Evolution, A TES Fan-Fiction Options

[Zalphon]

Prologue

3E 422

My eyes slowly opened to reveal bookcases lined with books, ingredients and trophies. I had fallen asleep in the Common House in the Wolverine Hall. This wasn’t that—it was something entirely different. The fungal walls were lined with book cases holding books, various alchemical substances and trophies.

I slowly forced myself into a standing position. The cold air hit me as soon as I managed to stand. The icy chill only bit into specific parts—it was as if invisible tendrils had a tightening grip on my body. The tendrils felt much more real when I tried to move my arms. They were completely immobilized by this abnormal cold.

A Dunmer garbed in flowing, ebon robes materialized out of thin air. Four others instantly appeared as well. The Dunmer stated with his raspy voice, “I am Lord Sarthon Kirth and you are in Tel Kirth.” My eyes widened slightly—Tel designated that I was in a Telvanni Tower.

“Bray-Hul demands to know why she is away from her master,” the Argonian questioned. My eyes took a quick glance to notice Bray-Hul was a relatively thin. Her tattered shirt hung off her as if she was only a skeleton and her pants were almost as loose.

“If I may explain,” Kirth responded. “You five are people no one will miss. You’re slaves, outlaws and paupers. This is why you have all been blessed with an opportunity to become Telvanni Wizards.”

The Nord to my right was a young man with shoulder-length blonde hair. He was breathing heavily and his face was flushed. “You damn dark elves are cowards,” the man blurted. “I’ll snap your spine like a skeever.” Sarthon shook his head and extended his open hand. He whispered something and out of his hand shot a bright chartreuse orb that slammed into the young man.

The Nord’s screams were sharp. I watched as the orb burrowed into his chest, dissolving his body as it went. As the screams continued, we all stood in silence as a puddle of viscera slowly formed at his feet. His entire body was eventually liquefied by the spell and then it just—disappeared.

“I do not appreciate threats,” the Wizard continued emotionlessly. “And you all need to learn the rules of what is going to occur over the next twenty-four hours. You’re going to be sent to the Canals beneath Vivec where you four will either kill each other or all die.”

“What—what are you talking about?” the Altmer Girl to my left said. “We…have to kill…each other?” Her voice was cracking as she struggled to say the words.

“You will all wear chokers. They are linked by your life force; if even two of you still live after twenty-four hours, then you’ll all be killed. If only one survives, you’ll be teleported back here and will gain the privilege of studying magic under me.”

What was the point of this game? What was he gaining out of this other than several corpses in the canals beneath Vivec? The Dunmer muttered under his breath and a black-metal collar appeared around my throat. One appeared around all of our throats. What was this thing?

There was a blinding flash of light and when I could see again, the world around me had changed. The bookshelves and walls had changed to a gargantuan metal pipe. In the center was a river slowly moving to its destination. Rats scurried around on the metal side-walks of the large pipe.

With a sigh, I knelt down and looked around for a tool to use in this fight. A skeleton with a steel stiletto between its ribs lay there peacefully. Next to it was a half-empty bottle with a label that was so old that it became too faded to read. And beside the bottle was a note that shared the same fate as the label. My hand firmly gripped the blade. The hunt had just began…

[Zalphon]

Chapter Two: The Grimoire of Pure Arcana

As I stirred into the world of the living, my blankets and robes were drenched in sweat. My muscles were so tight that it hurt and my mind was racing. But what I dreamt of that had me so tense? What had created such stress in my mind that I could just forget it?

I looked around the dark room to see Thanryn. But he wasn’t dressed in rags anymore. He was dressed in a suit of armor that I would occasionally see adventurers walk in. The only piece he wasn’t wearing was the helmet, which sat at his side. Chitin was the name of it, I think. In a way, the armor gave him a majestic look. He didn’t look like a street urchin anymore, but a hero like in stories.

He was kneeling peacefully and holding the amulet in his hands. I noticed his lips were moving; I could only assume he was giving prayers to Vivec. My arms pushed the thin sheets away and I sat up, my eyes never moving from him. Eventually he tucked the rosary into the cuirass and pulled a whetstone out of a knapsack. With one hand, he held a short sword and with the other, he sharpened it.

“Thanryn?” I called out as I approached. “Where did you get the armor?” He looked up from the blade and to me. It was a beautiful sword made of bright silver.

His eyes dropped to his weapon. “Lord Kirth agreed that you need protection and allowed me to take from the arsenal of a few dead thieves,” he explained. His tone was not backed by a sense of pride like it usually was. He seemed almost ashamed.

“So…why did you want to meet Lord Kirth?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t,” he snapped. “If I wanted to talk about why, I would probably tell you about it in the first place.” The man looked back down to his sword and started to use the whetstone more rapidly. I could see the frustration in Thanryn’s face as he mercilessly struck the stone against the blade.

