Chapter 12: The Power of a Whisper
How long have Rhonin's group been in that dungeon, beneath the city, left in the shadow of the Empires underground? The absence of day and night makes it uncertain. The guards who come to bring them scraps and water won't answer their questions, and there are no other prisoners this deep who can speak with them. Whatever intentions the Empire has with them is already concerning the three. To cause them hysteria, to break their spirits, who knows? Regardless, the next time they see the outside world, they'll know misfortune will follow shortly after.
Kressmer sits on one of the benches within their cell. His eyes shut and his breathing unhearable as he meditates on the issue at hand. Rhonin rests in the corner of the room, his guilt, and self-pity poke at the back of his mind. He too cannot bring himself to speak with the thought that he might make the situation worse. Arius Silver, despite the dire predicament, has yet to let his determination sway. With the bottom part of his clenched fist, he bangs on the prison bars.
"This is not acceptable!" He shouts with his voice reverberating throughout the underground complex. "You can't keep us down here forever!"
"Arius," Kressmer gently calls out the Imperial's name.
"I'm Arius Silver!" He ignores the Dunmer Midium while angrily yanking and pushing on the bars. "My family will be furious when they find out I'm here!"
"It's no use, Arius," Kressmer's crimson eyes open as he turns his head to Silver. "Your name will do you no good here."
Furious over the mistreatment of the Empire, Arius kicks the cell door. The sudden bang and ringing of metal make Rhonin flinch. Kressmer stares tiresomely at the impatient Imperial's attitude.
"And what do you expect us to do?" Arius asks turning back to the others. "Sit here in the dark and rot!"
"It's better than wasting your energy shouting and making pointless noise," Kressmer replies returning to his meditation.
While the snarky comeback throws him off, Silver finds the statement to be no less truthful. He lowers his head and lets out a heated breath. The chilling touch of the cell bars helps to calm him as he leans his back against them. Once more, the group sits in the dark, each one unsure of what can and should be said. While they all express different perspectives on their predicament, they have at this time submitted to their fate within the prison. Even the possibility of never seeing the light of day comes to mind.
None of their methods are available due to the specific cage that holds them. In the center of the floor is a faint blue sigil carved into it. So long as it was there, the trio's Magicka was drained continuously to prevent any incantations. Even minor markings etched into the bars are warded with magic to secure them. The only thing not able to be affected by this spell work is the Ebony Ring.
With no prying eyes upon it, the metal circle hums and glows within Rhonin's pocket. Rhonin cannot help but pay notice to the call of the ring. Steadily he slips his fingers into his pocket and holds it in his palm. This time, he does not look at all fascinated by his creation. Instead what he feels, is dread and regret. If it weren't for this ring, they would not be in this dirty old cage.
This guilt resonates to the point that Kressmer in someway can sense it. He ends his internal reflection to look at the self-pitying Breton.
"Everything will turn out fine, Rhonin," he assures hanging over his bench.
The only response given back is a stressful exhale. While eager to keep trying, Kressmer also does not wish to harass his friend. He too cannot help but express a similar shame. With enough time passing, Arius is now clear of mind. Softly pushing himself from the wall, he faces Rhonin as well.
"I'm surprised they didn't find the ring on you," Arius comments mildly impressed.
"They didn't look very thoroughly," Kressmer clarifies. "The Imperial's even let him keep the journal, not seeing the harm in a "cookbook."
Despite the conversation centering around him, Rhonin still can't build the courage to speak. He continues studying the ring and its quality. Despite remembering nearly everything about his notes, he still can't understand what went wrong. Where did these daedric marks originate, why did that explosion occur, and why weren't the intended enchantments working? So many questions, yet nothing to go off of for a single answer. Even when holding such a grand power within his grasp, the Breton still cannot fathom what's in his hand.
