Sorry for the lengthy pause, but this chapter was fiendishly difficult to write… so yeah. It was supposed to include Lucien initially, but that would likely ruin the impact of the whole scene. This chapter is kind of dark, so you have been warned. This was actually the initial subplot for "Anyone can Listen" Lisette/Blanche was created for. So I hope you enjoy it and stay tuned for the next chapter, which should feature Lucien! Bonus e-cookies for people who can make any guess as to how things are going to go on from now.
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Chalk
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The assignment, in itself, was an obvious trap and the fact that she was forced to walk into it like this was one of the things that frustrated Lisette no end. Any kind of pondering she went through during the journey towards Leafrot Cave led to no solution to this predicament, forcing her to turn her thoughts toward how she might survive this encounter.
If this was an enemy the Necromancers were sending her against to get her killed, it would be certainly a great challenge. The only specifics she had was that the opponent was a Necromancer as well. Whether it was one of their own or an opposing faction that didn't agree with their views was of no consequence to her at the moment, though the latter was more probable, from a certain point of view.
Without information, strategy or proper spells, she would be easy prey. The two battlemages she was with were of questionable worth to her in this case – she couldn't fight her way from them, since that would serve only as confirmation of her guilt to all, but aside from their superior constitutions, she didn't really believe that they had more knowledge of Necromancy than she did.
"All right, here we are." the less gruff of her guides announced when they practically stood before the entrance to the cave. Lisette rather hoped his talent for stating the obvious was offset by his talent with Destruction. "Lemieux, you stay close and try not to get in the way." He gave the Breton a pointed glare, as if he could intimidate her with the threat of Necromancers so near. "This might be your punishment, but we're not getting killed if you mess up."
Lisette said nothing. Chills of moderate levels were passing through her, but she struggled to remember all the Dark Brotherhood had taught her about stealth missions and assassinations. She had never thought that a day would come when she would wish that she had taken more of their lessons.
They didn't even discuss a plan; there was none to be had. Lisette rather suspected that the battlemages were used to fights where sheer might alone was enough to overwhelm an opponent or there was no time for an efficient plan to be created. The two of them simply exchanged gruff nods and stalked into the cave, leaving her to follow them.
They were doing this for glory as well, she realized. Both of them were of a lower rank than her, apparently, and outclassing her at such an important mission would probably reap them great awards. Again, Lisette briefly considered bolting – the journey to Cheydinhal wasn't that great from here – but thought better of it. The poor fools would die if she didn't do something! They were already too stupid to bind her properly, so that was one reason. Besides, she had to expose Caranya… but first, she would save these two. They were pawns only.
Casting invisibility on herself, Lisette took a deep breath and entered the cave. She knew she would regret this, though.
Though she had rushed through the entrance a mere ten seconds after her companions, Lisette could see neither of them. Quietly, she cast darkvision on herself, but all it helped her with was seeing the muddy wall of the cave in front of her. She didn't dare use any more magic and calling out was out of the question. There was only one way down, though, and for a second, she thought she saw the hem of a mage's robe move.
A few dozen paces down, she found herself in a relatively brightly lit underground chamber that bore every resemblance to both a library and a lab. In fact, the books on the crude wooden shelves were so meticulously organizes, Tar-Meena would likely envy the resident master of archives.
Not entirely consciously, Lisette reached out for the nearest book open on the table and began examining it carefully. The Path of Transcendence, it read on the cover. That had to do something with Necromancy and lich transformations, judging from what her instincts were telling her.
Truthfully enough, it was a journal of Celedaen, if the writing spoke true, involving his experiments with "true" lichdom. Apparently, he sneered at the practices of the cult that was giving so much trouble to the Mages Guild, believing himself supreme to their ways, planning and yearning to have them as groveling servants at his feet.
She didn't get much further than that in her reading. There was a dreadful scream that echoed through the cave. The book tumbled out of her hands with a louder crash than she intended just as the scream died. Her focus slipped, though she didn't notice it, her invisibility flickered for a moment or so.
This series of events, timed impossibly wrong, was what caused the beginnings of her predicament.
