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 XII

It was two in the morning; the sky was pitch black, save for a few lone stars floating in the abysmal night. The smell of fresh Colovian air brought energy back to Arvas, making him more aware of his surroundings. Crickets chirped and the occasional squeak of a rat could be heard in the distance. Arvas was full of sorrow and anger; he was beginning to think that those two emotions would stay permanent in his mind, never leaving nor faltering within him.

The Bosmer hobbled over to him, his wrinkles appeared deeper under what little light there was around them. “It’s time. Come with me, please,” He rasped. Arvas stood up and followed him, cane in hand. The others must’ve already arrived at the pasture as they were not in their usual spot in the copse of redwoods. He and the Bosmer went down a worn path towards the post which marked the beginning of the sheep pasture. They stopped a little ways from the post; no one was there. “Jus’ wait, Mercator will be here with the others in a moment.” Arvas nodded and ducked down behind a shrub.

A familiar figure strode down a cobble-stone path, his hood thrown over his head. He walked over to the post and stopped, looking for the count. Arvas grinned at how ignorant the man was.

Arvas looked to his right and noticed a group of five; four were hooded, the other was at the front of them, wearing no hood. They strode up to the Dunmeri mage and the man at front began to speak, “Hello, mage. You see, I told you a little lie; Count Hassildor will not be meeting you here. Instead, you will not return to the Arcane University, you will perish here tonight. Now!” At that, Arvas and the rest of the men rushed at the mage.

He grabbed Mercator and twisted him around to face the group. His eyes were wide with fear. The mage placed a single finger to the temple of Mercator and muttered a spell; Mercator shouted but was quickly silenced by a thick layer of ice wrapping itself around his head and it continued to the rest of his body. Soon, he was completely rigid; the tiniest of movements could have broken him to pieces. The group of men stood there, shocked at the scene they had just witnessed.

Then, two of the men bounded after the mage. The mage dropped Mercator; in which he shattered. He pulled his dagger from his belt and elbowed the first man in the face; his face gave a sickening crack and he fell to the cold, hard ground. The other man raised his hand and began to shout a spell, but the mage grasped his arm and twisted it behind his back. The mage stuck the edge of his dagger to the throat of the necromancer and plunged it into his flesh. His mouth opened and a sputtering noise sounded from him. Blood began to pour from the poor man’s mouth as he fell to the ground as well.

There were only four of the men left; each of their hearts could be heard in the quiet. Arvas charged at the mage, hoping he would not meet the same fate as the others. He reached the mage only to receive a paralysis spell flung upon him; he fell to the ground, his limbs incapable of moving. His heart began to pound ever harder, fearing that he would have no way of defending himself as he died.

The other men charged at the mage, but were cut down from another source. Arvas could hear fire fly above him and then he could smell burning flesh. Soon, the fighting stopped and all was quiet again. A voice rang out, breaking the solemn silence. “You impossible fool! What made you even begin to think that I would set up a meeting here of all places?!” It was the count.

“I was sent to get a book! I had no idea that I was to be ambushed!” The mage shouted.

“No, there is no book for you to retrieve. I am assuming that you were sent here to see if I was connected to the Necromancers. Well, quite obviously, I am not. So go back to your superiors and tell them what just happened. I must go,” He said roughly as he walked away.

The sound of footsteps could heard coming closer and Arvas could see the Dunmeri mage lean over and whisper in his ear, “You are lucky, Arvas. Tell your leader what happened tonight.” He stood from his crouched position and left. A heavy weight had been lifted from Arvas’s frightened body. Arvas soon found himself dozing off into the chilly night…