Before Kressmer and Arius can attempt to lift his spirit, a familiar noise steals their focus. Even Rhonin lifts his head while hurryingly shoving the ring back into his pocket. The sound of a metal door that leads outside slams open. Right as the reflecting sound fades, what can only be footsteps appear right after. In the groups shared thinking, they come to assume that it's time to eat. However, the legionnaires that approach have other idea's in mind.
Two soldiers, clad in high-quality steel, step to the door of the mages' cage. One stands off to the side, with his hand already clenching the hilt of his sword. The other with a single key on a thin metal band starts unlocking the door.
"What's going on?" Arius asks taking a step away from the bars.
"You're trial," the soldier responds when opening the door. "There is a huge list of royals and scholars who want to know what you were up to."
Rhonin's eyes open wide with slight excitement to finally leaving the poorly made cell. Kressmer as well stands but remains calm yet solemn towards this information. Arius shakes his head in disgust towards going to court.
"This is absurd! We didn't do anything!" He states trying to play innocent.
"I'd appreciate your compliance, don't make my job any harder," the soldier replies, holding a set of iron cuffs.
These shackles also possess the same carvings as the prison bars. The sight of them makes Silver give up on his usual antics of persuasion. With a sigh, he holds out his arms to appease the guard. Out of courtesy, Rhonin and Kressmer approach doing the same. As each of them gets fitted with these cuffs, the Imperial guides them out to wait near his partner. He even gives a look of disappointment for himself when placing the shackle on Rhonin. To have to condemn someone so young to a life of imprisonment or death does not rest easy on his consciousness. With the group all in binds, the guard seals the cell door with his key.
"Thank you for your cooperation," he tells them with his back to them. "Let's move!"
Without any resistance, the group follows behind the leading soldier. His partner stays behind them for security protocol. As they traverse the barren prison, Rhonin and Arius peek at each passing jail room. In many of those areas, skeletons of previous criminals with tattered rags remain. The disturbing thought of people being locked up, and left in the shadows to obscure their memory troubles the younger mages'. Kressmer is unfazed by this, as though this is not his first time laying eyes on such a sight.
By the time they reach the end of the hall, they stand stiffly silent in front of the iron exit. The leading soldier gently pulls it open and moves on. The group moves forward, the Imperial in the back doesn't bother to shut the door. No one else was there. There was no point he thought to himself. No longer do they stand in a dusty, brick corridor, but a massive chamber of smooth stone and well-crafted decor littering the walls and glass ceiling. While not very bright, at last, they finally see the clear evening sky.
After walking for some time, they find themselves standing in front of a giant wooden gate. At each corner of it, two more city guards with spears stand defensively.
"We have the prisoners," the soldier escort explains.
"Proceed," the guard on the right requests with a tilt of his armored head.
As if practicing this routine several times over, both the posted guardsmen lift their spears. With one hard motion, they slam the bottom, metal ends onto the floor. From the resonance of their bang, the gate opens inward. Just like the old doorways of the Mages Guild Library, they creek as though they were unused for years. What lies beyond the passage is a courtroom, with stands for political members to sit and observe.
At the center is a marble platform illuminated by a skylight reaching high above the audience. In front is a countertop made of the same material. Residing and standing out is a single tall throne against the wall. The shadows of the back room nearly conceal the judges and government officials. The only thing that can be made out is the outlining features of the individuals.
The two escorts guide the mages into the chamber. Their faces are devoid of emotion when passing their comrades, and vice versa. As for Rhonin and Arius, their uncontainable curiosity draws them to the fascination of this new space. As their eyes dash to every spec and cranny of this room, the eyes of the jury and the numerous attendees scowl down at them. Nobels of all races and from every corner of the continent have been summoned to pass their idea of judgment. The mages' don't take these cold stares to heart, and continue forward. Even Kressmer expresses his little care by returning the looks with a more soul-piercing gaze. Some of the royals lean away or freeze in place by it.
