Zalphon's Drabbles, A Collection of Short Stories Options

[Zalphon]

The Bonelord of Samarys
By Odral Uvirith, Underpriest Diviner

The life of an Underpriest is one of service to those who have left this life for the next in all its forms. We are those who prepare their remains for eternal rest within the Tombs and those who stand vigilant in those tombs against those who would dare defile them or seek to take from them the treasures left behind, but there is more to the Underpriest than being curators of the fallen. We are also caretakers of those who guard these tombs and we are the ones who enact justice against those who defile them and put to rest those whose slumber has been hindered. It is a calling that few understand and even fewer embark upon, but that calling is one of our most sacred traditions and important duties.

You may wonder why I elaborate so thoroughly on what it is to be an Underpriest before I begin my story about my encounter with the only bonelord I ever underestimated—my best friend; I do this to remind you that the topic we are about to embark on is not one to be taken lightly. The Bonelords are not like other undead you will see within the Ancestral Tombs and should not be considered as such. There is a saying that one rogue bonewalker is one Underpriest’s problem, but one rogue bonelord is every Underpriest’s problem. That is because there is a qualitative difference between these two types of undead. The Rogue Bonewalker is akin to the rabid beast; it is in pain and lashes out at whatever crosses its path without forethought, but the Rogue Bonelord is not a creature tormented by pain of that regard; it is a creature whose ambition has grown beyond that of the tomb he presides over. You can contain a rogue bonewalker by sealing the tomb until it can be put to rest, but a rogue bonelord knows no bounds. It is gifted with magical aptitude and it will project itself beyond the tomb in an astral form or it will simply turn the walls of the tomb to dust and leave that way. Do not underestimate the Bonelord or you will serve it in death as I nearly did.

I recall a time when I was a Curate that I was pulled from my tomb with news that my mother had fallen deathly ill with blight and that it had progressed too far to be cured; it was the last chance I would get to see my mother and I took it to say my goodbyes to her. I cherished these moments until I returned to my tomb, Samarys Ancestral Tomb, to find the signs of break-in by a few adepts seeking to prove themselves as ‘true underpriests’. To intrude upon a tomb, especially while the curating underpriest is absent is a grave violation of our order, and I intended to bring them before the Diviner myself for their disrespect, not only to me, but to the residents of this tomb and the Guardians who stood watch in my absence.

What I found was that I could not bring them before the Diviner because Dralen, the Bonelord who presided over Samarys alongside me, had already killed them and raised them as lesser bonewalkers. I could tell by the fact that their Adept pins were still on their bloodied robes. I was greatly troubled by this and Dralen did allow me to put them to rest, but he could sense I was troubled by this a great deal. Dralen and I had developed quite a friendship over the years that I had been a guest in his home and I considered him to be a trusted friend and even a mentor at times, despite this incident.

But the Temple was not pleased at the death of these Adepts and ordered Dralen be put to rest. I pleaded before them to show mercy—that Dralen was not responsible and he had only done as I had asked him to do, but they would hear none of it. When I refused to enact their execution, the Diviner sent a new curate to take over my watch at Samarys and decided that it would be better if I handled the cremations for the time being, because as he put it, “I had lost sight of what is important.”

Little happened at first, but the weeks did go by and I overheard talk that the new curate sent to replace me was dead. He had been stripped of his flesh except for a patch on his chest on which Dralen etched: “Odral.” I had thought Dralen dead, but by ALMSIVI, he did yet live. I rejoiced inside at this at first until I remembered that he had taken the life of yet another of my brothers. I went before the Diviner and requested the right to put Dralen to rest myself. He granted my request.

I do remember the trek back to my tomb. It was long. Rainy. Wet. Cold. And contemplative. I came to think more and more as I journeyed back to the place that had been my home for so long. There was no pleasure at the thought of seeing my old friend or the bonewalkers who I had come to see as a macabre sort of family, but only a sadness that hung over me until ultimately, I concluded that I would not kill Dralen. I would spare him and deliver message to the Diviner that I had killed him when really I had not.

This was my plan and my journey suddenly seemed much less dreary and miserable as I looked forward to seeing him oncemore; I looked forward to another game of chess, something which I sorely missed given no one posed much challenge to me except for him. He was my closest friend and I looked forward to his company greatly and it only grew greater as I neared the Tomb until finally I was there.

He extended salutations in the way only Bonelords do. They are a taciturn sort and use as few words as possible, but that is not to say that they are completely without feeling. They have the ‘cold’ feelings—dispassionate ones such as respect or an icy hatred. They never feel things which are in and of themselves passionate such as rage or love. But I believed that Dralen had taken a liking to me, again in the way only Bonelords do, and I was wrong.

The days returned to normal and we were unbothered. There came a morning when I bid him good morning as I went to rest and he gave the standard response of “Sleep.” Again, a taciturn sort of creatures, but I did not sleep well that day. I awoke to a Greater Bonewalker atop of me and attempting to pulverize my skull. Had I not been so versed in my studies of turning undead, I would have died on that bed.

I found Dralen and he did not speak; he only turned from me and I approached him with a fury in my heart that he would send one of the bonewalkers to harm me. This is where I was mistaken. I believed that this was a momentary lapse in judgment for Dralen or perhaps the bonewalker had simply gone rogue, but he waved one of his arms and I felt every muscle in my body constrict to the point that I fell over and tried to scream from the pain. “It is time to rest,” he said. But he did not mean it as in sleep, but as in put to rest.

