the
wrong hands.”

Thanryn struggled to speak with his locked teeth, “Define the wrong hands.”

The Apparition looked down at him and said, “The magic within the Grimoire is not to be taken lightly—I am not going to allow that magic to fall into the hands of a power-hungry fool.”

His faceless gaze moved from him to me. “I will allow you to study, but you will do it under my tutelage. Are we clear?” His hoarse voice gained a sense of authority as well—why did so many people take tones of authority with me?

“I understand, Seryn,” I muttered. In all the confusion, I had not even had the chance to even take a glimpse of the page below. The parchment was pristine save for the writing on it. Written in the very center in a deep-red ink were the words, “Magic opens all doors, even those we wish to keep closed.” Was this a warning
to readers or was Seryn trying to say something else? I looked up to him and he merely turned the page.

On the next page was something that seemed to take up two pages. The illustration in the center of the two pages was that of a violet flame and it was an illustration that came to life. “Wh-what is this?” I asked, appalled that the picture had become real just above the book.

“Touch it,” Tamarion ordered. “Experience the spell so that you may truly understand what it is capable of. The spells you experience will not kill you due to the wards inscribed within the Grimoire.”

“Touch the fire? Are you kidding?”

He simply shook his head and pointed his finger to the fire. Nervously, I dipped the tip of my finger into the magical flame. That was when I was engulfed in something far worse than I had ever imagined. Every fiber of my being felt as if it were being heated in the forges of the Dead Lands. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

Then the pain stopped, but the memory was enough to keep my body on edge. “W-what was that?”

“That was a mere glimpse of the power of magic. That was not the first spell you will learn, but you now know why I protect the magic within so fiercely.”

“What was the name of that spell?”

“Mindfire. The spell itself is not lethal. It is the shock from the spell that kills.”

“So you’re telling me that entire spell operates under the illusion of pain? Just an illusion—nothing really happened?”

“Exactly. You were forced to imagine and feel as if every part of your body was being heated to temperatures that would melt the strongest steels instantly.”

That’s inhumane,” Thanryn barked. Apparently at some point he had been released, but I was so fascinated by the Grimoire that I didn’t even notice. I could see the disgust in his eyes when he looked at Tamarion.

“Mindfire is quick, efficient and subtle,” the Specter rebutted. “Running a sword through someone—they may bleed out for even hours. At least with Mindfire, I have no fear of them languishing in pain—not that I ever did in the first place.” If it weren’t for his aloof tone, I would have predicted a smirk under his veil.

Thanryn simply glared and began sharpening a dagger. Then the Specter turned the page and on a single page was the drawing of a bright-orange orb surrounded by matching flames. Like the previous spell—it came to life before me. “This is a fireball spell, right?”

“It is flare, one of the most basic destruction spells to learn.” He motioned for me to touch the flame and I couldn’t. Not after the Mindfire. While the agony was only a memory—it was so recent that it felt as if it was just waiting to debilitate me again.

“Flare is much less painful than Mindfire and less effective—but it is fundamental to learning more about Destruction Magic.”

I shook my head, “No—no…it’s not worth it. No more pain.” The Specter grabbed my hand and in the corner of my eye, I saw Thanryn charge again. And once again, he collapsed in his path.

“Continue with your antics, Warrior,” Seryn threatened. “And I’ll use Mindfire on you.”

The Buoyant Armiger replied through locked teeth yet again, “Have you no honor? Bullying a child into playing your games?”

With a sigh, I pulled my hand away from Tamarion’s grip and shoved it into the flame—if only to stop their fighting. That’s when I felt the force of a hardy punch to my chest, followed by blistering heat. “Son of an N’wah!” I swore. The ball of fire hurt, but it pulled my mind away from my memories of the spell before it.

“That spell is to merely wet your tongue to Destruction Magic.”

“Wet my tongue? It’s repulsing to feel how much it hurts,” I growled as I rubbed where I had been burned. There were no blisters—but the pain still lasted. What was the point of the lasting pain?

“The path you’re walking will bring you a great many foes—you’ll need to learn how to kill them. Flare’s one of the most basic spells.”

Before I could respond, he placed his finger on the deep-red words written around the image. The image had died back down. “Mico de Ignis” was written around the image in Daedric. “Is that the phrase—for the spell?”

“Say the words.”

“Mico de Ignis,” I said slowly. I wanted to see it happen, but I was afraid. I didn’t want to damage the room—lest I gain the wrath of Kirth or hurt Thanryn.

“You must speak them with desire to see it happen,” Broodikus intruded. “Imagine the spell as the only thing that matters—the difference between life and death.” Apparently he had been released again, because he managed to speak freely and he was standing.

This time, I imagined I was casting it at Bray-Hul. “Mico de Ignis,” I shouted with my palms outstretched. To my surprise, I saw a ball of flame appear in front of my palms and launch forward. Reactively, Seryn created a ward in front of my spell. The invisible, cyan-outlined oval consumed the little orb of flame.

“How did you do that, Seryn?” I asked with a look of surprise. I knew he was a far more experienced practitioner of magic than me, but he didn’t even speak any words. I thought that was a universal trait of spell-casters.