More faces and people are revealed to the trio the further they approach. The two guards who brought them, take their stand with the audience as the group moves on. Now standing within the spotlight of the podium, one such feature makes Arius halt. His rapid blinking suggests that what lies before him cannot be true. His whole body trembles and even his breathing is unsteady. Rhonin and Kressmer look to him in bewilderment.
Sitting atop the throne that stands above all others is an older man. His gowns are finely woven and stand out among the other royals' clothing. Unlike the rest of the crowd, he is humble and smiles to the group. He scratches his hairy grey chin as he studies the mages' from afar. Standing below him is another Thalmor agent. His proud posture and condescending look make his high status all the more evident. Even when in the presence of this esteemed man, his arrogance blinds him from understanding his place.
"Kneel, now," Arius urgently whispers to the others while trying to pull Rhonin's shoulders down.
Without so much as a question, both Rhonin Mathys and Kressmer Midium do so. The two younger mages' drop to their knees and lean their heads downward. The Dunmer gently imitates but is far less hasty.
"What's going on?" Rhonin questions quietly.
"It's the emperor, Emperor Titus Mede II," Arius replies, now with his face dripping anxiously in sweat.
The very mention of his name afflicts Rhonin with the same awe and intimidation. The immense emotional weight prevents him from even peeking up at the royal figure. This worry is brushed away by Kressmer's composed and mature nature. He is unfazed by this gracious appearance.
"Rise for the Emperor, Titus Mede II!" A knight off to the side projects when taking his place next to the lord of the Empire.
As demanded, the crowd brings themselves out of their seats. In a wave from the right of the room, the audience bows to their ruler. None are daring enough to make a sound or even whisper in their majesty's presence. As the entire room pay praise to Titus Mede, the Emperor lifts his slender hand to them in greetings. Coincidentally as he brings his hand down, so to do the other royals plant themselves back to their chairs. As they do, the mages' push themselves back onto their feet.
The broad and muscular Nord who spoke earlier now steps forward. His shiny steel armor reflects what light remains from outside. Whatever skin he decided to expose is stained with tattoos and markings of his homeland. Even his thick-bearded face has scars and war paint smothering over him.
"Arius Silver, Rhonin Mathys, and Kressmer Midium," he addresses them. "You stand accused of conspiring against the Empire, of endangering the lives of the people of Cydrodiil, and meddling with powerful, unfathomable forces!"
"Uh, general," Arius speaks up. "I assure you, that there is a misunderstanding-"
"I did NOT give you consent to speak!" The Nord bluntly replies. "Your name means little to me, Silver, all I see is a boy pretending to be a man!"
The insult takes Arius back. His throat closes as he stands in silence to the daunting Nord's words and firm tone. Even Rhonin gasps with his heart skipping a beat at the menacing comment.
"By Shor, you best not interrupt your superiors again!" The general threatens with a scowl and clenching the handle of his sword.
"Now, now, let's try to keep our civility in order," Titus attempts to quell his right hand's anger.
The Emperor's calm authority is more than enough. Within a handful of seconds, whatever severity was in the Nord's voice and mind is all but terminated. The general sighs and refrains from acting out towards his lord.
"Apologies, your majesty," he speaks with a tilt of his head.
"For those of you who wonder," Titus begins to address his allies when looking to them. "Given how my great city and nation is in grave distress, I felt obligated to attend this session and aid my people as their ruler and as a proper son of the Empire!"
The soft-spoken voice of the Emperor even eases the hearts of the mages'. Their eyes are directed to the elder royal as he glances down at them with a smile.
"Perhaps, one of you can explain what occurred?" He kindly requests.
At first, a proper explanation seems to be very mind riddling. The three glance at one another to see if either one is willing to step forward. Arius shrugs his shoulders in discomfort for being put in the unwanted spotlight. Even Kressmer quietly scuffs over the complications of either lying or telling the overly complex truth. Rhonin seeing both his friends in distress accepts the inevitable. Closing his sight and clearing his mind, he inhales deeply to quell his anxious nerves. Finally, he takes a single step forward and stares up to the Emperor.
