Severan, In His Own Words Options

[Callidus Thorn]

So, here I am again.

I didn't plan to be. I was going to take a break from writing fanfiction for a while. But when I went back to Oblivion there was someone waiting for me. His name is Severan, and I just felt that I needed to write about him, because he's that sort of character.

And when he insisted on a second draft, well, this became inevitable.

So here he is:


Chapter 1, part 1- The Story So Far

I suppose I should begin by telling you a little about myself.

My name is Severan. As for the rest of it; I’ve got a last name, a choice of two in fact, but my current situation puts me somewhere between them, so I use neither. I was born in Sadrith Mora, raised by my mother, a member of House Telvanni. I never knew my father. I was told that he was a member of the Mages Guild, an Imperial Battlemage named Stenara Acilius, stationed to Vvardenfell at the time. My mother was sent by House Telvanni to seduce him, acquire any information he might have had, and, ultimately, try to convince him to leave the Guild and join House Telvanni. Obviously, she achieved the first part, or I wouldn’t be telling you this. The rest… well, let’s just say that she got somewhat distracted and never got around to it. For obvious reasons I didn’t exactly pry into this particular area of the past. In case you were wondering why I never knew him, he was sent back to Cyrodiil before I was born. I’m told I got my name from him, it was his grandfather’s name, but I don’t seem to have much in the way of Imperial heritage. Which makes me rather lucky I suppose, as you’ll soon find out. While I never knew him, or received letters from him, I cannot recall my mother ever speaking ill of him, so I assumed there had to be some reason for the silence.

You noticed that I said “Was” when speaking of my father? I thought you might. I’ll get to that, but until then, please, let me tell this my way.

Growing up in Sadrith Mora leads to certain decisions. The entire town is split down the middle in a sense. It’s home to the Telvanni Council as well as an Imperial fort named Wolverine Hall, and the Telvanni are more than a little hostile towards them. So it should come as no surprise to you that my mother, herself a member of house Telvanni, encouraged me to join its ranks. “In Sadrith Mora, you're either Telvanni or you’re nothing.” She’d often say that, and she was right. While technically a part of the town, the Imperial section is still set apart from the rest, as if they don’t want to risk angering the Telvanni by getting too close. A wise move in a town where they could offend the entire Council at once. So it was Telvanni guards who maintained order, while the Imperials, which in Sadrith Mora meant the same as Outlander for the most part, stayed in their fort, save those whose business couldn’t flourish under such conditions.

My training in magic began early, my mother wanted me to make the best possible impression when joining House Telvanni, and she covered a little of everything. I had no trouble for the most part, but for some reason I was no good with the Restoration school of magic. It was no problem really, since House Telvanni doesn’t put much stock in it, preferring to pursue the other schools of magic and rely on alchemical potions instead. So I went before the Council, or to be more precise, before the Mouths of the Councillors, who handled their day-to-day business in Sadrith Mora, and petitioned for membership. While I possessed sufficient magical talent to join, only Galos Mathendis, the Mouth of Master Aryon of Tel Vos, offered me a position. My mother was thrilled. She thought very highly of Master Aryon, as did many others, at least when those in the employ of the other Councillors were out of earshot. He was said to be the most forward-thinking of the Council, and those in his service were said to rise faster than most others. So I bade Sadrith Mora farewell and travelled to Tel Vos.

Upon arriving I was put through a series of tests, mental, magical, and physical by a Dunmer apparently known only as Mentor. From these he judged that I would best serve if trained as a Nightblade. He himself had been trained as one, and had spent more than two centuries solving problems discreetly, by whichever of the means at his disposal were most appropriate. He was cold and callous, was possessed of a knack for moving silently, and could transition from peaceful to lethal in the blink of an eye. But the most terrifying thing about him was the way that he moved. He flowed like water, flowing effortlessly from step to step, yet, like water, at need he could crash down upon you, or sweep you up in the wake of his passing like the current. I was fortunate to have such a skilled instructor.

He trained me in both stealthy and magical arts. He emphasised the use of the bow and destruction magic, thought he also gave me basic training with shorter blades. During the lessons with blades he’d often repeat one of his mantras “Better a blade than a bow in close quarters.”. He taught me to use the other schools of magic together with stealth, save for Restoration of course. The years passed. I trained, I learnt, and I served, until recently.

I received a letter, one that had come all the way from Cyrodiil. It had been sent to my mother, though it was meant for me, and she had forwarded it. It was from my father, and was the first that I had ever heard from him:

Severan.

