Necromancer's Dream, A Story of Arvas Options

[Lord Veneficus]

Chapter XI

Arvas arrived at the castle several minutes after noon. A group of Necromancers were standing underneath the enormous bridge leading to the well guarded castle of Skingrad. He walked up to the shady looking men and asked, “When is the assignment going to take place?” A man wearing green velvet clothing moved towards him.

“Tonight, two hours after midnight. We are going to ambush the Mages’ Guild member over by the sheep pasture. We’ll need all the help we can get if we plan on killing this wizard,” the man said sternly. He walked away and headed up the hill to Castle Skingrad.

Arvas went to an overgrown stump under the shade of the great bridge above him and rested. A Bosmer limped over to him. “Hey! Why aren’t chu wearin’ your robes?” Arvas looked at the Wood Elf and chuckled.

“Why should it matter? The robes only weighed me down; this tunic and mail will do just fine with me,” Arvas shot back. He was still rather upset at the death of his friend. “If you have a problem with it, you can talk to the edge of my blade.” He did not know what had come over him; he felt complete hate for everyone around him. He wanted only to suffice for the death of Belator by taking as many lives as he could.

“There’s no need in jumpin’ down my throat about it, mate,” the Bosmer said. The look on his face told many lies. He was trying to hide his fear of Arvas, but his expressions deceived him. He pulled his hood over his head and limped away.

Arvas pulled Belator’s bones from his bag and placed them on the dirt in front of him. He grabbed the bloody strips of hide and bound the skeleton’s bones together. He tried hard to keep the tears from running down his gaunt face, but they persisted and eventually Arvas let them fall freely.

The other Necromancers didn’t notice what he was doing, as they were all sitting in the center of a copse of redwood trees, drinking away; and the fact that under the bridge was rather dark. He removed his black leather glove and placed it upon Belator’s cracked skull. A wave of black essence flew from his hand and wrapped itself around the lifeless bones. The body began to quake yet again and it slightly rose from the dusty ground. Arvas could feel something creep into his mind; a soul or thought perhaps? He fell backwards and his vision slowly faded.

He awoke several hours later. It was very dark and he could hardly see a few feet in front of him. The others were still in the cluster of trees, talking with one another.

Belator’s body was gone. Arvas stood from his spot under the bridge and strode angrily over to the group of necromancers. “Alright! Which one of you flagons of hist piss took the body?!” They looked at him as though he had gone mad. The Bosmer covered his face as to not look at Arvas’s face.

“We didn’t take your body! From what I can see, it looks like you’ve got it hanging off your Dunmeri bones,” an Imperial answered with a smirk. Arvas whipped his blade from its sheath and stuck it under the man’s neck. The man’s eyes showed fear.

“Tell me now! Give me the body or I’ll rip your damn throat out!” Arvas’s rage pulsed through him. He had been pushed to the brink and he was ready to lash out on the Imperial’s young face.

“Calm down, elf! He’s o-over there!” The man pointed to a bush. “We t-t-tried to reanimate him for…” Arvas strode off to the bush. The body of Belator laid there, arms across his chest; his sword lying next to him. Arvas gathered him up and put him in his bag. He went back to his spot under the bridge, ignoring the looks he received as he stormed past the group of necromancers.

He waited patiently for the ambush to take place…

[Azagthoth]

Hist piss, eh? Couldn't resist using it, I see!

Anyway, looks like Necromancy is a popular subject for fan fiction right now...

[Lord Veneficus]

I saw it and I wanted to use it! I love it

[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…

[Lord Veneficus]

Chapter XIII

The fiery sun was slowly rising among the ever snowy mountain tops of the Jeralls and Arvas began to stir. His body had gained back its ability to move during the night and so he picked himself up from the cold dirt. Blood had been spilled all over the pasture and it had painted the soil a sickly crimson. He dusted himself off, quickly said a prayer to Sithis over his fallen guildmates, and headed towards the fort.