"Emperor Titus Mede," he politely greets. "In all of the time that my friends and I have been in this city, not once did we ever have ill intentions."
The Imperial lord in his optimism leans to hear out the young mage's words. The Nord General is also willing to be open minded with Rhonin's plea. It is only when the Breton speaks that the crowd decides to whisper among themselves on their biased opinions. Rhonin remains undeterred despite already suspecting what the hushed comments are.
"What we desire is to help people who aren't fortunate enough to use magic," he explains aloud.
"So you create a storm that plagued the entire Imperial land?" The Thalmor agent spouts.
The accusation causes a minor eruption of words and discussions to echo across the chamber. Defensive for Mathys, Kressmer glares at the High Elf. However, Arius hurriedly places his cuffed hands onto the Dunmer before he can act.
"That was an accident," Rhonin claims without hostility.
"As it always is for those who cannot grasp the Arcane arts properly," the high elf mocks.
Before the tension and loud conversations in the room go awry, the Emperor once more raises a deaf hand. From this minor gesture, the chamber once more becomes devoid of voices. The egotistical Thalmor as well ends his forceful interrogation.
"That's enough," Titus requests. "Let him finish."
With a full understanding of his position in the court, the High Elf holds his tongue. Without any further abrupt comments, he mopes with his arms crossed. Finding comfort in Titus Mede's generosity, Kressmer also settles down.
"Thank you," Rhonin says with a quick bow to the Emperor. "I understand why many would be fearful or prejudice of my group, but I assure you that the actions we have taken were for the benefit of all of Tamriel and the Empire! What we did was-"
Before anything else can be spoken, the same creaking noise of an old door is heard. This time, from a side entrance to the left side of the throne. Two more guards have entered, accompanying them is three hooded figures. The leaders of the Mages Guild have arrived to investigate the situation.
"My lord, I've brought the representatives of the Synod, College of Whispers, and of Winterhold as requested," one of the soldiers' delivers.
Rhonin's group turns to their mentors puzzled by the sudden and unannounced appearance. Behind them, the nobles pass a few words to one another by the surprise guests. Yet, this would not be the only unforeseen event to occur. The shortest of the members freeze in place. A gasp is heard from her, leading the group to stop and look at her. Her hands tremble as she looks at the ground.
"Mam?" Tolfdir, the master mage of the College of Winterhold says to her.
This overwhelming sensation that has struck her proves too much. Her body gives way to the unknown force. The third member is thankfully behind her to catch her. Plummeting into his arms and chest, her hood slips off. Underneath the cowl is an elderly Wood Elf with eyes devoid of color from a past injury. The female representative of the Whispering college is shaken by what she feels.
"My lady, what troubles you?" Tolfdir questions rubbing her right hand to bring comfort.
"Great power," she claims with little breath behind her words. "Unlike anything I've ever felt before..."
With what strength she can use, she raises her wrinkly, wavering hand up. Even her fingers twitch and shake as she lifts her palm into the air. Those nearby follow her movements to spot what she is focusing on. During this, the crowd is very active toward her condition and reaction. Once at the right height, and as balanced as she can make it, the female Archmage clenches all but her index finger and thumb. Which is now directed to Rhonin and his friends.
"It comes from the boy," she states.
The court is now loud with panic and confusion. The royals and jury speak aloud with no restraint for being modest in Titus's presence. The guards especially take to act drastic and urgent in this chaotic situation. Each one either directs their spears to the three mages', or grasps the handles of their swords. Rhonin and his friends swiftly alter their sights to different parts of the room. Even the Emperors voice and gestures go unnoticed to all who are attending the trial.
The Nord general takes great offense to the immaturity of the nobles. Acting quickly, he rushes to the nearest spearman. Before the soldier can make any other actions, his superior officer rips his lance from his hands. Initially catching him by surprise, but calming him the moment he acknowledges the large Nord. Returning to the center of the room, Titus's right hand with all his might slams the bottom end of the spear onto the ground.
