Flame. Frost. Shock. Bolts of lightning and tongues of fire flew like flew like arrows in a cascade of light. Ice sprang forth, and dissipated into the void. But the air did not grow cold. He didn't even know if there was any air in here. Just as the elemental forces of nature had proven impotent, time also lost it's hold in this place. He had no idea how long he'd been here. It could've been a few days... a month, a year. Maybe even a hundred years.
Such was the nature of his imprisonment. The powers still flew out in every direction. Desperation fueled their caster, but weariness always took him sooner or later. He would have bouts like this all the time. When some inspirational or thought struck him, or if he just got bored, he'd start blasting and freezing and casting away. But it still never did him any good. Eventually he would grow tired, his energies spent. Sleep never took him, much to his dismay. He never thought there would be a time when he would miss sleep. So much time wasted, perhaps a third of his whole life, lost forever. Perhaps if he had never needed sleep he wouldn't even be here now, but whatever the reasons...he found himself missing sleep. But it was forever denied to him, here.
Ironic, that he had been allowed to retain his power...in its condensed form. In his hands was the instrument of both his salvation, and his ruin. If only he had done more. If he could have prepared...plotted, been more careful. This could have been avoided. He held the staff of Chaos in his right hand. The staff that had stolen an empire, opened portals to Oblivion, and finally used against him to deadly effect. He died in disgrace, deep in the dungeons of White-Gold Tower. The Jewel of Fire still glowed it's ethereal green, and it was his sole comfort. Aside from his spells, it was the only constant source of light in his accursed prison. It was beautiful...condensed power, his very soul. It provided him with great power, even here. Just...not enough to escape from the void.
He still remembered that day when he first came here, as if it had only been yesterday. Perhaps it had been only yesterday. Time was a fickle thing here...but he didn't think it had only been a single day. If so...well. It would be a long eternity down here. But the day he had come here was burned into his head. He remembered it like...like it was still happening. He remembered being cut down by that damned interloper...Septim's "Eternal Champion". That man, in his steel armor and helm. He had heard many tales of his deeds, of course, but he only ever saw the suit of armor. Never the man beneath. For a single moment of humor, he entertained the thought that perhaps it had been a woman. That would be just his luck. Ruined by a woman, again.
Only this time, it had really killed him. He remembered the flash of light at the end. His eyes had fallen closed after he had been cut in twain by the Champion's cold, cold blade. His Jewel of Fire broken and smashed on the filthy stone of the Imperial Dungeons. The light from the world faded until everything was dark, as if he had fallen asleep. And then...an explosion of light. It lit his vision like the aurora of Skyrim's night skies. And then, he saw him standing there. that damned Aedra. A curse on him... A curse on Arkay.
"So...we finally meet." The Aedra said. He looked just like his depictions in the temple, with flowing robes of crimson red and a golden beard. His expression matched as well, as he passed down his judgement with the resolve of cold steel. "I have long forseen this day. You have chosen your path, you insolent child. To imprison an emperor into the realm of Oblivion...to conspire with the vile Daedra, and even Mehrunes Dagon himself! You have earned your fate, boy. So I cast you out of here! There shall be no rest here for you in Aetherius! I shall cast you into the void between voids. You shall not remain in Aetherius, but nor shall you be allowed passage into Oblivion. An eternity of the abyss is all that awaits you...so heed these words, for they shall be the last you ever hear, accursed child."
And that had been that. Arkay raised his staff, and the disembodied spirit was sent. It had appeared as a flash of blinding light not unlike the way Arkay had appeared, and he was gone. Again he was in darkness. But now...he had a body now. He could feel his hands, his feet. He thought for a moment that perhaps he was alive again, but then Arkay's words hit home.
The void between the voids. Neither Aedra nor Daedra would venture here. He was...well and truly stranded now. There would be no escape, all because of some vindictive Aedra who found him to be lacking. He hadn't even the good grace to send him on to Oblivion. He would have taken anything except this hellish abyss of emptiness. He would have liked Aprocrypha. Endless knowledge and tomes to delve through in peace, with no one to disturb his studies. It had fascinated him as a student, but he never discussed it of course. Daedra Worship was even more taboo in High Rock than in the rest of Tamriel. But he would have taken any place but here. The Deadlands, Coldharbour, even...The Shivering Isles. Even the home of Sheogorath, that pompous buffoon he hated would be superior to this wretched existence.
He was tired once more. He breathed heavily, and blinked. The only difference between closed eyes and open vision was the visibility of his limbs. He had no idea if his appearance had changed at all...there was not a mirror here. His Magicka was depleted for only a few moments, but recharged to it's normal capacity soon enough. Or maybe it took days, or weeks to recharge. Time had no meaning here. With a flick of his wrist, he almost lazily cast a firebolt over his shoulder, not even bothering to watch it fade into the distance without casting light on even a single wall.
But it didn't. Instead, his eyes widened as it hit something behind him. He inhaled a sharp breath. Could it be...? He dared not hope. He turned around slowly, taking great care to control himself. Whatever this was...he doubted there would be a second chance. He turned, and saw an amazing sight. Standing out in the darkness was shining rune of some kind. It was a simple pentagram, inlaid with smaller runes within and outer reach echoing the points of the star. To him it was the most beautiful sight imaginable.
But...he had never seen such a rune before. Never, in all his days as a mage-priest, battlemage, or even Emperor had he seen any of it's like. He reached out...but stopped himself in a moment of clarity. Runes could have different functions, but they generally activated upon physical contact. And he had no idea what it did. Then again...did it truly matter. Death could not take him, here. Even with his body, where would he go? Even if it exploded in his face, anything was better than this. Half-mad from death and boredom, trapped forever in between the ethereal planes...
Coming to a decision, he tentatively touched the center pentagon of the rune, where the star originated from. The intensity of it's light grew and grew, and flashed with eldritch power. He could feel himself being ripped apart...and away. So he had divined it's purpose. If he had a mouth again, he would smile a smile happier than he ever had in his lifetime. He was going somewhere now, leaving this horrible place. Wherever he was going, he would be happy. He knew this. And finally, after being trapped for what seemed like an eternity, or perhaps only a day, he remembered. Arkay's final insult was stripped away, and he could finally remember what he had lost. Remember what Arkay had taken from him. His name was Jagar Tharn. And now his journey on the winds of magic continues, Aedra be damned.