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 XI

Arvas arrived at the castle several minutes after noon. A group of Necromancers were standing underneath the enormous bridge leading to the well guarded castle of Skingrad. He walked up to the shady looking men and asked, “When is the assignment going to take place?” A man wearing green velvet clothing moved towards him.

“Tonight, two hours after midnight. We are going to ambush the Mages’ Guild member over by the sheep pasture. We’ll need all the help we can get if we plan on killing this wizard,” the man said sternly. He walked away and headed up the hill to Castle Skingrad.

Arvas went to an overgrown stump under the shade of the great bridge above him and rested. A Bosmer limped over to him. “Hey! Why aren’t chu wearin’ your robes?” Arvas looked at the Wood Elf and chuckled.

“Why should it matter? The robes only weighed me down; this tunic and mail will do just fine with me,” Arvas shot back. He was still rather upset at the death of his friend. “If you have a problem with it, you can talk to the edge of my blade.” He did not know what had come over him; he felt complete hate for everyone around him. He wanted only to suffice for the death of Belator by taking as many lives as he could.

“There’s no need in jumpin’ down my throat about it, mate,” the Bosmer said. The look on his face told many lies. He was trying to hide his fear of Arvas, but his expressions deceived him. He pulled his hood over his head and limped away.

Arvas pulled Belator’s bones from his bag and placed them on the dirt in front of him. He grabbed the bloody strips of hide and bound the skeleton’s bones together. He tried hard to keep the tears from running down his gaunt face, but they persisted and eventually Arvas let them fall freely.

The other Necromancers didn’t notice what he was doing, as they were all sitting in the center of a copse of redwood trees, drinking away; and the fact that under the bridge was rather dark. He removed his black leather glove and placed it upon Belator’s cracked skull. A wave of black essence flew from his hand and wrapped itself around the lifeless bones. The body began to quake yet again and it slightly rose from the dusty ground. Arvas could feel something creep into his mind; a soul or thought perhaps? He fell backwards and his vision slowly faded.

He awoke several hours later. It was very dark and he could hardly see a few feet in front of him. The others were still in the cluster of trees, talking with one another.

Belator’s body was gone. Arvas stood from his spot under the bridge and strode angrily over to the group of necromancers. “Alright! Which one of you flagons of hist piss took the body?!” They looked at him as though he had gone mad. The Bosmer covered his face as to not look at Arvas’s face.

“We didn’t take your body! From what I can see, it looks like you’ve got it hanging off your Dunmeri bones,” an Imperial answered with a smirk. Arvas whipped his blade from its sheath and stuck it under the man’s neck. The man’s eyes showed fear.

“Tell me now! Give me the body or I’ll rip your damn throat out!” Arvas’s rage pulsed through him. He had been pushed to the brink and he was ready to lash out on the Imperial’s young face.

“Calm down, elf! He’s o-over there!” The man pointed to a bush. “We t-t-tried to reanimate him for…” Arvas strode off to the bush. The body of Belator laid there, arms across his chest; his sword lying next to him. Arvas gathered him up and put him in his bag. He went back to his spot under the bridge, ignoring the looks he received as he stormed past the group of necromancers.

He waited patiently for the ambush to take place…