"Enough!" He demands with his voice booming to the court.
The pounding of steel and stone, followed by an ear straining ringing stuns the entire room. All but the Nord, the Emperor, and the Thalmor agent are fazed by this action. Most if not all who are within the room cusp their heads and ears.
"You will behave yourselves in his majesty's company!" The general orders. "As for you boy, explain yourself!"
The banging reverberance of his voice ceases, allowing the audience and the group comfort and clear thinking. All sit and gaze silently with a keen interest in what Rhonin will say. The young mage, being overwhelmed by the many eyes set on him, turns to his group. The stress for being modest and patient weighs on Arius and Kressmer. Doom awaits them should they try to hide the truth any longer. The Imperial sighs and looks down admitting defeat. Giving consent for Rhonin to profess, the Dunmer gives a regretful nod with an exhale from his nostrils.
"Please do not make this harder than it has to be," Titus requests.
The calm, kind tone in the Emperor's voice is the last needed boost of assurance. Rhonin just as collected directs himself to the throne. Even as the two connect their focus on one another, Rhonin is able to remain clear of mind.
"On that day, we awoke a power beyond mortal potential," he explains. "And from that divine essence, we made this..."
With his hands shackled, he steadily reaching for his chest as to not provoke any hostility. While the Nord general is at unease with this action, he does not sense any risk of danger. Regardless, his hold on the spear remains for safety. The Thalmor agent takes a step closer, his lips are slightly open in anticipation. The Mages Guild representatives as well patiently wait for answers. Only using his fingers, Rhonin slips into his chest pocket.
Once retrieving the relic within, he holds it in his palms. Once more, even without looking upon it, the ring's whispers begin to reach out to him. However, this crucial moment proves to overcome his daze. Moving just as smoothly, he lays his hands out onto the desk in front of him. At last, he brings himself to rest the magical item down. Out of concern for how they may react to his creation, he pauses in place.
Will they be fearful of it? Angered by its devastating capabilities and looks? Or will they praise it and the three for their hard work? He could not say nor predict. One way or another he will know, better to be compliant than endanger himself and his friends. With only a step back, the court and all its guests are presented with an artifact of legendary quality.
As when it was first brought into creation, the Ebony Ring makes its presence known. While only Rhonin and his friends can hear the humming, a weight has been dropped on all who gaze at the black, metal circle. No longer is it just the elder mages' who can sense it, now the courtroom share in the unbearable feeling. As speculated in the Breton's mind, most of the people tremble at just the sight of it and its daedric markings. Once again, rambling among the royals arises.
"There, that is the power I sensed!" the envoy for the College of Whispers claims.
"What is that?" The High Elf questions with a fascinated smile.
"We don't have a proper name for it, yet," Rhonin says. "At this time, we call it the Ebony Ring."
The mention of its name sparks interest in the nobles. While most of their sentences cannot be clearly made out, the name of the artifact is heard repeatedly. Again, the general slams his spear down, but not nearly as hard as before. His imposing action quiets the room down to a whisper.
"What is the purpose of this ring?" Titus Mede asks with his fingertips pressed against one another.
"Originally it was meant to possess every known enchantment," Rhonin answers. "But something went wrong, all we can say for certain is that the ring enhances its wearer in every aspect to a considerable degree."
"The explosion of light I take it?" Titus suggests. "In any case, why would your leaders provide you with the resources to create an uncontrollable power source?"
The Emperor turns his head to the Mages Guild diplomats remaining in the same position. Many of the royals turn themselves to the elders, as well as the Nord officer and High Elf ambassador.
"We assure you, your majesty, that we had no knowledge of this experiment!" the Synod Elder speaks. "We would have never condoned such rash and destructive activities!"