It was as I began to walk away that a flash of bright light blinded me and then the world started to change around me. The beds, dressers, basins and nightstands all changed into what appeared to be a study. Lining the walls were bookcases upon bookcases, each filled and not a single duplicate to be found.

“You did not sleep well?” the cold voice of Sarthon asked. He was sitting at a rather exquisite desk with a book that looked to be centuries old in his hands. Beside him was a small, carnelian-orange humanoid with furry legs and long ears.

“N-no,” I shook my head. “I was quite—uneasy due to the dreams.” He gently placed a strand of cloth in the book and looked up at me. His blood-red eyes stared into my soul, or at least it felt that way. As if he was searching for weakness—any reason to just strike me down where I stood.

“That is truly a shame, Pupil. I have your first spellbook for you to study from.” When he lifted his hand as if about to grab a book—one simply appeared in his grasp. It was strange to see magic used in ways other than killing. Why didn’t mages ever use this kind of magic more often?

With slow footsteps, I came closer and grabbed it from him. It was strange to touch the black-leather binding, but in a way it was exhilarating. Emblazoned in the spine were words with a faint, blue glow. They said in the language of the Daedra: “The Grimoire of True Arcana”. I could feel the raw energy rippling through it and this was only the cover, not yet had I even opened the book.

“Lord Kirth, do grimoires typically contain magic that is often—unwise to study? That’s what I’ve always heard from adventurers in taverns.”

“I gave you my word that I would give you the tools to make yourself into a wizard unlike no other,” he explained. “It is indeed ripe with knowledge many consider to be forbidden—but you are Telvanni, not a meek neophyte.”

“You call me ‘Telvanni’, but what does that word even mean?”

“It means you recognize that you have the right to take what you want, because you have power. The Telvanni Way of Life is focused on power. If you have more than someone, you have the right to take from them or even kill them.”

I looked down to the Grimoire and smiled. “When may I begin my studies, Lord Kirth?”

“Immediately. You are welcome to study as long as you wish and to do as you wish—as long as your tasks are completed.”

“When will I be given tasks?”

“When I need something to be done and feel it would be most beneficial to use you, rather than one of my other servants.”

“I understand,” I said as I walked away. As I was walking away, the only thing on my mind was the thoughts of finally getting to read the contents of this spellbook. Somehow, I found my way back to my quarters.

Thanryn looked up at me, but said nothing and I simply planted myself on my bed. My legs were criss-cross as I sat down and I opened the book to the first page. I saw someone suddenly appear standing in front of me. The ghostly figure standing near me was dressed in robes as black as night and not a single inch of his body was visible beneath the clothing.

In a startled fright, I jumped back away from him. Then his head moved to look at me—I think. I could not see his eyes beneath the black veil he wore. “You have summoned me?” his hoarse voice managed to say. “Who are you?”

Through him, I saw Thanryn preparing to impale the specter. And then I watched as it extended its open palm to him and I saw him collapse in his footsteps. “Do not test your strength against me,” the Apparition stated when it looked back to him. “You will stay down until I am done speaking to her. When I am done, you may have control of your body back.”

Fear circulated through my body. I was barely able to speak, “I-I-I am M-Minx. Wh-who are you?”

“I am Seryn Tamarion.”

“W-why are you here?”

“I am the sworn guardian of the magic within the Grimoire.”

“Why would a spellbook need a guardian?”

“There are things that I inscribed within that need to be watched. That I need to ensure do not fall into the
wrong hands.”

Thanryn struggled to speak with his locked teeth, “Define the wrong hands.”

The Apparition looked down at him and said, “The magic within the Grimoire is not to be taken lightly—I am not going to allow that magic to fall into the hands of a power-hungry fool.”

His faceless gaze moved from him to me. “I will allow you to study, but you will do it under my tutelage. Are we clear?” His hoarse voice gained a sense of authority as well—why did so many people take tones of authority with me?

“I understand, Seryn,” I muttered. In all the confusion, I had not even had the chance to even take a glimpse of the page below. The parchment was pristine save for the writing on it. Written in the very center in a deep-red ink were the words, “Magic opens all doors, even those we wish to keep closed.” Was this a warning
to readers or was Seryn trying to say something else? I looked up to him and he merely turned the page.

On the next page was something that seemed to take up two pages. The illustration in the center of the two pages was that of a violet flame and it was an illustration that came to life. “Wh-what is this?” I asked, appalled that the picture had become real just above the book.

“Touch it,” Tamarion ordered. “Experience the spell so that you may truly understand what it is capable of. The spells you experience will not kill you due to the wards inscribed within the Grimoire.”