How did he know my name? I just arrived here in Cyrodiil only a few years ago. He thought to himself. He went to the stables at the rear entrance of the castle and began eyeing the horses. A hardy, white stallion stood near the old decaying fence. The many black horses in front of him had gained prestige all over Cyrodiil as the fastest, most well bred horses that could be bought. He decided he would take a black one and call it Altor, after a powerful mage he once met in Vvardenfel. He slowly untied his reins and gently spoke to him as he guided the horse over to the low-hanging gate. He mounted and shouted, “Hyah!” He heeled the horse and he began a gallop. Altor jumped over the fence and rode up into the Great Forest. Shouting could be heard behind him as they rode away.

They slowed once they were very deep into the forest, away from the city. The morning sun washed over Arvas, warming his bones. He fretted whether he would be punished for it being the second time he failed to kill the mage. But, he quickly reassured himself that he wouldn’t be punished as any necromancer that has gone against the mage has not lived to tell it. He may be spared just for the fact that he has lived through two battles without being frozen solid by the Dunmeri mage.

Arvas arrived at the slowly renewing fort to see many necromancers pacing around in regular clothing, planting gardens for both food and certain ingredients for their experiments. The vibrant reds of tomatoes, the bright orange of carrots, and the lush green of cabbage and lettuce came together in a beautiful banner under the cloudless sky above.

He tied Altor to a nearby stump and entered the fort. He looked for the familiar face and smell of the man who chews mint leaves. Along the halls, there were many tapestries of the infamous symbol for the Necromancers and many benches and chairs were there as well. He entered the dining hall of the fort and found him at the table, having his lunch. “There seems to have been a problem with the ambush, sir. He killed them all, either they were run through by his blade or frozen in their tracks. I was lucky enough to have been paralyzed by him. I tried to stop him, sir, I honestly did. He’s just too quick. I’m sorry,” Arvas said with great gloominess. He stopped chewing and stood from his chair.

“Dammit! This is the second time you have failed at eliminating that elf! From here on out, no more will you have any assignments that deal with the Dunmeri mage, do you understand?” He shouted into Arvas’s face. He nodded and walked away. “Now go find something to bide your time until we have this menace dealt with.”

Arvas walked from the fort, completely disheartened at the event that took place. He decided that he would go to Chorrol and sit at the Oak and Crosier, drinking his sorrow away.

His journey to Chorrol through the wilderness was uneventful; not a single animal had even appeared in front of him. But he did not care, the only thing he wished to do was prove the Necromancers wrong. He wanted to slaughter the Dunmeri mage that caused all of the trouble he had been involved in.

He arrived at the tavern and sat at the bar. But not before he noticed a gorgeous Altmer standing in front of a group of people, talking. She was stunning; her eyes were an icy blue, capable of calming even the most vicious of animals. Her hair was a golden blonde and her facial features were that of a goddess. He did not wish to embarrass himself, so he sat at the counter. “I’ll have the strongest thing you’ve got, barkeep,” he said slowly. The Khajiit at the bar leaned down, grabbed a mug and poured a strong smelling liquid in it. She handed it to him and he took a great gulp. I feel better already. He thought to himself.

The High Elf had finished her story and went to sit at the bar as well. She caught a glimpse of him and said, “Hi there, I’m Mera. You look quite sad, what’s the matter?” He looked up from his mug to see the beautiful Altmer, staring at him with questioning eyes. His heart began pound in his chest and his stomach felt a tad bit odd.

“N-nothing, M-Mera. I-I’m Arvas, b-by the way,” He stuttered; he had never been in such close range to such a dazzling woman.

“You’re not going to ask me what I would like to drink?” She asked. His heart began to slow down and he leaned towards the bartender.

“Oh s-sorry. G-give her a…” She cut him off.

“I’ll have a small glass of wine, please,” she said politely as the barkeeper grabbed a rather small goblet…

[Steve]

This has turned out to be a very well written story. It has been awhile since I was able to catch up on this and I'm very happy I did!