"How else could they have crafted such a complex, and powerful item?" Titus questions.
"I believe I may be able to explain," a voice in the crowd speaks up.
At the front corner of the stands, an older soldier rises. This man imparticular wares leather garbs that Rhonin doesn't recognize. However, this gold rimmed, unique battle attire is all too familiar with Arius Silver. The Imperial gasps as he lays his eyes on the tan legionnaire.
"Ah, General Tullius," the Emperor points out in a positive tone. "Good to see that you were able to make it."
"Of course my lord," Tullius replies with a bow. "The information I have is of grave importance."
While Rhonin and Kressmer look in puzzlement for who he is, Arius knows the risk of his presence. The knowledge that he brings from Skyrim could put the three at high risk.
"You see, a few weeks ago, in the Dwarven city of Markarth, the prisoners at Cihdne Mine uncovered something." As Tullius paces side to side in front of the nobles, he presents his evidence. "What they found had enough power to create unnatural earthquakes and tremors through the city. After many hours of digging and excavating, it was revealed that what caused the phenomenon was a soul gem."
The preposterous notion spreads disbelief across the courtroom, with only the trio believing him at first. Incoherent words are passed around, making Titus hurriedly raise his hand to quiet them. As the crowd hushes, the Imperial general proceeds.
"This stone proved too large to carry out of the mine, leaving the Jarl of the city to send his court wizard to the mine," the general continues. "They called it the Antella, based off the similar gem that Tiber Septim possessed during his reign."
"I am aware of the Mantella," the Emperor recalls. "What does this have to do with the Ebony Ring?"
"By what I've been told, Cyrodiil was plagued with an awful storm not long ago," Tullius reminds the court. "The same event also occurred in Markarth when the wizard was experimenting with the stone."
Pointing out these connections begins to weigh down onto Rhonin's team. Both Rhonin and Arius stress over what may happen if all the pieces and clues of their involvement are put together. Kressmer squints his eyes in irritation for the obvious conclusion.
"These harsh winds and fall of rain came from the stone," Tulius explains. "And it so happens that it was recently stolen. Around the same time that the Imperial capital fell victim to the same forces of nature..."
The minds of the jury and of the royals have been made. By their worrisome, hateful expressions and tones, their view of the mages' is guilty.
"Preposterous!" The Thalmor agent speaks out underestimating their capabilities. "How could these three novices' have taken the stone without being caught and bring it to the city within a day?"
"We weren't sure at first either," the Imperial general admits. "That is until I was able to reach the mage tower."
With a click of his fingers, an Imperial scout rushes to his side. With a satchel on his waist, the man retrieves a chared book within. Most of its pages are burnt, and even the cover cannot be read or described correctly. Still, some of its contents appear intact. Being just as quick when passing it to his chief, the ranger sprints back to his seat.
"This was found within the observatory of the building!" Tulius claims, raising the tome high for all to see. "While most of it was damaged in the blast, what does remain is notes! One of these pages in particular mentions opening a rift through the realm of Oblivion!"
The mention of the dark realm beyond Tamriel strikes dread into the minds of all who are present. Discluding Kressmer and his friends, Titus Mede, and his two close hand allies. Most are just as silent as the dead, with only gasps and heavy breathing remaining as the only sound in the chamber.
"A series of markings and runes depict the spell needed to open this gate," Tullius points out. "I share this with you now, because those exact sigils were found in place of the Antella!"
The revelation of this proof causes an uproar in the room. The light of truth hangs over Arius and the others. Their secret has been laid to bare, and the guilt of being caught pokes in the back of their heads. The many shocked and surprised glares enforce discomfort onto them, even the High Elf's scowls aren't assuring. Thankfully, the Emperor's subtle action is still enough to quell the stunning reactions of the chamber. As all turn quiet, Titus looks down onto Rhonin with his calm demeanor.
"You stole the Antella?" He asks, already knowing the answer. "Committed a heinous crime not only to the people of Markarth, but to Skyrim, and the Empire itself?"