“Touch the fire? Are you kidding?”

He simply shook his head and pointed his finger to the fire. Nervously, I dipped the tip of my finger into the magical flame. That was when I was engulfed in something far worse than I had ever imagined. Every fiber of my being felt as if it were being heated in the forges of the Dead Lands. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

Then the pain stopped, but the memory was enough to keep my body on edge. “W-what was that?”

“That was a mere glimpse of the power of magic. That was not the first spell you will learn, but you now know why I protect the magic within so fiercely.”

“What was the name of that spell?”

“Mindfire. The spell itself is not lethal. It is the shock from the spell that kills.”

“So you’re telling me that entire spell operates under the illusion of pain? Just an illusion—nothing really happened?”

“Exactly. You were forced to imagine and feel as if every part of your body was being heated to temperatures that would melt the strongest steels instantly.”

That’s inhumane,” Thanryn barked. Apparently at some point he had been released, but I was so fascinated by the Grimoire that I didn’t even notice. I could see the disgust in his eyes when he looked at Tamarion.

“Mindfire is quick, efficient and subtle,” the Specter rebutted. “Running a sword through someone—they may bleed out for even hours. At least with Mindfire, I have no fear of them languishing in pain—not that I ever did in the first place.” If it weren’t for his aloof tone, I would have predicted a smirk under his veil.

Thanryn simply glared and began sharpening a dagger. Then the Specter turned the page and on a single page was the drawing of a bright-orange orb surrounded by matching flames. Like the previous spell—it came to life before me. “This is a fireball spell, right?”

“It is flare, one of the most basic destruction spells to learn.” He motioned for me to touch the flame and I couldn’t. Not after the Mindfire. While the agony was only a memory—it was so recent that it felt as if it was just waiting to debilitate me again.

“Flare is much less painful than Mindfire and less effective—but it is fundamental to learning more about Destruction Magic.”

I shook my head, “No—no…it’s not worth it. No more pain.” The Specter grabbed my hand and in the corner of my eye, I saw Thanryn charge again. And once again, he collapsed in his path.

“Continue with your antics, Warrior,” Seryn threatened. “And I’ll use Mindfire on you.”

The Buoyant Armiger replied through locked teeth yet again, “Have you no honor? Bullying a child into playing your games?”

With a sigh, I pulled my hand away from Tamarion’s grip and shoved it into the flame—if only to stop their fighting. That’s when I felt the force of a hardy punch to my chest, followed by blistering heat. “Son of an N’wah!” I swore. The ball of fire hurt, but it pulled my mind away from my memories of the spell before it.

“That spell is to merely wet your tongue to Destruction Magic.”

“Wet my tongue? It’s repulsing to feel how much it hurts,” I growled as I rubbed where I had been burned. There were no blisters—but the pain still lasted. What was the point of the lasting pain?

“The path you’re walking will bring you a great many foes—you’ll need to learn how to kill them. Flare’s one of the most basic spells.”

Before I could respond, he placed his finger on the deep-red words written around the image. The image had died back down. “Mico de Ignis” was written around the image in Daedric. “Is that the phrase—for the spell?”

“Say the words.”

“Mico de Ignis,” I said slowly. I wanted to see it happen, but I was afraid. I didn’t want to damage the room—lest I gain the wrath of Kirth or hurt Thanryn.

“You must speak them with desire to see it happen,” Broodikus intruded. “Imagine the spell as the only thing that matters—the difference between life and death.” Apparently he had been released again, because he managed to speak freely and he was standing.

This time, I imagined I was casting it at Bray-Hul. “Mico de Ignis,” I shouted with my palms outstretched. To my surprise, I saw a ball of flame appear in front of my palms and launch forward. Reactively, Seryn created a ward in front of my spell. The invisible, cyan-outlined oval consumed the little orb of flame.

“How did you do that, Seryn?” I asked with a look of surprise. I knew he was a far more experienced practitioner of magic than me, but he didn’t even speak any words. I thought that was a universal trait of spell-casters.

“When one has spent centuries studying the Arcane,” he muttered apathetically. “You learn how to cast spells in ways that are easier and less taxing. Wards are very simple spells—you simply create a vacuum of magic.”
“What do you mean—a vacuum of magic?”

“You siphon the magic out of an area and then return it in a ‘pocket’-fashion as I did. It’ll absorb what enters and what enters will disperse harmlessly.”

I didn’t entirely understand how it worked, but I just nodded. I knew if I continued to speak on the matter, he’d likely make me experience what it’s like to be in one of these pockets. And if it was anything like Mindfire or Flare, I wanted nothing to do with it.

He looked down and on the page to the right of Flare appeared a spell. But the parchment had been blank. What just happened? Suddenly there was an illustration of a soft, blue flash and around it were the words written in Daedric: “Restoratio Labecula”. Why was the wording to magic so strange?