“When one has spent centuries studying the Arcane,” he muttered apathetically. “You learn how to cast spells in ways that are easier and less taxing. Wards are very simple spells—you simply create a vacuum of magic.”
“What do you mean—a vacuum of magic?”

“You siphon the magic out of an area and then return it in a ‘pocket’-fashion as I did. It’ll absorb what enters and what enters will disperse harmlessly.”

I didn’t entirely understand how it worked, but I just nodded. I knew if I continued to speak on the matter, he’d likely make me experience what it’s like to be in one of these pockets. And if it was anything like Mindfire or Flare, I wanted nothing to do with it.

He looked down and on the page to the right of Flare appeared a spell. But the parchment had been blank. What just happened? Suddenly there was an illustration of a soft, blue flash and around it were the words written in Daedric: “Restoratio Labecula”. Why was the wording to magic so strange?

And like all the other spells, the illustration came to life. A dim, blue orb appeared above the pages. “Touch it—unlike the others, this will not hurt.” I still didn’t want to touch it. He said flare didn’t hurt too much. At least not in comparison to the other spell, but being burnt with blistering wasn’t exactly comforting.

I struggled to touch the lively illustration. But when I did, it felt strange. Not in a bad way, but I felt a warmth all around me. It was a soft warmth, but everything did seem better. Was this Restoration Magic? If it was—why didn’t more people practice it?

Then the warmth disappeared. “What was that?”

Seryn tried to speak, but was quickly interrupted by Thanryn. “That was a restoration spell—a very minor one, typically taught to laymen in the Temple.” That was the Art of a Healer? What was the point of Destruction Magic if we could just be peaceful?

“Why do we practice Destruction Magic?”

“Because this world is made of two kinds of people,” Broodikus bitterly grumbled. “Monsters and then the rest of us are who compose the world. We need a way to fight them; that is our way.”

“What do you mean monsters?”

“The scum of the world are monsters. A great example would be Lord Kirth.”

“Why do you call him a monster?”

“I’ve seen the things he’s done. The people he’s killed—he’s one of the truest kinds of monsters. He is the kind that truly doesn’t care who he harms; he just cares for himself.”

Maybe he was right. Four people did die for the “privilege” to be his apprentice. But did that mean he was a monster or did it mean he was something else? Was it for a cause or just his own lust for power? And was I becoming more like him with my lust to study the Grimoire?

The Specter looked to Thanryn, “Wound yourself or her. She needs to have a subject to test her healing capabilities on.”

The Buoyant Armiger scowled, but he was obedient. He slid off his left gauntlet and once again cut his hand in a diagonal slash. It was quick and efficient, but also somewhat deep. “Speak the words, Pupil.”

I concentrated and imagined the wound being much more dire than it was. As if Thanryn’s life hung by a thread, by my success or failure. Then I uttered the words, “Restoratio Labecula.” What I saw was not what I had hoped for. His hand was still bleeding and he only looked up at me with a warm smile, a smile that said: “You did your best, it’ll be alright.”

“Try again, but rest your hand on his wound,” the Specter ordered. “The magic will be less likely to disperse if closer to its destination.”

I took a step towards Thanryn and he softly smiled as he extended his hand. I felt the crevice carved in his hand was slowly pouring blood onto my hand when I grabbed it. The warmth of his blood covered my palms and then I uttered the words, “Restoratio Labecula.” I felt the crevice in his hand pull itself closed; I couldn’t help but grin at my progress.

“Well done, Minx,” Broodikus nodded. He grabbed a rag and rubbed the blood off his hand and slid the gauntlet back on. His eyes averted from the gauntlet up to Seryn and I could tell he was trying to predict the Specter’s next actions. What he did surprised me; he slammed the book shut and handed it to me.
“Are we done with our studies?”

“For now—you need rest. Your body will be physically drained from the magic once the adrenaline wears off.”
“Why would my body be drained?”

“You’ve just begun the path of the Magi. As you grow in power, your body will be able to sustain greater channeling of magic.”

“Why wouldn’t it be able to handle it now?”

“The holes to Aetherius allow us to cast spells—your body has never used what has soaked in. As you use it more and more, you’ll be able to take in more.”

“What’s Aetherius?”

“In due time, you will learn child. Now rest.”

I obediently went to my bed, but I didn’t want to quit learning. That was so fascinating and these were just my first footsteps into this world. With enough time, I believed actually understand why magic works as it does. My eyelids fell down, regardless of how much I wanted to fight sleep.

I found myself sitting in a dark room with my legs criss-cross. The weight of cold, steel shackles binding my wrists kept me confined to the stone beneath me. “Where am I?” I shouted into the blackness. “And what am I doing here?”

“You are exactly where you need to be, Young Magi,” a deep, grandfatherly voice said. “I have come to ask why you are in possession of the Grimoire.” The voice seemed to originate from all around me, but how was that possible? And no matter where I looked—I just saw blackness. It was as if I had gone blind or if this place was completely void of light.

“The Grimoire holds the secrets of magic and I wish to learn them.”

“Very well, Young Magi—but do know that I will be watching.”

“Who are you, Strange Watcher?”

I sat there for what felt like hours waiting for a response. There was no sound—only a deathly silence. I was left there waiting—hoping he’d at least acknowledge what I had said. Or at the very least confirm that he was still there. But I got no such assurance—I was simply left chained to a stone floor in a place where I could see nothing. What was going to become of me was a question I desperately wished to know the answer to, but only time would tell.