Lisette quickly crouched to pick up the journal and return it to its proper place. She didn't think; she didn't know what she was going to do. In retrospect, even bothering with covering up her presence was a ridiculous notion – if the others had been discovered, any such event could be attributed to their clumsiness.
But for her, it was an automated reflex. It was only when she heard the low-pitched moan that she realized she was in trouble. A figure approached through the corridor her companions had taken, but it couldn't be either of them. It wasn't nearly as tall or bulky and there was a vile odor spreading from it.
There was a stiffness to its walk and the sound it was making was like a low rumble from beyond the grave. The mage didn't need to see any more to understand what she was faced with.
The book fell from her hands, but this time, she didn't bother with disguising the noise it made. It made no difference now.
She cast the first spell she could think of. A spasm of lightning went through the zombie, without any kind of effect.
And, unsurprisingly, it served to stir up the other thralls behind the first that she didn't notice immediately. Of course there were others. Of course Necromancers kept thralls to serve their bidding! But the spell… why wasn't this working?
The zombies only sped up their movements, rushing towards her en masse, as quickly as the tunnel allowed them. Lisette, somewhat worried right now – though mostly for the others – began casting spell after spell in a colorful sequence of sparks and flashes, shifting from school to school of magic with an automatic precision.
Now, who can tell me what the appropriate defense against Necromancy is? She heard one of her instructors speaking in her mind. Undead are resilient against almost every spell and if you have the ridiculous idea of taking them head-on, then you better hope your healing powers are stellar, because most thralls carry very potent diseases.
Fire and light. The undead inhabit dark and wet and cold places, meaning that they resent things that lack that.
In a slight panic, Lisette hurled a fireball at the nearest zombie, hitting it square in the chest. The spell went out weaker than she had hoped, though; it was a miracle it didn't fizzle, with her concentration so weakened.
It had the desired effect, though; the zombie moaned in what would be interpreted as pain in a living being and stumbled backwards. Lisette stumbled back and looked around frantically for something to use. If her magic was only enough to stun it, she needed something more physical to keep it off-balance. No weaponry in sight, she reached for the better alternative – the nearest torch. The zombie straightened up and she, holding the torch in both hands, swung as hard as she could at the creature. Its head, already hanging more or less by a thread only, went flying off into the wall with a sickening crack and the body ran around in circles as the fire engulfed it.
This ensured that most of the others were lit as well, especially once Lisette had figured out the trajectory the first one would follow and managed to get close enough to stick the torch into another one and start a real fire.
She stumbled back, away from the rapidly expanding fire. It was one of the more unfortunately ostentatious things she had been forced to do – some of the perishing zombies were getting too close to the bookshelves, which was the first thing that caught her attention. The destruction of books of any kind was something she couldn't approve of; besides, there was the chance that she might yet use some of them as evidence to support her case.
Then, of course, there were the several potentially explosive alchemic ingredients on the nearby very wooden, very flammable table.
Conjuring up water from thin air was more difficult than conjuring up ice, due to the differences in the intent of the magic and the temperatures required. Also, attack spells were usually summoned only for a little while, while she needed to douse the flames.
The first attempt at an incantation failed, understandably; Lisette had never been an expert with this kind of spells. When she conjured, it was usually summoning or teleportation, not creating something merely out of the elements at her disposal. That and the fact that fire and water, being polar opposites, didn't take too well to being summoned one after the other in such a close sequence.
It took longer than she would have wished, but she managed to freeze both the table and everything on it – the water still wouldn't come, but at least these weren't shards of ice to be hurled at an enemy. The flames that sizzled and hissed when they melted the ice and died with it.
By then, the majority of the zombies were fully immobile or scorched, no longer even crawling anymore and the adrenaline pounding in Lisette's ears subsided. She felt the calm settling into her mind, as it usually was after a battle that had gone well.
A moment later, she was reminded of her purpose here when there was a flash of light and a powerful pressure on her back that sent her flying towards the very table she had frozen. The breath was pushed out of her lungs in a single gasp as she doubled over, but it was the ice that saved her. By slipping off the table just as she tried to steady herself, she narrowly avoided the second flash of light that destroyed any remains of frost on the wood.