And like all the other spells, the illustration came to life. A dim, blue orb appeared above the pages. “Touch it—unlike the others, this will not hurt.” I still didn’t want to touch it. He said flare didn’t hurt too much. At least not in comparison to the other spell, but being burnt with blistering wasn’t exactly comforting.

I struggled to touch the lively illustration. But when I did, it felt strange. Not in a bad way, but I felt a warmth all around me. It was a soft warmth, but everything did seem better. Was this Restoration Magic? If it was—why didn’t more people practice it?

Then the warmth disappeared. “What was that?”

Seryn tried to speak, but was quickly interrupted by Thanryn. “That was a restoration spell—a very minor one, typically taught to laymen in the Temple.” That was the Art of a Healer? What was the point of Destruction Magic if we could just be peaceful?

“Why do we practice Destruction Magic?”

“Because this world is made of two kinds of people,” Broodikus bitterly grumbled. “Monsters and then the rest of us are who compose the world. We need a way to fight them; that is our way.”

“What do you mean monsters?”

“The scum of the world are monsters. A great example would be Lord Kirth.”

“Why do you call him a monster?”

“I’ve seen the things he’s done. The people he’s killed—he’s one of the truest kinds of monsters. He is the kind that truly doesn’t care who he harms; he just cares for himself.”

Maybe he was right. Four people did die for the “privilege” to be his apprentice. But did that mean he was a monster or did it mean he was something else? Was it for a cause or just his own lust for power? And was I becoming more like him with my lust to study the Grimoire?

The Specter looked to Thanryn, “Wound yourself or her. She needs to have a subject to test her healing capabilities on.”

The Buoyant Armiger scowled, but he was obedient. He slid off his left gauntlet and once again cut his hand in a diagonal slash. It was quick and efficient, but also somewhat deep. “Speak the words, Pupil.”

I concentrated and imagined the wound being much more dire than it was. As if Thanryn’s life hung by a thread, by my success or failure. Then I uttered the words, “Restoratio Labecula.” What I saw was not what I had hoped for. His hand was still bleeding and he only looked up at me with a warm smile, a smile that said: “You did your best, it’ll be alright.”

“Try again, but rest your hand on his wound,” the Specter ordered. “The magic will be less likely to disperse if closer to its destination.”

I took a step towards Thanryn and he softly smiled as he extended his hand. I felt the crevice carved in his hand was slowly pouring blood onto my hand when I grabbed it. The warmth of his blood covered my palms and then I uttered the words, “Restoratio Labecula.” I felt the crevice in his hand pull itself closed; I couldn’t help but grin at my progress.

“Well done, Minx,” Broodikus nodded. He grabbed a rag and rubbed the blood off his hand and slid the gauntlet back on. His eyes averted from the gauntlet up to Seryn and I could tell he was trying to predict the Specter’s next actions. What he did surprised me; he slammed the book shut and handed it to me.
“Are we done with our studies?”

“For now—you need rest. Your body will be physically drained from the magic once the adrenaline wears off.”
“Why would my body be drained?”

“You’ve just begun the path of the Magi. As you grow in power, your body will be able to sustain greater channeling of magic.”

“Why wouldn’t it be able to handle it now?”

“The holes to Aetherius allow us to cast spells—your body has never used what has soaked in. As you use it more and more, you’ll be able to take in more.”

“What’s Aetherius?”

“In due time, you will learn child. Now rest.”

I obediently went to my bed, but I didn’t want to quit learning. That was so fascinating and these were just my first footsteps into this world. With enough time, I believed actually understand why magic works as it does. My eyelids fell down, regardless of how much I wanted to fight sleep.

I found myself sitting in a dark room with my legs criss-cross. The weight of cold, steel shackles binding my wrists kept me confined to the stone beneath me. “Where am I?” I shouted into the blackness. “And what am I doing here?”

“You are exactly where you need to be, Young Magi,” a deep, grandfatherly voice said. “I have come to ask why you are in possession of the Grimoire.” The voice seemed to originate from all around me, but how was that possible? And no matter where I looked—I just saw blackness. It was as if I had gone blind or if this place was completely void of light.

“The Grimoire holds the secrets of magic and I wish to learn them.”

“Very well, Young Magi—but do know that I will be watching.”

“Who are you, Strange Watcher?”

I sat there for what felt like hours waiting for a response. There was no sound—only a deathly silence. I was left there waiting—hoping he’d at least acknowledge what I had said. Or at the very least confirm that he was still there. But I got no such assurance—I was simply left chained to a stone floor in a place where I could see nothing. What was going to become of me was a question I desperately wished to know the answer to, but only time would tell.