I absolutely love this opening line! Powerful entry into the chapter!



Great descriptions and details!



This whole paragraph is a testament to your ability, Zalphon. Awesome write!

This chapter was huge, way too big to be reading in one sitting (free time available/eye strain). The content and writing is some of the best you've ever done though. Excellent Write, Zalphon! You are acing this story big time!


*

Well done matey!!...

I have read all of this story even though I was a bad man for not telling you so... ...

This last chapter though was brilliant...Amazing stuff...

Definately loved the Mindfire spell...Clever that...Loved all of the magic talk...Brilliantly worked out...Excellent stuff...Loved the Grimoire Guardian...He was cool!... ...

Oh, I loved that bit in the earlier chapter when Tharynn was more worried about Minx than the great big hole in his leg... ...Wonderful!...

Being Morrowind based, it really does have a different feel to some of the others about...What's a Buoyant Arminger btw?...Definately going to keep up with this...

Brilliant stuff matey!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Just read through this and I really must say that, so far, this is very good indeed. It's dark, violent and wonderfully nasty, and you've already managed to populate it with some very intriguing characters so far with Minx, Thanryn, Kirth and this mysterious ghostly tutor, a character who is, I suspect, perhaps not simply a villain as one might initially suspect. Not only this, but the overall 'Morrowind' feel needed for a story set in Vvardenfel has been captured perfectly so far. It is most, most excellent indeed, and I'm looking forwards to seeing more.

Chapter Three: The Telvanni Way

With each breath, I felt the burn of the icy air against my throat and in my lungs. I had been abandoned here by whatever entity brought me here. Either it had lost interest or it had what it wanted. Despite the discomfort of breathing, I eventually drifted to sleep.

It was right then that I stirred into the world of consciousness. It wasn’t the dark room, though. It was the bed that I had fallen asleep in, the one in Lord Kirth’s tower. Had it all been just a dream? Was it even possible for dreams to be so vivid—so real?

I sat up in the bed to see the Specter patiently staring at the Grimoire. “My pupil?” he asked as his faceless gaze moved to me. “Are you prepared to learn more?” He knew the answer and so did I. Ever since I had first touched the Grimoire, I didn’t want to stop learning.

“Of course, Seryn,” I said eagerly. In the corner, Thanryn was watching as he repeatedly struck his sword with his whetstone. His eyes told that something was bothering him, but I was afraid to ask. He distrusted the Specter.

When Seryn opened the book, it was to the same page that Mindfire had been on before. In place of the violet flame was something different. In the place of the violet flame hovered an ice sculpture of a hand. The palm was open and the fingers slightly curled as if it were reaching for something.

Knowing what he would say, I instinctively touched the hand. The icy touch against my chest stole my breath. My attempt to take a breath was denied by my lungs as they constricted tightly. I finally managed to take another breath after what felt like an eternity. “W-what was that?” I coughed.

“Frostbite. Your hands become colder than any winter you’ve experienced and you touch them to your adversary,” he explained. “Then you watch as their muscles tighten and they struggle to move.” He showed no remorse for the pain that it caused me. Why did I expect him to?

The words written around the illustration were: “Tangere ec Heims”. I closed my eyes and imagined what it was like before. The anger when I felt the punishing blow of a fist to my kidneys. Under my breath, I growled the words and touched the Specter’s gloved hand.

Before Seryn could react, the world around me changed. The beds, nightstands and chairs changed into bookcases lining the walls and Lord Kirth sitting at his exquisitely detailed, ebony desk. The strange, orange-skinned humanoid was holding up what appeared to be a rather heavy tome for Sarthon. Beads of sweat were forming on the humanoid’s brow as it struggled to hold the tome with its wiry arms.

“You’re to go to Ansurbas,” he ordered without his eyes moving from the tome. “It is there that you are to retrieve the Skull of Nelos Lethan.”

I reflexively took a step back. The thought of retrieving someone’s skull made me think I might have to take a life and I didn’t want to—not after what happened with the Altmer girl. “Who is this Nelos?”

“If I deemed it important to the success of your task, I would tell you. Alert your comrades, you have an hour’s time before I send you.” The tone of his voice was sharp. And as I turned around, I heard a loud thud.

“Apprentice, one final thing.”

“Yes, Master?” I asked as I turned around. The small humanoid had dropped the large tome and I could see the fear in his eyes. Those beady, black eyes showed that he knew something horrible was coming.

“Kill this scamp,” he ordered. “He has failed me.”

Just as I opened my mouth to protest, he interrupted, “Death will befall the Scamp or it will befall Thanryn.” The creature looked towards me and whimpered. My heart pounded against my chest with each step as I closed the gap between us. He knew his fate was coming.

When I got within range to freeze the life out of him, he pounced on me and began clawing at my chest. My robes ripped open from his sharp claws and I felt the rip of my flesh. “I’ll kill you,” I screamed in its face. “Tangere ec Heims!” My hand had a bright blue glow for a moment as I grabbed the Scamp’s throat.

The creature grabbed at its own throat and then just fell off of me. His eyes lost their vibrancy and instead took on a more glassy appearance. One that showed the life behind the eyes was gone. “I see you’re adapting to the Telvanni way of life well.”

