SpellSwords Fury, The Tale of Ibis Raze Options

[Black Hand]

The twin moons of Secunda and Masser reflected off the restless waters of the Inner Sea. A nondescript schooner made its way through the waters between the Mainland and the Island of Vvardenfell. On board, looking over the horizon to the Grand Pharos of Seyda Neen, was a mysterious figure wrapped in a dark blue silk cloak, a hood completely covered her face, save for the glint of her sharp green eyes that took in all things around her.

The Census and Excise office was not happy to awaken at the late hours to process yet another visitor to the Vvardenfell District, and Socious Ergalla grumpily adorned a simple robe to make his records.

Looking up at the beautiful Breton, he was glad that he had woken up. Perhaps in her late twenties, the blond hair was neatly tied in back of her hair with a Nord-Style decoration. The green eyes seemed to peer through his very soul, he couldn’t but help stare at her moist pink lips, desire clutched him, as he fell to his baser instincts.

“N-name?’ he asked, as she smiled slightly, she was all too used to the reaction from men. It seemed that they were all the same. Well. Almost all.

“Ibis Raze, of the Kingdom of Camlorn, High Rock Province.” She said in a singily hypnotic voice.

His eyes traveled the expanse of her shimmering cloak, the dark blue contrasting perfectly with her yellow hair.

“Class?”

“I am a SpellSword, sir.” She replied politely, as his eyes caught the hilt of what seemed to be a glass longsword from an opening in her attire, except that it was the color purple. Amethyst it would seem. Indeed, she even had a quiver of arrows, and a bow that looked Daedric, except that it was constructed of glass, all a strange Amethyst purple.

”Reason for visiting Vvardenfell?” he asked.

“Business.” She stated tautly.

“Oh, um, what kind….never mind!” He said laughingly, finishing his notations.

“Now then if you’ll just sign here…” he pointed to the bottom portion of the document, and as her lithe soft hand grabbed the quill from his, he gulped, and saw that the Bracer on her hand was also the purple glass amethyst. Indeed from neck to foot, she was adorned with the unique armor. She scratched out her signature, and handed the quill back. Without asking she took her leave, the cloak billowing behind her. With a very stunned Exciseman watching her leave.

Then the name suddenly struck him, was’nt that the name of a woman from a book he read? The Mystery of Princess Talara? Wasn’t that in the Kingdom of Camlorn? It seemed too odd of a coincidence. If she was her, or related to her, she was no doubt royalty.

The morning hours of Balmora brought the life and sounds of human traffic, and merchant shops opened there doors to hopes of another days pile of gold. And like clockwork, the Silt Strider arrived to the port, the Dunmer caravaner, graciously grabbed the hand of the lady that rode with him, and helped her to step off. She smiled sweetly and paid him a modest sum of gold, that he was delighted to receive, and bade her a cheerful good journey.

First thing’s first. And I need a room, and information. Hopefully the two go hand in hand here. Ibis thought to herself as she made her way to a local popular tavern.

The Eight Plates regulars looked up with their red eyes at the sight of the Breton woman walking in and making her way to the Publican before returning to the slump of their ritual drinking.

“I need a room, Sera.” Ibis said handing over a small sack of gold. Which the publican made disappear. “I also need to know if you’ve heard of any rumours?”

The lady Innkeeper looked up at her with a questioning gaze.

“Have you heard of any….Menaces?”

“My good lady, this is Vvardenfell, the only thing not a menace here is the scribs, you’ll have to be a bit more specific I’m afraid.”

“This one would be distinctive, it is said to appear friendly, but it gives a deadly disease that freezes its victims in their tracks,…some call this menace,…the Forumus Officialis..”

The publican gasped at the name. She had clearly heard the name before.

“Sadrith Mora, I can say no more.” She said looking around, as though afraid some unseen force would hear her and ban her to Oblivion.

Her brow knitted as she realized her quarry lay nearer than ever. In the Morning, she would depart.