She rolled over quickly, but didn't have the air for the incantation for a summoning that would give her time for a proper Destruction spell. The Paralysis spell she gasped out was literally knocked aside with a force so violent and precise that the magic was practically shattered.
"Ah, some scrap of actual magical ability?"
Black robes… though not like those of the Dark Brotherhood. The voice that accompanied the almost skeletal frame of the figure was shrill and chilly, rather like the swift cut of a razor.
There was some desperate attempt at a Destruction spell through magical power and will alone, since there was no time for any incantation or energy gathering, but it was squashed flat the moment a hand bony enough to belong to a skeleton – if not for the sharp voice accompanying it – delved mercilessly into her hair and pulled her up to her knees, at least.
Somewhere along the line, she screamed in pain, or perhaps due to the sight of the yellowing insignia of Necromancy on the man's robes. He was an Altmer, impossibly tall, with harsh, angular features and eyes to match his manner of speaking. Like Caranya, perhaps, except there was no illusion of friendliness here. The elf she was facing held his intentions on his sleeve and proudly so.
"How peculiar. I thought you bumbling children had even that much stripped from you to become half-decent thralls."
Lightning, perhaps. Or something else. All that Lisette felt was that she tried to break free from the grip that showed no signs of being relinquished with another weak spell and received a spell in return.
"Not begging for mercy either… well, we shall have to remedy things, won't we? Hmm…. Not enough muscle to remain even half-decent dead…"
Finally, there was another flash and the hand supporting her was gone, forcing her to drop back to all fours. Celedaen examined the deep cut on his forearm with only irritation-laden eyes, ignoring the blood tickling down his ashen skin. One had to wonder if he felt pain at all, since he cast a spell the moment the first droplet prickled away and onto the floor.
Lisette quickly raised her arms in a shield spell that flared into existence upon being struck with the aggressive magic. It held up against the onslaught – if only barely – fending off the crackles and sparks of the heavy elemental attack that simply kept coming and coming. However, gifted and learned though the girl might be, she didn't and would never have the luxury of a mer to build up power or unravel the secrets of magic not yet discovered.
Which is not to say that Celedaen possessed either unlimited power or unimaginable secrets; in fact, neither could be further from the truth. But he did have the endurance and tenacity brought upon him by months and months and months of desperate research in a mud-ridden cave, with only his maddened determination to keep him going. And, in that moment, this proved to be stronger than Lisette and her magic.
The reddish shield, glowing, cracked in the middle and split into a thousand pieces, rippling away like disturbed waters and vanishing in flickers of ruby. Then, there was nothing in the world stopping the lightning spell from hitting her full-force before she could even think of putting up a new shield.
The world went black for Lisette Lemieux and didn't return back into color or shape until in a few hours, though it seemed merely an instant to her.
She was brutally awoken from her state by the tip of a mud-ridden boot prodding her not-so-gently in the stomach. At first, she had no thought about where she might be, but it all returned to her in one brief, horrible recollection.
A shredded, thin blanket was all that separated her from the hardness of the stone floor. Her wounds, whatever they might have been, had apparently been treated – poorly, so that some pain should yet remain, but sufficiently as to prevent life-threatening risk.
"Urgh!"
"Get up!" the shrill voice she remembered commanded, forcing her up to her feet like a marionette. Celedaen looked rather satisfied with himself, though the haughty look he gave her was the very essence of a sneer. "I've made my decision about your fate, little worm. I require servants for my work here… capable ones, able to follow my instruction. You appear to have some basic knowledge of arcane theory. You will suffice."
The two mages that were with her were lying in a heap of limbs and bodies not too far away, obviously waiting for the most malevolent of resurrections at the hands of the Necromancer. It was enough to make Lisette want to retch, but her limbs were weak and her stomach empty – she hadn't eaten for quite a while.
Most horrendously, though, magic wouldn't respond when she tried to call on it to attempt to break free from the invisible grip on her limbs.
Her head snapped to attention when Celedaen chuckled under his breath in obvious reaction to her realization.
"Your power is still there, worry not. I simply blocked the connection between it and your physical self." The only technique of magic-control Lisette knew of was putting a geas on a person, but that was usually for one task only, severely limiting the functionality and application of the spell. "If you are to use it again, it will be for my benefit."