“What do you mean?” I replied as I stood up. My eyes never moved from the corpse. I was ready to unleash a flurry of spells if it moved, but it didn’t. This time, I didn’t feel the same guilt. It just felt—normal. It felt like something I was supposed to do. In a twisted sort of way, it felt right.

“You chose to take the Scamp’s life as opposed to me taking Thanryn’s. You are beginning to understand that it is your right to choose who lives and who dies.” It took me a moment to understand what he was saying, but he was right. It had been less than a week since I earned the title of Telvanni, but I was already growing to be a fine member of the House. The thought should’ve been repulsing to be like Kirth, but it was comforting. It was good to know that I held such power.

I walked out without another word. My mind was in multiple places at once. Most importantly was Ansurbas, but also how quickly I had come to embrace this new life. Was this who I was becoming? And more importantly, was it a bad thing to embrace the Telvanni lifestyle so quickly?

Eventually, I found my way to my quarters again. Kneeling in the corner was Thanryn, holding the rosary in his fingers and whispering prayers to Vivec. Seryn looked up at me, “You extinguished a life?” In the corner of my eye, I noticed the Buoyant Armiger’s head dart up to me.

“It was the Scamp or Thanryn. I made the right choice.”

The Dunmer said nothing, but his eyes didn’t move from me. “I’m leaving for Ansurbas within an hour’s time,” I continued. “Lord Kirth seeks something and I am being sent to retrieve it.” Seryn and I turned around to watch Thanryn.

We watched as he placed the helmet onto his head. He looked around the room through the dark-glass goggles and nodded. Thanryn looked like an adventurer—no, a hero. The sword and dagger at his side and the chitin armor truly made him look like the archetypal hero that every Dunmeri child dreams of becoming.

Time seemed to pass slowly after that. I gently set the Grimoire into my knapsack and the three of us just sat there. We simply sat in silence for several minutes until I asked a question that randomly appeared in my mind. “Do you have any family, Thanryn?”

I didn’t need to see his face to tell there was a pained look. His head fell to the ground and he glumly replied, “A son.” His voice was wrought with remorse and that only amplified my curiosity. Had something happened to him?

“What’s his name? And is he okay?”

“Zalphon is his name and yes. He’s under the watchful eye of my best friend. They live out in Balmora.”

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

Seryn set a ghostly hand on my shoulder, but Thanryn just shook his head. “It is fine, Tamarion. She’s just curious.” The Specter lifted his hand and stared over towards Broodikus.

“I had to make sacrifices,” Thanryn muttered. “I was a Buoyant Armiger—I couldn’t betray my oaths, no matter how much I wanted to. When I was exiled, he had lived his whole life without knowing me—it wouldn’t have been right to just walk in.” His voice was pained, so I simply remained silent after that. We all remained silent.

Eventually the world seemed to change around us. Instead of fungal walls and beds, we were surrounded by a thin fog. About ten feet in front of us were stone steps covered with moss that descended to a large stone door. “Where are we?” the Buoyant Armiger asked.

I couldn’t respond; I was fascinated by this place. The door seemed to have no way to open, just a single handprint and beneath it: “Loyalty is truest when paid for in blood.” I took a deep breath and went to place my hand in, but it was pulled away.

“No,” Thanryn said as he placed his hand in the hand-print. I expected something to happen to his hand. A spell to be triggered or a knife to pop out, but nothing happened. The only thing that occurred was the door sliding open to reveal a hallway descending further into the ground.

No words were spoken as we walked in. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. The windy hallway eventually led us into a large room, rectangular room. The walls were not stone as the others were; they were a beautiful reddish-black metal. Along the walls were alcoves.

“What is this place?” I asked in awe as I looked around. I looked through the alcoves and they all seemed to have the same thing. In the alcoves were inanimate skeletons dressed in robes. The robes fell into three colors: White, Red and Black. Most of them wore white robes stained with blood, two wore red robes and one wore a black robe. I could only assume the black-robed one was Nelos.

When I got no response, I turned around to see Thanryn. He was standing, completely statuesque. He looked like he had been afflicted with Scrib Poison, but there were no scribs here. We were the only ones here.

Suddenly his body jerked violently and he mumbled, “What—sorry?”

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seemed to be—not entirely with us.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I could tell he wasn’t fine, but I knew that pushing the issue would only irritate him. That wasn’t worth it. I inhaled deeply and looked around the room for anything else of note. The only thing of true note was a platform in the center of the room. It was table-shaped, but it was seamless.

On the platform was a single ruby, but it was the size of my fist and glistened even though this place was quite dim. “Do not touch it,” Thanryn warned. “It’s likely cursed.” I looked at it closer to see the lack of impurities made it look almost like a chunk of red glass.

“What do you mean?”

“Touch it and this may very well be our final resting place.” There was a pained sound in his voice again. I wanted to ask, but it didn’t feel right. I knew he’d snap, because he was already on edge.

Seryn pointed to opening in the alcove opposite of the one we came in through. It led to another hallway, but this one was made of the same metal as this room. Before I started my trek towards the next opening, I grabbed the skull of the black-robed one. “What are you doing?” Thanryn asked.