[Black Hand]

The Dockmaster of Vivec prepared the ship to go underway. The Breton Woman in the blue cloak sat at the stern, quiet as she examined the horizon, as was her custom. The sea winds blew through her hair, and she soaked up the morning sun. Vvardenfell, at least had at least some conveniences with travel. This was no carriage, but she would manage.

The ride was uneventful, and Ibis enjoyed the sights of the Mzanch Ruins, Telasero, and Molag Mar on the horizon en route to Sadrith Mora. She thought of the exotic diversity of this land, compared to the rolling green farmlands of the Camlorn Kingdom.

In spite of the landmarks, she was here for one reason only. Forumus Officialis. The monster would pay for what it did.

The local Guildboss Big Helende, watched the stranger walk in and ask Muriel Sette for something she couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but being a thief, it was in her nature to pry into affairs that weren’t hers. She pricked up her Altmer ears, and sat down on a stool next to the blue-cloaked woman, pretending to enjoy her drink.

“—fficialis. Who can tell me where to find it, if you can’t?”

Muriel shook her head; insisting that she never heard of such a thing, to which Ibis replied with a small sack of gold appearing from the folds of her cloak.

“All right, go to the Telvanni council house, speak with Raven Omayn. She may know something at least.”

The nimble fingered Helende tried to reach under the cloak and see how much more gold she was willing to part with, didn’t she know where she was?

Ibis felt the slightest breeze under her garment, and her expression became that of someone most displeased. With a quick motion, she grabbed the wrist of the Altmer Thief, smoke beginning to rise from her grip.

“I don’t think someone with as much weakness to fire like you, should be playing with it. Huh?” Ibis stated angrily.

Helende whimpered and nodded in agreement, a gasp of relief escaping her lips as the strong grip of the SpellSword was released. Her wrist was badly burned, and she began to desperately whisper the strongest healing spell she knew.

Ibis looked menacingly at the rest of the patrons as she departed for the Council House, as Muriel advised.

There was no reception to greet her, just a wandering Telvanni Wizard whom muttered ‘Mages Guild Scum” under her breath as Ibis walked by, paying her no mind, she was well aware of the hostility between this House and the Guild, and she did not care, she was here for other reasons.
The giant mushroom chamber hummed with the power of the soul crystals coming in through the foundation, a mastery of architecture since the Merethic Era, the Telvanni were proud of their achievements, as was Mouth Raven Omayn, someday she would become a Mage-Lord, perhaps even Archmagister. So when some outlander Breton Guild Mage came in, asking her about ‘Forumus Officialis” she had to laugh out loud.

“What makes you think I would tell you anything, n’wah?” she said laughing hysterically. “If anything I should tell you, just to see you dead!”

Ibis’ eyebrows became knitted in anger, she had had plenty of insults since she had arrived, but this Telvanni had thrown her over the edge.

The room grew cold as Ibis’s eyes glowed with pure magicka, her lips barely moved as she muttered a powerful frost spell, and her hands moved forward, the icy grip of the spell embracing Raven, knocking her back, leaving large chunks of frost all over her robe.

Raven stood up, brushing off her robes ,she was rather impressed. She thought about retaliating with a spell or five of her own, instead she looked at the scowl on the beautiful woman’s face, and took a pity of sorts.

“All right then, you’re really that suicidal. Suits me fine.” Raven said, chuckling.

Raven motioned for Ibis to follow her, and they met up in her private chambers. Raven rolled up her sleeve, to which Ibis gasped.

“Yes, and I was the lucky one. These scars, they’re not just scars; they’re distortions of the very earth bones. Whatever the thing is, it can cause fundamental shifts in the Mundus itself. You aren’t dealing with some beast or dragon. This thing, it’s not of this plane of existence. Weapons and magic may very well be useless against it. Do you still wish to know where I last saw it?”

Ibis nodded, her determination unwavering.

“Myself and a small group of Telvanni Battlemages were sent to dispatch the atrocity near the Erabenimsun Camp, northwest of Uviriths Grave. I was the only survivor. I hardly think that it’s still there, but it will at least give you a starting point.”

“Can you describe it?” Ibis asked.

Raven gave her a wicked grin. “Oh, you’ll know it when you see it.”