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 Five
Namira’s Shrine, 3E411

The scene of absolute chaos that had unfolded before his eyes had been like a gift from an unseen deity…watching him, knowing…

He now had a chance to practice the black spells of reanimation, the root of necromancy, the heart of the art itself. The disfigured, blood-soaked corpses of his once-friends became Astien’s experiments.

He first practiced the ritual of recro silenti—recreation of the dead. Having little in the way of strength, Astien struggled to lift the body of the Dark Elf whose blood coated his clothes like a second skin. Finally managing to carry the elf, he stumbled over to an altar formerly used for Daedric rituals, and laid him upon it. Panting, he caught his breath as he turned the worn (and in some places ripped) pages of the necromancer’s grimoire. Soon enough he arrived at the page he had been seeking, and began to collect the materials that the book demanded.

He gathered all of the required herbs from the shrine’s supplies; the bandits hadn’t thought that a bunch of flowers and plants were really worth anything, but some were worth quite a lot indeed.

Once prepared, he stood before the Dark Elf’s corpse, book in hand, and breathed deeply. Then his eyes flickered down to the pages, and for a moment his face was contorted with…regret? But in an instant, the look was gone, and his mouth formed the forbidden words of evil darkness.

A passage of time, an eon to Astien, went by as the ritual continued. As his mouth snapped shut after the last word was recited, his heartbeat rapidly increased as he watched the elf’s corpse intently.

For a few moments, all was silent. Then the elf’s eyes very slowly opened and its mouth opened in a silent scream, an inaudible plead for something that Astien didn’t understand. And suddenly, the revived Dark Elf was standing on the ground, in front of Astien. Its glazed eyes stared past him, and it mouthed words that Astien did not know. It took a step towards him, and Astien took a step away. It progressed further, all the while mouthing the words that he could not hear. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, dripping down his face. What the hell was going on? Then a piercing, bloodcurdling howl erupted in the clearing, sending Astien wincing to the ground in pain. Was it the undead creature that he had created? He covered his ears, but to no avail. That was when he realized that the howling was inside him. He yelled in agony, clutching at his face, wondering what by the Daedric gods is going on?

Astien forced himself to look back at the monster he had formed, and it suddenly began to tear at its own flesh, a torturous form of suicide, and Astien knew that he had not held it under his control as well as he was supposed to. The howling went on, and so did the creature’s ripping of its own flesh. Astien roared with agony, confusion, and repentance, and lashed out at the nearest thing that could be killed. He dismembered several of the creature’s limbs as he blasted it with a bolt of lighting. The charred torso of the elf lay silent on the ground, the howling dissipating, the clearing growing silent.

Then it was all gone. Astien kneeled in the dirt and nearly wept. There was no word that could possibly describe what he felt.

But he knew there was no going back. He was now a necromancer, a wizard of shadows, a cheater of death.

This post has been edited by Azagthoth: Jun 17 2008, 02:36 AM