The power holding her up was suddenly gone and Lisette felt her knees give away and the ground embrace her much more quickly than she would have liked.
"And if you work diligently, you might even live to see the success of your contribution to my work. I hope you will exceed my expectation. I doubt you will." the Necromancer added, observing her beaten and drained form.
Lisette's fingers closed around the cloth underneath her, trying to force strength back into her limbs, but to no avail. Her elbows gave out beneath her and she collapsed on the ground again, though this time, she didn't have the luxury of even minutes of rest.
From then on, each day was the same. She was awoken with a sharp spell or a blow, whichever was more convenient for Celedaen at the current moment, and immediately thrown into work. After two weeks, she finally managed to develop a habit of waking up before even the Necromancer… though insomnia proved impossible, as she was always half dead by the time she was allowed to drop onto the dirty, torn blanket that now formed her entire lodgings.
Each day, she worked for at least sixteen hours on potion formulae, prepared ingredients and whatever else the Necromancer demanded, receiving nothing if she succeeded, but pain when she failed. Only one time did she attempt to mix something close to a poison instead of the designated recipe. Celedaen, however, was far keener a mage than she had supposed. The backhand she received for that actually made her see a flash or white for a second or so just before she was sent crashing against the wall.
For the first week or so, she was nearly always half-dead with exhaustion and devoid of any strength, magical or otherwise. Her magic remained blocked unless for when Celedaen required her to actively use it and even then, he had her watched and restrained in some manner.
The two mages that had come with her were turned into mindless thralls that now served as the muscle of the operation in more ways than one. Whenever live flesh was needed or the experiment was deemed potentially life-threatening, they were used. Resurrection caused one to lose the conscious mind more often than not and Celedaen's idea of returning a person to life certainly qualified.
The first time she saw the process, Lisette would have screamed, if she had the energy to spare. Eventually, it became a routine that she grew dully accustomed to.
Under the ground, it was difficult to measure time, particularly because the Altmer was prone to bouts of insomnia and often forced Lisette to work for inhumane periods of time way beyond any conventional working hours. The only way was to monitor the number of projects researched and failed.
Celedaen continued the journal of the experiments, but the entire process was enraging him and increasing his bouts of temper. His treatment of Lisette and the thralls remained largely the same, though he drove them more mercilessly than ever before.
Until, one night, the Necromancer woke Lisette only after an hour or so of dreamless sleep. Apparently, he was under the impression that his Sovereign had sent him information regarding the as he spent a night in mindless worship.
Most of the creation of the Sands of Resolve took over a week of sacrificing innocents and thralls. None of them had slept for all that time. The seal on Lisette's power was weakened, but even with it, her strength was nearly depleted.
"It cannot be done." she rasped out, her throat dry.
She rarely spoke to Celedaen; she had discovered that there was hardly anything he would listen to, be it her opinion or reason, but the last step needed to complete the ritual and begin the infusion of his soul into the Sands was simply too ludicrous to be possible.
A hand was immediately closed around her throat, giving two critical points a good squeeze. "You will finish the construction." The thralls didn't have the conscious skill and risking his own life wasn't wise just then. But the Necromancer was also somewhat surprised; she had appeared to accept her captivity and the inevitable end it would bring.
"But it can't be done!" Lisette insisted, though her voice was breathy and, for a moment, she saw white. "The magic pressure from the ritual will kill destroy the Sands and likely kill us both immediately!"
Yet to the Necromancer, that appeared to be an acceptable risk for attaining immortality.
"Do as I say, unless you wish to die now, in a far more painful way than a mere surge of magic can inflict upon you." Such matter-of-fact tones, with the words coming easily.
"Kill me, then." The words that came from her mouth were a surprise to them both, for different reasons. Yet Lisette understood that they were true – between the two alternatives she had, death was likely preferable. "I don't have the strength to do it. You'll kill me anyway, by hounding me like a slave or intentionally."
There was a moment of silence as the Altmer regarded her with fury. Then, there was another flash of light and Lisette found herself on the floor in a position that had become familiar to her over the last weeks.
