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]

I have left the telepathic communications between Belator and Arvas un-italicized. Just remember that when they talk, they are holding a telepathic conversation, not one out loud.

Chapter VIII

“It was one man, sir. He killed everyone and I was lucky to hide before he burst through the door into the grove. He grabbed a staff and walked out like nothing had happened. He was of the same Dunmer race as I!” Arvas shouted.

“Slow down, Arvas! You have been through a lot today; go get some rest,” Bandir wheezed. He went back to his chair and sat down.

“I can’t and I won’t, Bandir! He killed our brethren and you’re not even going to do anything about it?” Arvas said with rage. He had never seen a leader so reluctant before and it angered him. Bandir just sat in his chair and sipped wine while he read yet another scripture written by Mannimarco.

“You can’t do anything, Arvas, and I cannot tell you what to do. You have risen in rank and you are being moved to another guild hall. The haven you will be traveling to goes by the name of Fort Wendelbek, located directly south of Chorrol. Farewell, my friend,” Bandir said. Arvas nodded and went to gather his things. He put the two pouches of bonemeal into his pocket and strapped his sword to his back.

He and Belator were making their way down the Ayleid stone path to the Red Ring Road. Every so often, Arvas would run across a goblin or wolf, but Belator would quickly dispatch the scrawny creatures. “What books have you read, massster?” Belator asked in the silence.

Arvas looked at him and said, “I’ve read many books, but one of my favorites is the story of Queen Potema, the Wolf Queen. How she turned Emperor Pelagius into a madman was very clever indeed; he had absolutely no idea that she had given him such a powerful amulet capable of draining a man’s intelligence and wisdom.”

“I will have to read that one, massster,” Belator replied. Arvas thought he saw a smile on Belator’s face, but quickly shook the thought from his head and carried on. “I would do anything to have flessshhh again, milord.”

“You will have skin soon enough, Belator.”

They headed north through the rocky paths to Bruma. They came across a small inn and Arvas told Belator to collapse himself behind it. He entered the bright tavern to see several men up on stage, waving their mugs in the air. They were quite obviously drunk, as their beer was flying all over the room, landing on the several patrons whose tables were closest to the stage, angering them. The men were singing a song that Arvas had never heard before.

“Thar once was hardy young lad of the sea, a Redguard of courage and honor was he. Sail on, my Cyrus, sail on!” They all sang in slurred unison. Arvas chuckled as one slipped and fell on the hard stone floor, knocking over several tables in the process. He stood and not a single drop of beer had fell out of his outstretched mug, but he had a nasty nose bleed. He simply ignored it and stood back on the stage with the rest of the drunkards.

“Give me a goblet of wine, barkeep,” Arvas said. The innkeeper ignored him. “I asked for a goblet of wine, sir!” He was getting frustrated; the barkeeper was staring into space. “SIR!! Answer me, you honoured user.” That set the barkeeper off and he leapt over the counter, tackling Arvas to the ground. “Get off me!”

Everyone had stopped singing and was staring at Arvas and the barkeeper tangled up on the floor, hitting each other in the face with any solid object they could find. Then, a crash resounded in the window at the back of the tavern. Arvas and the barkeep stopped to see what it was; Belator was throwing people to the side as he moved towards the barkeeper, sword drawn. The barkeeper stumbled to his feet and Belator cut the man’s chest diagonally. He backed up and tripped over a stool, cracking his head against the wall.

Arvas shot up and grabbed Belator. They ran from the inn and when they had made it a long way from the tavern, Arvas said, “What were you thinking!? You could have gotten us killed; what if a Mages’ Guild member had been sitting in that tavern?”

“Sssorry, massster. I wasss only doing what I wasss sssupposssed to do,” Belator said with the utmost solemness.

“C’mon. We’ll talk about this later,” Arvas bellowed as they ran down the compacted dirt path north.