“Taking something for Lord Kirth—I think this is what he sent me for, but I want to find whatever else I can from here.”

“You can’t defile the dead like that—especially for him,” the Buoyant Armiger shouted at me. “Put the skull down.”

Disobediently, I tucked it into my knapsack. He said through gritted teeth, “Put. It. Down.” Anger was radiating off of him, but he would have to accept it. I was not going to betray Lord Kirth and risk losing the privilege to study from him.

“Don’t make me kill you,” he growled. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t let you defile the dead. I may have wished them ill in life, but everyone deserves to have peace in death.”

Seryn began to speak, but I interrupted. “Don’t threaten me, Thanryn—or I will kill you. And I am not you, my threats are not empty.” His sense of authority over me was going to be broken. He would either learn that I was his equal or this would be his resting place.

“I saved your life, Minx—put the skull down.”

“I’ll end yours—back off.”

He pulled off his helmet and let his hair fall down to his shoulders. I could see in his eyes that he was angry, but in a lesser way—worried. “I can’t let you,” Thanryn stated. “If you choose to walk down this path, then you will walk it alone.”

“Then leave,” I hissed. “I do not need someone who is too foolish to recognize that I am doing what’s best.”

“What’s best? You stand in a Shrine of Molag Bal, defiling bodies of his priests so that you can please Kirth. If you think this is what’s best, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I am Telvanni. He is helping me grow more powerful than I ever would’ve been as a street-urchin.”

“I only met you a few days ago,” he sighed. “I saw you cry when you performed a mercy killing. Now you threaten to kill me where I stand, because I disagree with you. Is this the cost of power?” There were tears welling in his eyes. But why did he care? We had just met a few days ago. Why did it matter who I was?

“Why does it matter what choices I make?”

“Because,” he paused. “You matter because the world doesn’t need more Telvanni—it needs more people who care about one-another.” I watched a tear run down his cheek as he looked down. He moved his hands away from the hilts of the blades.

“Then the world will have to find someone else.” My voice was cold, but I didn’t want to give up my right to power. I wasn’t going to go back to being weak again. I was going to embrace what it meant to be Telvanni—it was my right.

Thanryn looked at me and let his head bob. “Okay, Minx,” he glumly mumbled as his hands moved back to the hilts of the weapons. As he unsheathed the blades, I cocked a brow and pulled out the Grimoire.

I opened it and saw Flare and Frostbite on two pages. “Mico de Ignis,” I shouted with an out-stretched palm. There was loud sound as the ball of flame slammed into his chest—pushing him to the ground.

“You don’t have to die,” I screamed. “Just quit.”

“I can’t,” he growled. “I can’t let you do this.”

I closed the distance and looked down at him. He was struggling to get back to his feet and I gently set my hand on his neck. “Tangere ec Heims,” I mumbled. The Mer fell down and I couldn’t fight the tears that fell down my face. I had frozen the blood in his jugular vein, his death was imminent.

I turned him over and held him in my hands. “I’m sorry,” I tried to say as my tears fell onto his face. The words just wouldn’t come out. And as I looked into his eyes one last time, they showed a sense of sadness. There was not a speck of anger or hatred, just sadness. Then they closed one last time in my arms as he rested on my lap.

“Goodbye, Thanryn Broodikus,” I whispered. “May you find the peace in death that you could not find in life.” For what felt like hours, I just sat there holding him. All I did was stare at his face and think about what I had done and if it was worth it.

@mALX, I'm glad you're enjoying it. There is one problem: I think I'm going to be posting full-length chapters instead of chapter-parts, because I feel a full-length one captures the emotion better.

@McBadgere, I like the concept of magic playing off your own body. I just don't think a fireball has the same feel unless it destroys some body tissue with it (and maybe sends the body into shock from the massive pain hitting all at once).

@ColonelMustard, I am a die-hard Morrowind fan and love it very much. If you've sunk in a few hours and combed the lore enough, it eventually leaves an impact on your writing style. Personally, I see Morrowind as a gritty place (but maybe that's just me).

Um...Okay ...Wasn't expecting that...

...Oh, I liked him...

Hey-ho...

Excellently told tale...

Curious to see where this goes from here... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

The whole beginning sequence of this chapter was stunning! Riveting write! And then this:



WOO HOO !!!! YES !!!!

Absolutely amazing write, I LOVE this story !!! Of all your books, this is my fave so far !!!

Wow, that was quite a remarkable turn of events there! I won't lie, Zalphon, I did not see that one coming and I was genuinely shocked when Minx killed Thanryn. That was a shame, really; I liked Thanryn. Kudos to you as an author for being willing to kill of your characters like that, though; it gives a real sense of threat to the story and I find myself genuinely intrigued to see what happens next and who will actually survive this.

And I never found Morrowind to be a particularly gritty game, if I'm entirely honest. There are some nasty parts to it like the Ministry of Truth and slavery, but otherwise it seems fairly moderate in terms of grittiness, especially compared to some fantasy like Game of Thrones. Still, excellent game nonetheless.

@McBadgere, I did not like seeing him go either--but Minx did it. I blame her...

@mALX, *In a joking tone* You're such a Zal fan-girl, you know that?

@ColonelMustard, On the topic of Thanryn's death, I blame Minx.