"It's not what you think," a nervous Rhonin attempts to explain.
"There isn't much left to the imagination, boy," the Thalmor speaks in disdain. "You betrayed your people and your lords for power."
"What we did was save countless innocence!" Arius shouts in anger towards the rude High Elf.
His sudden outburst startles the haughty elf. His interruption and loud tone come off as insulting to him. He glares at the Imperial for his actions, which the nobles express in the same way.
"If the Soul Gem had stayed in Skyrim, it would have been used for war!" Arius claims. "Either the Stormcloaks would have used it to fuel their rebellion and enforce their old ways, or-"
Before he takes his assumptions too far, he turns away to stop his rant. An inhale of agitation can be heard from his nose. This random halt in his speech sparks interest from the High Elf. Taking a step closer, he goes on to pester him more.
"Or what?" He asks anticipating a needed answer.
"Or the Thalmor would abuse its power for their own selfish end!" Arius distastefully spews.
His hateful assumption brings out the disgust in the Altmer agent. Even the members of the trial are offensive by this wild accusation. They point and mutter when gazing down at the savage tongued Imperial.
"Why you-" The Altmer is about to lash out.
Just as he is about to let his anger best his civility, the Emperor barges into the debate.
"That's enough," he orders lifting his hand to the Altmer.
Unable to speak against the judgment of Titus Mede, the High Elf does as he wishes. Returning to his place beside the throne, the Thalmor turns his head in defeat. As the room and all who are present settle down, the Emperor continues.
"No matter what your intentions were, to break the Empires laws and to threaten the lives of its people is not something we can easily forgive," Titus explains.
"Besides, what good does this ring do, if no one knows for certain what its full capabilities are?"
"Indeed," the elderly woman of Whispers comments. All who could hear her shaky tone direct their focus to her. "While I sense tremendous power from the Ebony Ring, I can only feel a portion of it at work... As though most of it is locked away, untapped."
This abnormal quality with such a mighty object boggles the minds of everyone in the courtroom. Even Rhonin and Arius were oblivious to this detail. Despite the confusion floating in the room like a foul aroma, no one replies or speaks over this discovery.
"In fact, there is something else," she comments.
Bending her hand back and directing her palm towards the ring, faint blue energy surfaces from her wrinkly limb. As she does so, the Ebony Ring begins to react to this invasion. Like a beacon on a black beach, the item glows and vibrates before their eyes. The audience stands from their seats to get a closer look. No longer is the circle dormant in its quietness, now the spine-tingling whispers reach every corner of the room. Many are pale in the face by this white noise. This radical behavior in the ring gives the younger mages a reason to fret.
Suddenly, another unforeseeable force negates the Whispering mage's spell. All is calm, with none willing to say or do anything, out of worry for what the ring may do.
"I felt it, for a moment I could see it," the Whispering College's envoy comments. Repeating from before, she points her wobbly finger at the relic. "A dark entity of Oblivion has placed its mark on that ring..."
The thought of the beings within the Daedric realms having such influence causes panic in the crowd. Each person except for the mages, the Emperor, and his close advisors, chatter over one another. The nobles' panicking and displeasing tones overshadow Titus Mede himself. Even Rhonin's group is troubled by this startling discovery.
"This can't be possible," Rhonin says overwhelmed with disbelief.
While Arius is also dumbfounded with Rhonin, Kressmer's expression becomes stern and cold by this information. His head hangs down to cover his face.
"It would seem that these simple students are meddlers of the dark arts," the High Elf comments. "My lord, I suggest allowing my associates to deal with this dark artifact. They're very wise scholars of magic, and will be able to ensure no one would ever misuse it."
"Very well," Titus Mede allows with a wave. "General Tullius, bring him the ring."
"As you wish," the Imperial replies with a bow.
