Necromancer's Dream, A Story of Arvas Options

[Lord Veneficus]

I know, it's short; just bear with me.

Chapter I

Arvas sat in the dim, noisy tavern on the outskirts of the Imperial City. The drunkards stumbled about the room, bumping into tables and spitting curses at the more sober groups of people. Much raucous laughter filled the smoky air as traveling minstrels strummed their lutes and pounded on their drums. The innkeeper was hunched over a dirty glass, proceeding to wipe away the grime caked at the bottom of the mug. He was balding and almost as tall as Arvas; but due to his massive hunch, his head came up to Arvas’s chest. He was slowly swaying back and forth with to the tune of the music.

“Excuse me barkeep, can I have another tankard of beer, please,” Arvas asked, raising his cup up. The barkeep disappeared behind the counter and returned with a somewhat clean mug. He hobbled over to the beer tap and poured Arvas a generous amount. Arvas took the mug and raised it slightly, saying, “Thanks.” He downed the beer in minutes.

His life had recently taken a downfall. He had to flee Morrowind, as he wanted to free himself from the temple. He didn’t agree with all of their beliefs.

A man had stood up, knocking his chair over in the process. His staff glowed with bright blue magicka. No one seemed to care as he screamed into the face of a rather bulky man, who was unfazed by the dark-robed mage in his face. He rather stared off into space. “I…I could… kill ye righ’ now if ye wanted me too, Bjorn.” He stuttered as he wobbled to the door. Arvas stood from the creaky old stool and began for the door. The innkeeper looked at him and said, “Where you goin’ boy? Come pay for this.” He shook the empty mug at him. Arvas sprinted from the tavern, away from the Imperial City.

He entered the fort that he had cleared out a few days ago. It wasn’t very large because it was only built for a captain and several of his men. The beds were ancient and holes were eaten out of the sheets from the many moths that floated about in the darkness. He slumped down into his bed and attempted to sleep, which proved difficult. He was worried that at any moment someone could come in his small makeshift home and take him back to Vvardenfell.

After two hours of tossing and turning, he finally fell asleep, dreaming of one day becoming the greatest sorcerer of the ages…



This post has been edited by Lord Veneficus: May 13 2008, 01:12 PM

[Lord Veneficus]

Chapter II

Arvas slowly sat up in his moth-eaten bed, looking through the slight darkness that surrounded him; his Dunmer skin was almost invisible, had it not been for the dim candle on the other end of the room. He stood up and walked over to his desk. It was filled with many cramped notes on the many books on the Dark Arts.

He put on his black chain-mail armor, and then placed his bright white tunic over it. It was emblazoned with the silhouette of a wolf, a symbol of his family. He had stolen it from his father before he left Morrowind, as it was to be passed on; but his father was reluctant to give it to him. He tightened his sword belt around his waist and hooked his sheath to it. He then proceeded out of the undersized fort and to the Imperial City.

As he walked past the inn from last night, he half expected the old hunchbacked man to run out and chase after him. But no man left the tavern. The striking bridge leading to the Imperial City had ancient Ayleid runes etched into the walls and arches of it. The ancient stone had been smoothed down over years of feet trampling them. In the distance, Arvas could see the White Gold Tower standing tall into the sunny morning.

At the gate, a guard stepped over to the grand doors leading into the wondrous city and knocked twice. The doors opened to reveal the Talos Plaza District. It was rather deserted, leaving Arvas to assume that the many residents had left for the Market District. Arvas meandered his way to the Market District.

As soon as he entered the market, he saw hundreds of people bustling about. The crowds were unbearable; many of the people cursed at Arvas for being in the way, others shoved him out of the way. Arvas could hear the many merchants yell about their wares and oddities; one was screaming into the crowd about a magical amulet capable of increasing your athletic prowess to superhuman levels. In the dark alleys, there was the constant sight of someone being beaten for their money or the item that they carried. He noticed a small boy, slowly cutting the purses from nobles’ belts; he chuckled and continued on his way. Arvas entered a staves shop in search of something new to add to his collection of stolen goods.

The room was brightly lit and the walls were lined with colorful Mages’ Guild recruitment posters. A small Bosmer man stood at the counter, eyeing the many mages that hovered about, looking for robes and magical enchantments. Along the walls, there were display cases full of rare books and ancient articles of clothing. The Bosmer man looked at him and asked, “Is there something I can help you with?” Arvas shook his head and looked filed through the bookshelves. After several minutes of searching, Arvas found nothing of interest and headed out of the tiny shop.

Arvas strolled along the sidewalk, when he heard a voice whisper in his ear. “Hey! Come ‘ere!” he said. Arvas turned his head in the direction of an alley and a long white finger appeared out of the darkness, gesturing for him to come. He ever so slowly stepped into the narrow alleyway. The scraggly disembodied voice called out. “ ‘Ow would you like to purchase a Black Soul Gem? It allows you to trap the souls of somethin’ far stronger than any regular beastie; a human soul. If you buy it, I’ll give you a letter that gives you access to a secret meeting for more of these wonderful stones of power.” Arvas thought of the offer for a moment and asked, “How much?”

“Only one hundred septims, mate,” he answered.

“I’ll take it along with that note,” Arvas said as he pulled his purse from the folds of his tunic and counted up a hundred septims. He handed the man the gold and in return, the man handed him the gem and the sealed letter. It felt cold to the touch and seemed as if it emanated an evil aura. It excited Arvas to have it in his possession. The letter was sealed with jet black wax and the symbol of a skull and two skeletal arms protruded from the dark wax. He opened it and it read:

Hello friend,

You have been chosen to participate in a meeting of sorts. Come to the ancient Ayleid ruin of Vilverin at midnight tonight if you wish to learn more; it is on the island east of the Imperial City. See you there.

Worm Anchorite
Ralvel Redoran