@ColonelMustard (continued), *Ponders* You're right on the topic of Morrowind, Morrowind wasn't too gritty *rereads quests on wiki* But I think it's much more interesting if you add a new layer to it.

Chapter Four: Sacrifice

Seryn said nothing as I cradled Thanryn in my arms. His face had a peaceful look on it, but it gave me no comfort. All I could think about was what I had done as I gently traced the crevices in his face with my fingers. At least an hour passed as I sat there.

“Are you okay?” the Specter asked. His voice had a tone of empathy that was atypical of him. We both knew the answer to the question, though. I would survive, because I was strong. And maybe one day I would forgive myself.

I gently pulled Thanryn into one of the alcoves and whispered, “I’ll be back for you—I promise.” It was difficult to turn away from him. It hurt; it felt as if there was a void inside of me. And I knew it wouldn’t go away. With a sigh, I took my first footsteps towards the reddish-black hallway.

With each pace, I had to look back at him. I had to look back to tell myself that he was really gone. To tell myself that he wouldn’t come back, no matter how much I wanted him to. Seryn looked at me and said, “There’s no use dwelling on the past, Minx.”

I didn’t say anything in response to that. My eyes merely looked to the entrance to the hallway opposite of the one we entered in. When I began to walk towards it at a brisk pace, Seryn followed quietly. He showed no signs of difficulty keeping up; I could only guess that was one of the gifts of being undead.

The reddish-black metal was even more detailed here. The other room had simple half-circles and full circles. This hallway was engraved with elegant swirls and within each swirl was another swirl that gave it an almost maze-like appearance. With each step, the swirls on the wall grew larger and more would pour into them.

“It’s a perfect metaphor for their power-hungry views,” Seryn augured. “As one gives more and more to the Lord of Domination, the more and more they become.” That made perfect sense. One could easily be lead to believe they’re becoming more powerful when all they are is a pawn. I still said nothing, but I did push open the door to the next room which was far different than the one before it.

It was a dome-shaped room and in the center was a colossal statue made of the same reddish-black metal. In one of his hands was a mace and in the other was a pair of huge shackles. The engravings were ornate. His ram-like horns twisted out and his tail was lifted in an offensive manner.

“Who built this?” I looked to Seryn curiously.

“This architecture is ancient. It was likely priests from a time long before either of ours and I have been dead for nearly millennia.”

I said no words as I looked around the room. Around the statue were much smaller statues of large men with the heads of crocodiles. They were not made of metal like the room and the Statue of Molag Bal. Their skin appeared to be made of a grey stone dotted with black specks.

“What are these things?” I asked in awe as I stared at one. The statues were almost all identical save for a small variance in height between each of them. They all stood in the same pose—their arms extended as if they were about to rip something apart with their claw-like nails.

“Each one is a Daedroth,” he explained. “The Daedroth are a very dangerous type of Daedra and luckily they are not alive. If they were, I do not think even I could handle all of them.”

I heard a heavy breathing as I examined one and right behind me, I saw one of them move. It’s claws did not reach for me, but it watched me with the beady, crocodilian eyes. “Who are you to intrude upon my father’s shrine?” it asked with a deep voice which was thick with an accent I had never heard before.

I could feel time slow down around me as my heart raced. I felt the thud against my chest with each beat. “I am Minx,” I said with a shaky voice. No matter how hard I tried to muster my confidence, this thing seemed to radiate an aura of fear.

“I am Krokal Bal, the eldest of the children residing here. How much do you value your life, Mortal?”

“Qu-quite a lot,” I stuttered. “I-I’ve grown quite at-attached to it.”

“The priesthood is dead—as they were when we entered this slumber. You are to bring forth a new child to hear the words of Lord Bal.”

My mind couldn’t make sense of the situation at hand. What was I going to do? Bring someone to suffer at the hands of the King of Rape in my place? Or would I just accept my fate. “She will return within a week’s time with a new priest,” Seryn said on my behalf.

“If she does not return with a new priest, I will awaken my siblings and we will find her. And we will wring her pathetic mortal body until there is not a drop of blood left.”

I gulped at the thought of these things doing such an act. And they had the physical strength to; it was quite obvious when one looked upon their muscled bodies that they could easily do it. Would that be my fate if I did not condemn another to serve under Bal’s thumb?

Seryn nodded and we walked back. “We need to leave,” he muttered to me. “Handle Thanryn and then we return to Tel Kirth.”

After we walked out of the Shrine Room and the hallway connected to it, I dragged Thanryn up the steps back out into the fog. The Mer was quite heavy; he was far heavier than I expected him to be. He must have weighed at least two-hundred pounds with all of his armor and weaponry.

Seryn shook his head and touched Thanryn. It was right then that he felt as light as a feather. In a few moments, the corpse was up the steps and onto the moist dirt outside of Ansurbas. “I’d like to speak to him,” I looked to Seryn. “Privately.”

The Specter disappeared when I finished my sentence. It was just Thanryn and me. I knelt beside him and grabbed his chitin-covered hand. “I’m sorry, Thanryn. I was afraid—I was afraid of what was going to happen and I reacted without thinking.”

For a few moments, I looked down at him and still expected to hear a response. Something along the lines of: “its okay, Minx. You didn’t mean to.” But then reality came crashing down and I realized it wouldn’t come. It wasn’t okay.

