Adept's Prelude: Part One, The legend of Astien, the Breton necromancer. Options

[Azagthoth]

After submitting Adept's Descent, I decided to write a prequel to the story, and took more care in writing it. I feel that Descent was too rushed, and I didn't really like it in the end. Now that I actually have time to write, I am going to continue the story of Astien, many years before the events of Descent. And so it begins...

Adept's Prelude: Part One

Chapter One
Bruma, 3E411

The candle flickered as he carefully turned the page of the book. After a few moments, he closed the book and stood up. As he placed the book back on the shelf, the words on the spine of the book glinted in the candlelight: Necromancy Unveiled. The entire book protested against the use of necromancy, and offered several reasons why it was banned in the Mages Guild. However, the book had intrigued him; necromantic magic was very powerful, yet very dangerous.

To the Mages of Bruma, he was nothing but a petty apprentice. They all looked down on him as a fool, and all knew that he could hardly ever cast a spell correctly. One day he would show them. One day, all who lived on Nirn would know his name: Astien. His name would be whispered in fear; all would kneel for mercy before him...one day.

It would be difficult to find any books on necromancy that weren't insulting and protesting against it. Until he found something--or someone--that could teach him the powerful magic of necromancy, he would have to hone his skills as a spell-caster. He decided that tomorrow he would head to the Mages Guild and see if he could find any books or tomes that could help him to improve upon his casting skill. At the moment, he was exhausted from the activities and errands of the day. He blew out the candle and collapsed onto the bed, falling into sleep almost immediately.

* * * * *

The morning began early for Astien. He woke up just as the first light of dawn began to shine over Bruma, and quickly dressed to go to the Mages Guild.

Astien shivered in the cold as he began the short walk to the Guild. As he went onwards, he waved to and greeted the other inhabitants of Bruma; apparently he was not the only one up early today after all. He ignored the pleading beggar asking him for a coin as he finally arrived at the door of the Bruma Mages Guild. He opened the door and walked in, swiftly closing the door behind him.

The warmth of the building comforted him greatly. A female Dark Elf clad in fancy clothing walked up to him and greeted him kindly.

"Is there something specific you are looking for?" she asked, smiling.

"I'm just looking for some general spellbooks," replied Astien. The elf nodded and beckoned for him to follow her down a hallway and into a library.

"Take a look around," she said. "I'm sure you'll find what you need." The Dark Elf left him alone in the library, surrounded by hundreds of books.

Astien didn't know where to begin. He browsed the selections, picking out a few and reading the first few pages. Once he had all the books he needed, he stacked them on top of each other and carried them to the desk. He stumbled and nearly dropped them as he struggled to bring them to the Dark Elf so he could pay for them and leave.

The elf smiled and told him that he would need one hundred and five septims to pay for the books. Astien's face turned pale and he dug around in his pockets for the money. He pulled out a small handful of septims, but the elf shook her head sadly. It wasn't enough. Astien groaned inwardly. Just as he was about to pick one book out of the stack, a strangely dressed individual shoved him aside with his elbow and made for the door. It was a High Elf clad in black robes and with a wooden staff on his back. He hastily rushed up to the door and tore it open. A dark book engraved with symbols fell out of his cloak and onto the ground with a loud thud as he raced outside and out of sight. The young Imperial wizard who had been chasing him gasped when he saw the book, and staggered backwards.

"Who was that?" asked Astien, shocked by the event he had just witnessed.

"Another one of those damn necromancers," muttered the Imperial. "Just stay away from the book! It could be cursed!" The Imperial pointed an accusing finger at the dark book and took another step backwards.

The Dark Elf could barely speak. Astien finally understood; the book was a necromancer's grimoire, a powerful book of dark magic and knowledge. It was also the exact book he needed.

He forsook the petty Mages Guild spellbooks in favor of the grimoire, and bent down to pick it up. The Imperial yelled out as if he had been struck by lightning.

"Don't touch it!" he shouted. Astien ignored him and picked up the book in his hands. The Dark Elf crashed backwards to the floor, and the Imperial screamed for help. Astien took one of the Mages spellbooks and flung it at the panicking Imperial, knocking him unconscious. The Dark Elf could not find her voice, so Astien left her alone and ran through the door and out into Bruma.

The cold breeze blew into Astien's face, but he ran faster than ever, trying to get back home before any of the Mages could stop him. Once inside his house, he shut the door and locked it securely. Astien sat on his bed, fatigued, and lay the grimoire on his desk.

At last... he thought. I can begin my studies...

This post has been edited by Azagthoth: May 12 2008, 10:24 PM

[Azagthoth]

Chapter Four
Namira’s Shrine, 3E411

Months passed as Astien remained within the sanctuary of Namira’s Shrine. He joined in worship of the Daedric god, and when they weren’t in prayer or reading from the ancient tomes, he would continue to study the dark magic of necromancy. He didn’t care what Selvia thought, or what the Mages Guild thought, or what anybody damn thought for that matter--he was going to study the grimoire, and harness its powers for his own use.

He was nearing the end of the book, but had yet to practice any of the rituals or spells that it taught. If he attempted to practice it here, the worshippers might exile him--and then what would he do?

One day, on a quiet evening of the Last Seed, the eight month in the Tamriellian calendar, Astien sat studying the book and thinking of somewhere where he could quietly perform the spells he thought he knew. Suddenly, a hoarse shout sounded from the east. The thudding of hooves grew nearer—intruders! Astien thought. A large man, who would tower nearly two feet over Astien if they stood side by side, rode into the clearing on a swift black horse.

“Attack!” shouted the man, evidently a bandit or mercenary. They obviously intended to kill them all.

Three other men rode up next to the leader and dismounted abruptly. They drew their swords, maces, and bows and wasted no time in spilling the blood of the worshippers. Astien watched, horrorstruck, as the Dark Elf who had so kindly accepted him was struck down by an iron arrow. Blood poured from the wound in his chest, and gathered in a red pool below the elf, who collapsed into it a second later.

Limbs were severed from their owners, and blood flowed like a river at the shrine, soaking the ground and the pews, and even the idol of Namira itself. Astien shrank back in the shadows, praying that he was spared from the horrible fate his companions had suffered. But who was he praying to? Did he really believe that Namira would save him?

All of a sudden, the mercenaries put away their weapons. The leader spat on the ground.

“Take their belongings and let’s go,” he muttered coldly. He mounted his black horse and waited for his subordinates to gather the ‘treasures’ of the shrine. He saw them pilfer the tomes they had read from so many times, he saw them snatch away candles, and then they went through the pockets of the dead worshippers and took their possessions as well. One of them even tried to take one of the pews, but the leader just looked at him and shook his head.

After all had been taken from the shrine, and Astien left forgotten in the shadows, the bandits rode off through the forests, leaving him alone.

Astien wondered if Namira had truly saved him. Or perhaps it was luck.

Or perhaps it was something else.
The Nine Divines?

Astien screwed up his face. The Nine Divines. He was a necromancer. He had forsaken the Nine Divines, and had no regrets.

But where would he practice? And how? Where could he possibly find a place where he could practice the dark magic that he had spent so long studying?

He eyes scanned the gory scene at the shrine, and a smile spread across his face.