Forgive me for not writing sooner. I know your mother will have spent years telling you that “In Sadrith Mora, you're either Telvanni or you're nothing.”, and she is right. Knowing that you would follow her into House Telvanni, and from what your mother told me while I was stationed in Vvardenfell, I thought it best not to present the question of split loyalties. But the time for worrying about such things is over now for me. By the time this letter reaches you, I will be dead.

I am sorry Severan that I did not, that I could not, come to know you, be a father to you. But if you would humour a dying man, allow me to give you a gift; a legacy, from father to son. I took a great deal back to Cyrodiil that I had learnt in Vvardenfell, and I built myself a Tower, the rival of any Telvanni's. It holds magics unknown to any, save perhaps Divayth Fyr, and will open only to you. I leave this Tower, Frostcrag Spire, to you my son. And that is but part of the gift. The greater part is that which I could not give you while I lived: A choice.

Overleaf you will find everything you need to know to reach the Spire, and how to restore it again. Much will have had to be stored following my death, so there will be costs to meet, I'm afraid. But they are a pittance when compared to the worth of Frostcrag Spire.

Goodbye, my son.

So I left Vvardenfell, after requesting permission to leave from Master Aryon, though he gave it grudgingly, to honour my father’s final request. But Master Aryon, it seems, decided to take the opportunity to teach me a lesson about loyalty. In his service I had carried out numerous acts against the Mages Guild in Vvardenfell, everything from monitoring their activities, to infiltration, theft, and in a couple of instances even assassination. And the full details of these acts were known to the Legionnaires who arrested me as soon as I arrived in the Imperial City. I had barely set foot on dry land before I was hauled to the Imperial City Prison.

Which is where, I suppose, my story begins.

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Sep 8 2015, 11:09 PM

[Callidus Thorn]

After finding my way back to Oblivion again, figured I'd dust this off, and found that I had more written up than I'd thought. And it's starting to look like Severan really won't be rushed in his telling of this story. Perhaps he's something of a raconteur? Who knows?

Oh, wait, that should be me, right?


Chapter 1, Part 3

Captain Renault’s words jerked me from my reverie. “Sire, perhaps we should take him with us? An extra pair of eyes can only help us, and if he speaks the truth about his past training, he might see something else that we’ve missed.”

“Yes Captain, he will come with us.”

“Prisoner, stay close to the Emperor. Baurus, there should be a key to those manacles nearby, find it.” She paused as she unhooked a short scabbard from her belt, setting it on the rickety table beside my water jug. “You know how to use a blade, prisoner?”

“I’m better with a bow, but as my instructor used to say; ‘better a blade than a bow at close quarters’. Normally I’d combine bladework with magic, but without my spellbook all I’ve got is a simple flare to fall back on.” Baurus returned with the keys, and soon I felt the tingle of magic once more as the manacles were removed. After days without it, the sensation was almost overwhelming, like reuniting with a long lost friend. I drew the sword and tested its balance with a few quick swings, the short blade similar to those I’d used back in Vvardenfell.

“If there’s fighting, stay back with the Emperor. You’re more use to us looking for ambushes and the like, but if they get past us, do what you can.” Captain Renault paused for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice had a steely edge to it, matched by her gaze. “And know that if the Emperor falls, so too will you.” I nodded my understanding, not that I could do anything else, and Glenroy led us into the passageway. I had a brief glance of a rough stone tunnel sloping downwards before the door screamed shut behind me, shrouding everything in blackness, save the dull grey of the tunnels exit.

None of the Emperor’s guardians lit a torch before moving on, letting me slide back past them. The racket their armour was making meant I knew where each of them was in the darkness, so slipping past Baurus was easy enough. Whatever trap was waiting for them out there, I didn’t plan to meet it after the clamour of their armour announced our coming. In truth, I didn’t plan to meet it at all. No one had said that I’d be free to go once we got out, so as far as I was concerned this wasn’t my fight. I’d tag along until the opportunity to slip away presented itself, then lose them in the shadows and follow them at my own pace. At the exit to the tunnel Baurus turned back to face me, or to face the tunnel at least, the feeble light leaving him nothing more than a shadow against the stone wall behind him. “Get a move on prisoner. You were told to stay beside the Emperor.”

I slunk forward, out of the shadows. “True enough. But when the fighting starts, wouldn’t it be better for you to have only one person to get past?”