"Even now you're not proper material for a slave, let alone a Necromancer acolyte." Celedaen spat, finding a means of letting out all of his dissatisfaction and anger with the failures of the research. "You could have been someone in the great kingdom of Celedaen. Now, you will be something."
She didn't even understand the words or their magnitude before there was a grip of iron just below her shoulder and she was hurled back to her feet and Celedaen proceeded to drag her through the cave and then outside.
The Breton hadn't seen sunlight in weeks and it seemed much brighter to her eyes than she remembered. The Altmer continued his dragging her through the forest. Her dusty and somewhat torn robes became muddier. She slipped and lost her footing several times as they climbed and practically slid through the forest to some unknown destination.
It was only when she saw the statue that she understood where she was being dragged and began trying to press her legs against the ground to try and stop their progress. But with all the mud and slopes around the forest, there was hardly any way to stop the force pulling her along.
The shrine of one of the more malevolent Daedric princes resided in the vicinity of the cave – something she had never realized before. Of course she knew it was somewhere around the mountains, but to have this close was rather alarming. Especially considering the nature of the worshippers.
There were plenty of them, all with faces gritty, battle-ready and hard. Worshippers that had devoted their existence to the Daedra or sought its favor to help in a task that involved its field of expertise.
The one dressed in mud-colored robes that appeared to be leader approached; a Redguard with cold eyes and a gruff voice approached them with some puzzlement.
"You are not one of the Faithful. Why do you approach the shrine, Necromancer?" he asked coldly, observing the Altmer's robes.
Celedaen, however, ignored him entirely and proceeded to drag Lisette all the way towards the statue of the Daedra. Once there, he produced the heart of a lesser Daedra – likely a scamp or another vaguely weak creature he had sacrificed for their immortality – and raised it up into the statue's line of sight with his free arm.
"Great Boethia! I offer you this heart as tribute to your magnificence!"
For a moment, Lisette actually believed that nothing was going to happen. She believed in Daedra, yes, but also hoped that the prince of murder, deception and other nasty things had better things on his schedule than being summoned by a renegade Necromancer. Right then, she believed in nothing, only fear.
But the sky itself seemed to shake when the voice of a presence spoke, as if through the statue. The echo was coming from the stone, but then again, that was only as the conduit for the Daedra that was using it.
"Why do you summon me? You are not one of my faithful. Do you hope to be counted among my Chosen?"
Lisette had no idea what that that meant and she didn't want to. But Celedaen did and the situation pleased him.
"I offer to you this slave as my champion to prove in the Tournament of Ten Bloods!"
"What?" the Breton shrieked. "No! NO, let me GO! NO, I WON'T, no!"
Though Daedra lore wasn't her greatest strength, she understood what this meant. Boethia, being a violent god, enjoyed contests and battles mixing them both together was a particular favorite of his. If this was what she thought it was… trouble. She tried to wrench her arm away or to call upon magic, whichever she could do faster, but neither appeared possible. Eyes shining with sadistic glee, the Necromancer listened to the prince's musings.
"A servant as a champion! Cowards have no place among the Chosen. But your ploy of murder pleases me, High Elf." Boethia complimented. The faithful – the worshippers – appeared to now be listening intently for their god's words. "The female shall fight, then. Prove yourself to me, mortal. I shall open a portal for you to one of my realms in Oblivion. Go, and take your place in my Tournament of Ten Bloods. Survive, and you will be rewarded. Fail, and your soul belongs to me."
"I will not fight!" Lisette yelled, her eyes darting around the shrine. She didn't dare hope for Boethia to help her, but there was still the chance that he wouldn't support Celedaen either.
She didn't really believe in that, thought. Especially since it was the Altmer who responded first when the Daedra remained silent.
"I offer you fate other than death and you sneer at my mercy!" he shouted, showing his yellowing teeth when he pulled her to his face for a brief moment of horror. "You can fight and live… or die and serve the Daedra forever. The choice is yours!"
The Altmer's grip over Lisette's arm tightened as a portal of blazing electric blue opened in front of them. It crackled into life just as Celedaen spun the Breton around, forcing her balance forward and letting go of her. The momentum of the motion propelling her forward, Lisette stumbled over her own feet and was sent flying through the portal into Oblivion.