“What happened in there,” I continued with tears welling in my eyes. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Thanryn. I wish I could just…change it, but I can’t.” As I finished that last word, I felt the familiar heat of a tear running down my face. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my robes and gently kissed his forehead.

With tears running down my face, I reached down and pulled the Rosary from off his neck. Gently, I dragged him into the water and watched him sink. “Good bye,” I tried to say. The words were in my mouth, but they wouldn’t leave. I wanted them to, but they just wouldn’t.

Then the world around me changed again. The strange land around me was transmogrified into the familiar setting of my quarters. Seryn was standing in a corner looking at me as I held the Rosary. Before he could say anything, I put it around my neck and slid the face into my robes.

“Why did you take the Rosary?” the Specter asked inquisitively.

I didn’t say anything, but I just looked at him and he did not continue to probe. It was all I had left of Thanryn and I wouldn’t let him leave completely. I needed something to remember him by, if only for those time when my life would be darkest.

“I don’t want to corrupt an innocent for Molag Bal,” I stated. “It’s not what Thanryn would have wanted.”

“We’re not going to. We leave this place tonight at midnight and we will become nomads.”

“But…I have so much I can learn from Lord Kirth.”

“I am not asking, Pupil. The Daedroth will hunt us down, but if we can stay ahead of their tracks for long enough—we may eventually be able to fight them.”

“You think it’s possible, Seryn?”

“Yes, but we will need to leave soon. I will be residing within the Grimoire when we enter towns and you will go by false names.”

“Is this really going to be our life?”

“Until Krokal and his siblings are dead,” he responded. “We will be without roots.”

I slowly nodded my head. If that was what we had to do to survive, that was what we would do. My hands dug around in my knapsack looking for the skull. When it was within my grasp, I walked towards Lord Kirth’s quarters to see him with a different scamp. This one was slightly taller and was sitting beside Kirth as he looked at me expectantly.

“You have the skull?”

“Yes, Master,” I held it up for his inspection. “It is the Skull of Nelos, as you requested.”

The skull was jerked from my hand by an invisible force and it hovered towards him. The black lips of his curled into a smile. When he grabbed it in his hands, he carefully placed it on his desk. There was a look of pride in his eyes when he set it down.

“Who is Nelos Lethan?” I asked curiously.

His eyes diverted from the skull up to me. “He was once a member of the Tribunal Temple, now leave me to my research. When I need you, you will be called forth again.” I bowed deeply to show respect and turned around. I doubted he would ever know I had left once I was gone, at least until he needed me and that could’ve been any time.

Seryn stood waiting for me when I returned to my quarters. He said nothing, but when I looked at my robes—I did notice the tear from the scamp’s claws and that they had begun to smell of sweat. “Would you allow me to change?” I asked politely. The Specter let out a quick nod before he vanished.

I pulled the sash off and took the layers of clothing off. As they fell, I felt the chill of this place once-again. It was something I had forgotten about with everything that had transpired. My mind quickly moved to the fact that I needed some clothes and I looked in the dresser. It was definitely bigger on the inside than on the outside and it was lined with all manners of clothing.

Robes, jackets, shirts, skirts, pants, boots and shoes of all colors were within. My fingers rustled through the clothes and I pulled out a pair of leather boots, some loose-fitting, linen pants and a long-sleeved shirt made of the same material. Over the shirt, I pulled on a hooded cloak. All of the clothes shared the same color: Midnight Black.

When I finished dressing myself, I called Seryn back. “I am sorry, Seryn,” I mumbled. “I needed something that would be a bit less obvious about the fact that I am Magi.”

“Concealing your arcane prowess is wise,” he responded. “Mages are typically looked upon with more suspicion than common-folk.”

“How long do you think we’ll be able to stay ahead of Krokal?”

“You know I don’t know the answer to that, Minx. I just know that we need to stay ahead of them and staying here isn’t going to let us do that.” My head bobbed in acknowledgement of what he had said. What were we going to do?

I sat on my bed and waited for the time to pass. No words were spoken between Seryn and me as my mind was left to wander. While I sat there thinking about Thanryn, my fingers slowly found their way around the bi-colored symbol of Vivec on the Rosary. For some reason it made me feel safe.

Eventually the silence was broken by Seryn’s hoarse voice. “Nightfall will be coming soon,” he stated. “Where do you wish to go, Minx?”

“Vvardenfell is my home, Seryn. I don’t know if I want to leave it, but I also don’t know if it’s safe here anymore.”

“We’ll need to operate under secrecy. And we can’t stay in the same place for more than a few days lest the Daedra employ agents to hunt us down.”

“Let’s go,” I said as I looked in my knapsack. I couldn’t pack anything to eat or drink, because there was nothing here to pack. I think Tel Kirth simply provided for my needs, but that was going to change. All I had was the Grimoire in my knapsack and the clothes on my back.

I looked around the room one last time and let out a sigh that was dwelling deep within my chest. It had only been a short time, but I had grown accustomed to my stay here. There was a warm bed waiting at the end of the day and I never suffered from being hungry. It was going to be hard to return to my old, but it was what I had to do.