Baurus just looked at me for a moment, before grunting noncommittally and moved off, quickening his pace to catch up to the Emperor. I was actually a little surprised that he didn’t insist on my following his Captain’s orders, but as far as he knew what choice did I have but to follow them? The way back was sealed, and only they knew the ways out of this… whatever it was. The foundations of the Imperial City? Some kind of undercity? The stonework was vaguely reminiscent of the Imperial forts back in Vvardenfell, and the buildings I’d seen by the docks. I ran a hand across the wall, surprised by its smoothness, how closely the stone blocks were fitted together, and by the contrast of its obvious age and condition. Whoever had built this place, they’d built it to last.

I slunk along behind the Emperor and his guards, slipping from one pool of shadow to the next, the sound of my passing lost amidst the clatter or heavy armour ahead of me. I was surprised to hear their footsteps stop, and even more so to find them waiting for me. They were eyeing the chamber ahead of them warily, and with good reason. As I caught up to them, Captain Renault waved me over to her. “Well prisoner, since you were trained in these methods; if this was your trap, how would you spring it?”

“And you’d trust me? Someone you found imprisoned, with no one to vouch for me?”

She nodded towards the Emperor. “There is no one in Tamriel better able to vouch for you than he, prisoner. They say that the Septim line are able to see things other mortals cannot. They say it is the Dragonblood, some tie to Akatosh perhaps, that lets them peer into shadows the rest of us cannot broach.”

“Don’t you have your own people for this sort of business? Where are they?”

“We have our agents, the Orders of Kynareth and Julianos, but they were the first targets of the enemy. The Blades have safeguarded the Septim line for centuries, acting both openly and discreetly, against threats actual and potential. We of the Order of Talos, who defend the Septims with our lives and our steel, has little contact with them beyond the necessary. We know that they were trying to learn more about the threat, but clearly they failed to stop it. If they knew us well enough to trap us like this, then any messenger trying to reach was probably killed on the road. So you’re all I’ve got right now, prisoner.”

“Then you can stop calling me prisoner, for a start. I’m either an asset or a burden, and if you’re going to keep calling me prisoner then you’re making me the latter. The name’s Severan, remember it.” I was probably pushing my luck at the time, but it’s not like they could put me back in my cell. And if the captain was desperate enough to take whatever help she could get, she could at least make an effort to be civil. I slunk forwards, catching Glenroy reaching for his sword out of the corner of my eye, stopping as close to the chamber entrance as I could without leaving the shadows. It was a peculiar space; mostly open, with a single flight of stairs split in two be a section of wall. What it was for I couldn’t say, though in the feeble light that filtered down from who knew where I could make out an upper level on the right side of the room, making me think there had been a bridge at some point. On the left side, opposite the upper level was a deep shadow on the wall. And at the far end of the chamber was a single door, the only obvious way out from the ground level. No retreat, a door narrow enough to only admit one person at a time, with no guarantee that it would even open, and an upper level. It was as close to a perfect site for an ambush as one could ask for. “Over there, on the left. Beside the stairs.”

Glenroy snorted yet again. I didn’t turn to see his face, but I could hear the sneer in his voice. “A shadow.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes Glenroy, a shadow. And how many other shadows do you see on the wall?” I waited a few moments for him to take another look at the room; the pale walls with their arches reaching upwards, converging high above the centre of the room. “There’s an upper level on the left. That wall separating the stairs might have supported a bridge at some point. And that shadow is in just the right place for it. There’s probably a door on either side. We advance towards the door, and move past those waiting above. That door’s undoubtedly locked, and they’ll attack as soon as we reach it, trapped between them and a locked door.”

“Captain Renault has the key. We could rush the door.” This from Baurus. Glenroy apparently was saving himself for the next opportunity to sneer at me.

I shook my head, a pointless gesture in the darkness, but I was used to working with those who weren’t limited by it. “We could only go through one at a time, and if they’ve got people on the other side, which is likely, we’d only weaken our position. There’s only one way out of this.”

“And that is?”

As always at moments like this, I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Because that’s what I love. It’s not about the killing, the stealing, or whatever else the goal of the mission is, that’s merely an afterthought. It’s about the challenge, about solving the puzzle that someone else has set up to defend themselves. And then it’s about eluding it, breaking it, or best of all, turning it against them. That’s what I loved about my training, about my work for Master Aryon. “We change the scenario.”

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Aug 3 2016, 10:14 PM