[Lord Veneficus]

Thanks, Steve.

[Lord Veneficus]

Chapter XIV

Arvas had no intention on getting drunk. He wanted to, but he decided against it as it seemed ignorant on his behalf. He looked up from the bar at Mera and said, “I have to go, Mera. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He stood from the stool and tossed the innkeeper ten septims and headed up to his room.

Mera moved towards him, her icy blue eyes stopped him in his tracks. She leaned down and gave him a peck on his cheek. “I will come to see you in the morning. We’ll have breakfast here,” she said as she moved towards the door. Arvas touched his hand to his cheek while he walked up the stairs towards his room. He wondered whether she was genuine in her intentions, because female Altmer are usually deceitful and carry a hidden agenda on their shoulders. He would decide that in due time.

He entered his room, it was a large one. The roof was low, Arvas could barely raise his hand up and he could touch the ceiling. The wood was of a mahogany color but had the texture of oak. Along the walls, there were two portraits; one of the emperor and the other of the late count of Chorrol. They were extremely lifelike and Arvas could feel their happiness when the portraits were painted. There was a beautifully crafted desk in the corner of the room, it had empty pieces of parchment, a quill and a bottle ink lying on its smooth surface. Arvas looked over the bed positioned on the center of the back wall; its quilt was red, with gold satin trim and pillows of silk. This was by far the most comfortable bed Arvas had ever laid eyes on.

Arvas took his black chain-mail off and laid it next to the bedside table. He hung his tunic in the wardrobe and put on his black leather pants. Then, he laid in the bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the soft silky pillow.

He woke the next morning feeling like an entirely new person. He put his chain-mail back on and pulled the bright white tunic over him. His black leather gauntlets and boots were put on last. He clasped his silver longsword to his belt and sat at the desk, wondering when Mera would show up.

A knock on the door sounded in the silence that surrounded Arvas. He got up and went to answer the door. When he opened it, he saw Mera in front of him, holding a large plate with ham and potatoes. She motioned for him to follow. Arvas nodded and strode behind her down the steps. They went to sit at a table closest to the door. Mera put the plate down and took a piece of ham from it.

“Well… I’m new to this. I haven’t found anyone who is intriguing to me,” She said as she cut the ham. Arvas looked from his plate and gave her a smile.

“What makes you think that I’ll be any different? I am just a normal Dunmer doing normal Dunmer things, you know?” He replied politely. “And besides, wouldn’t you with a Dunmer make you look bad?”

She smiled and said, “You are very intriguing, Arvas. I know you don’t do ‘normal’ Dunmer things. Me being with you would make me look bad, yes. But I don’t really care what others think. My Altmer brethren are ignorant and don’t realize what the other cultures of the many different races have brought to us.”

“But, how are Altmer ignorant? Summerset has some of the most powerful mages and most intelligent scholars in all of Tamriel,” Arvas argued. It was odd hearing that come from a High Elf’s mouth.

“I meant in the ways of traditions and values, Arvas. They cannot understand what benefits can be reaped through diversity.”

“Oh, I see. So you don’t see other races as lowly as or less knowledgeable than your own?” Arvas asked. He hadn’t met many Altmer in Morrowind who didn’t think of him as a dirty low-life, even though his father is a famous priest of the Temple of the Tribunal.

“No, of course not. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you that for a while now. Haha, you are very much different from the other Dunmer I’ve met. You’re not arrogant at the others.”

“Yes, that’s true. Wait! What’s that supposed to mean?” Arvas asked, taken aback at her comment.

“I was just kidding, Arvas. Haha. You are not arrogant at all. You’re more of the kinder ones.” She smiled at him. Arvas felt that this woman was genuine in her intentions. “Well I have to go. Important business you know.” She stood from the table and made her way to the door.

“Are you going to be back later on today?” Arvas asked. He was hoping he would get to see her again before the day was over. She nodded and left the inn; Arvas saw her slender body saunter down the street. He smiled and sat back in his chair.