He stood over me with the calculating gaze of his empty eye sockets and it was only because the Diviner had caught wind of my deception and come himself that I did not die there. The Diviner was a studied mage who many thought had been a Telvanni before he joined the Temple in no small part due to the efficacy of his spellcasting, but not even the Diviner could hold off Dralen’s magics. I watched as Dralen approached the Diviner who lay paralyzed on the ground and it was by the grace of ALMSIVI that my muscles relaxed enough for me to move. I leapt to my feet and tackled Dralen into the ground, but he did not give up. He put his hands upon my face and I felt the heat get sucked out of my body by his skeletal grip. It was then that I made peace with the fact that I was going to die, but I was spared by the Diviner who capitalized on Dralen being distracted with finishing me off. He put Dralen to rest in that moment using every bit of what he had left in order to stop him from finishing me off.

Before that day, I had always considered Dralen to be my closest friend and the Diviner to be my worst enemy.

That day provided clarity. It gave me a new respect for the Diviner and it gave me a greater understanding of the Bonelords. At the core of their being, they are not like us. They are not our friends. They are not our family. They are dangerous guardians who know only chilling apathy towards most everything that lives with an exception to rare sparks of absolute hatred for those they deem to be intruders. If you listen to nothing else I have said, I beg of you to listen to this: Do not trust the Bonelords.

[Zalphon]

The Telvanni Guide to Restoration
By Sakiran Maesa, Spellwright of House Telvanni

What is Restoration? I am sure you have a hundred and one images of a priest standing over someone wounded and casting blessings upon them to cure them of the plagues that ail them or of the wounds that they have endured. What you likely do not imagine is what this school is actually about, but I encourage you to be gentle with yourself, for even experienced practitioners of this school are ignorant to what it actually is. This is because the typical practitioner of Restoration is not a scholar in the slightest and accordingly knows only that if he says the right words and has force behind them, then the desired effect will be produced.

This is what is typically seen when watching a healer act and it is typical of the spells taught to most mages, because they have no need of understanding just what it is. But for whatever reason, you have a desire to truly understand it and I wish to provide you the knowledge you so desperately seek.

Let us begin by introducing the concept of the Aurbic Archives. The Aurbic Archives are a metaphysical database in which everything that is, everything that has been, and everything that will be, is kept. In essence, the world is constructed from the information within the Aurbic Archives by that which dreams of Aurbis. There is an infinite number of possibilities maintained within the Archives, such as a possibility in which I am a slaughterfish who is the Arch Mage of the Vvardenfell District of the Imperial Mages’ Guild (not that such a thing is particularly impressive given the recent appointment to the position). This is only an example and should introduce you to the infinite vastness of the Aurbic Archives (which encompasses other infinitely vast things such as Apocrypha).

It should be noted that the Aurbic Archives are infinite in their capacity and do encompass all that is, has been, and ever will be, but they are not without the possibility of being modified. There is speculation by a few metaphysicians that Aurbis is not the dream of one creature beyond comprehension, but the coalescence of multiple dreams of multiple creatures beyond comprehension, each of whom leaving their own fingerprints upon Aurbis. I do not claim to know the number, but I have heard this theory (Double-Pyramid Godhead Theory) being purported as having anywhere from only two to quite possibly billions of creatures contributing to the dreams of the Godhead which in part results in Aurbis. This is not necessarily important to understanding the school of Restoration, but it does help give an understanding of the Aurbic Archives to a degree.

The mistake that many (even expert) practitioners of Restoration make is that they believe it mends the ailment or otherwise cures the illness (hence the name: Restoration), but this is actually untrue. Restoration does not actually target the ‘body’ of the target at all, nor does it target the ‘spirit’ of the target. It is targeted at the identity of the target. You may be confused by how the body or spirit differ from the identity, but allow me to explain. The body and spirit are both properties of the target, but they are not the target itself. It has a unique identity within the Aurbic Archives complete with an infinite number of possibilities for it (from its greatest possible self to slaughterfish arch mage). What happens when a spell is cast on the target to the effect of say closing a laceration down the target’s forearm is that this version of the forearm (the lacerated version) is replaced by the version most previously held before it (e.g. if the arm was muscular, so is the new version and likewise if it was weak or otherwise different from a completely average base at all).

You may wonder how this impacts your ability to use restoration magic and the impact is in that with this newfound knowledge, you do not need to rely on the spells of others who lack this understanding. You can use your magicka to peer into the Aurbic Archives, identify your target’s unique identify signifier, and then create whatever effects you deem necessary (that you yourself have the magical ability to do). It should be noted that regenerative effects (healing taking place over a longer time) do tend to produce less of a system shock to the target and tend to be easier despite the fact that it is a transition through multiple versions of the afflicted area.

What I have described may sound almost dehumanizing of the target, but understand that in the event that you must rely upon restorative magics, then you need to remove yourself from the people related. You are a practitioner of magic and the more you can distance yourself from any emotional aspect besides a sense of almost hubristic pride, the better your magics will perform. The healer who fails is the healer who allows himself to be tangled up in a midst of emotion, doubt, and fear of failure; if you are wise, you will heed these words and understand that this school does not forgive those who doubt.

Understand that this school and Alteration are in many ways alike, except that the identities they deal with are different. Restoration practitioners deal with biological entities and Alteration practitioners deal with inanimate identities typically. Once one has an aptitude for both Restoration and Alteration, then they are ready to begin study of the purest of all magical schools: Mysticism.

I encourage you to study deeply on the Aurbic Archives despite the difficulty of finding texts pertaining to it, as well as to come to understand that the skilled healer is not the one who sees people when he is practicing Restoration, but simply identities. Separate yourself from your feelings or they will be your undoing.