"As for you three. For your crimes against the Empire, the people of Skyrim, and for communing with Daedric forces, you will be sentenced to a lifetime in prison. Never to see the light of day again."
The heart-sinking sentence nearly makes Arius's knees cave. Even Rhonin feels his heart stop for a moment out of fear.
"Wait!" Rhonin pleads. "I am the one who came up with the idea, brought the ingredients together. I'm the one responsible for the ring's creation, leave them out of this!"
While his intentions to take the blame is flattering to Kressmer, Arius is unpleased. The Imperial squints distastefully believing he is trying to steal the credit. Even so, the Breton's words are ignored by the Emperor and the others. As Tullius approaches, the three watch as he slips the ring into his grasp. As he heads off, a concerning thought comes to Midium's mind.
"We can't allow the Thalmor to possess the ring," Kressmer whispers looking to Mathys. "Rhonin, do you know Telekinesis?"
"I-I've tried it," the turmoil for the situation and the sudden statement makes his response stuttery and quiet. "But I've never had enough Magicka."
With only seconds to spare, Kressmer clamps his eyes closed. In a single moment, their cuffs become transparent. With their backs to the crowd and their hands shielded by the stand in front of them, none are able to notice this except for the trio. Without warning, Kressmer locks his grip onto the young Breton. A sudden surge of pale blue energy courses through Rhonin by this connection.
"You do now," Kressmer comments.
With only a foot gap between Tullius and the Atlmer, Rhonin raises his hand to the general. Orange, spiraling lights form around Mathys's fingers and converge into his palm. At his command, the ring forces its way out of the general's grasp. As the Ebony Ring sours through the air, the nearby guards draw their blades. As though time has slowed down, this swift moment in their eyes feels like minutes. The race for the ring strives all who want it to move at the group.
The one thing that remains constant is the powerful relic's call to its makers. Just like before, the ring's whisper can be heard, drawing everyone like bait on a hook. With time only giving them a fraction of a moment to act, Kressmer reaches for the ring in mid-air. The moment his fingers wrap around it, he swings his fist into the air.
"Now!" Kressmer shouts out.
As his hand hangs above them, a think mist envelops the three. As wild as a powerful blizzard storm, a gust of heavy fog sprays in all directions. The power of this blast stuns everyone in the room. The guards halt in place to block the burst of Magicka, as well as the nobles who have been knocked back into their seats. As the high winds recede, what lies in the mages' place is unclamped shackles.
Surrounding all of the royals and members of the court, is gray, hooded figures. In this threatening moment, the soldiers instinctively strike at each humanoid shape near them. Yet, with each strike, the masses of fog disperse upon contact with their weapons. Urgently searching for the real culprits, the legionnaires continue to attack each figure. In the end, their attempts were futile.
With enough shades disposed of, the fog in the room fades. Before their eyes, Rhonin, Kressmer, and Arius have vanished without a trace. With all of the doors into the chamber open, no one can say for sure where they have fled.
"Find them, FIND THEM!" The Thalmor agent orders the soldiers with a swing of his hand.
Every able legionnaire splits off into different exits. Even the nobles begin to take their leave, having no further business in the court. The only few that remain are the Emperor, the Altmer, Nord, Tullius, and the Archmages of the Mages Guild. Titus Mede in a state of exhaustion from the chaotic session lies back in his seat. With his hand covering his eyes, he addresses the final elephant in the room.
"I had feared the world was not ready to be open to the arcane arts," he regretfully mentions. "You were right Tolfdir, now is not the time for the Mages Guild to be reestablished."
The other Archmages turn to the elder Nord, glaring for what they believe is an act of betrayal. Tolfdir sensing the stares takes a few steps away.
"The moment the Synod and College of Whispers sought power for their own gain, was the moment they became corrupted by it," Tolfdir claims. "Good thing Winterhold was onto this hungry thorn in the side."
"Wise words indeed," Titus mentions. "Then I declare that on this day, the Mages Guild be disbanded."