I pushed open the door and began to walk down the stairs. Seryn followed close behind and eventually we reached the door to this tower. It was the portal from this luxurious life as Lord Kirth’s apprentice to one as a nomadic wizard scrounging to survive. “Is this really right, Tamarion?” I looked back at him.

He just nodded and motioned for me to push the door open. Obediently, I gave it a gentle shove and saw out into the land around Tel Kirth for the first time. We were on the mainland at least, because I didn’t see several isles around us.

I looked up to the sky and let out a gentle sigh; it was a happy sigh. For the first time since I met Lord Kirth, I had the opportunity to look up at the stars. I couldn’t name any of the constellations, but it was nice to think about things bigger than myself. To just stare up and wonder what it’s like.

“Minx, we need to keep moving,” Seryn stated. “We only have a few hours of time before you’ll need rest.” The serious tone of his voice jerked me back to reality. I looked over to him and he was still walking forward at a rather brisk pace.

I hurried to his side and began walking at the same pace as him. “Do you ever look up the stars?” I asked. “I mean, when you were alive.”

The Specter looked over to me and casually bobbed his head. “When I was young, I knew all the constellations and their effects on the mortal form,” he responded. “The way the stars are aligned during one’s birth can have effects on them, but typically they’re very mild.”

My head bobbed. Was it even possible for the stars to have effects on us? And did this mean that I had been in some way changed by the stars? I looked over to Seryn, but I did not say anything. If anything it was just sort of odd to think about how different I might be if I was born on a different night.

Eventually we came upon a worn, dirt road and I looked to Seryn. He said nothing and only stared forward. Something was pressing on his mind and I dared not interrupt him. With our first steps onto the road, I could only think about the long journey in front of us.

Blimey, this is story is unpredictable as hell! I love it!I You managed to orchestrate the entire incident with the Daedroths perfectly, and I'm be intrigued as how their hunt for Mix will clash with the hunt that Kirth will inevitably start. Not to mention the farewell to Thanryn was really a rather moving scene, and masterfully written.

I await the next installment with great eagerness.

Ooooh, niiice!!... ...

This writing is amazing...

A brilliant story, brilliantly done...

Looking forward to seeing what comes next...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

‘I didn’t entirely understand how it worked, but I just nodded. I knew if I continued to speak on the matter, he’d likely make me experience what it’s like to be in one of these pockets. And if it was anything like Mindfire or Flare, I wanted nothing to do with it.’
I can imagine!

Growing into a Telvanni exacts a steep toll it seems as Minx makes her choices and kills her friend.

‘My mind quickly moved to the fact that I needed some clothes and I looked in the dresser. It was definitely bigger on the inside than on the outside and it was lined with all manners of clothing.’
Oooh! I know someone who neeeeds such a magical wardrobe container!

So begins life of the road with a ghost while being hunted by a horde of Daedroth. Minx is an unusual character with many currents running through her.

I was very surprised Minx disposed of Thanryn's body, and how she did it was amazing! One chapter of her life ends and another begins, really interesting! Great Write!!

Edit: Removed--I intend to rewrite this chapter much differently.

Interesting that statement and the fact that he is always a prisoner in shackles when they speak!


Naveth sounds like trouble!

EW! I'd have to wash that key! Great Write !!!

Out of interest, is Naveth a location in the game or is it your own invention? It looks like an interesting place, but I don't think I've ever run across it when I was playing. Then again, I never spent much time exploring the Telvanni parts of Vvardenfel, so that might explain why.

In any case, this is certainly an unneeded delay for Minx considering that she's trying to put as much ground between her and the Shrine of Molag Bal as possible, and I suspect that disentangling herself from the local politics is not going to be as simple a task as simply delivering some spiced Flin. I'll be interested to see how our young mage will get herself out of this mess.

Blimey...Getting stuck in with this questing isn't she?... ...

Runs away from one, only to get stuck in with another...

Brilliant stuff...Loving it...

Teeny Nits...You did that thing with the repeating of the "Each step" sentence at the start...

And...



Yes, you told us a few lines earlier... ...

Otherwise...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

@Malx, Even the guards are trouble...I wouldn't go there.

@Colonel Mustard, It's a creation of my own. Also her reason for going was initially supplies (she's been without food or water since she left Tel Kirth).

@McBadgere, I do believe I over-edited. If I would've left it alone, I think we may've not had the problem with the over-usage.

@Acadian, I'm glad that the spells are being received so well. Also, I'm inclined to agree. If I had a friend like Seryn to give me advice, I'd talk to him before things that are "too good to believe".

Edit: Responded to Acadian

‘He slid his open palm over them and then ink seemed to surface. It was like watching something come to the surface of a lake, but it surfaced on paper.’
Nicely put! In fact I enjoyed your descriptions of the spells as well.

“You’re not armed. Only a fool or a mage doesn’t carry a sword in Naveth.”
Ahah, clever observation!

“What kind of package?” I probed. This was too easy and too good to be true. A thousand drakes for delivering a simple package was hard to believe.’
I bet Minx is right. Talking to her ghostly pal is probably an excellent idea.

*Taps foot impatiently*...

...

I apologize, McBadgere--I've been writing a few pieces outside of my normal genre (Fantasy). I'll get back to this as fast as I can! And if you'd like to see what I've been working on--just ask