One

Ashidavar Ruins, Somewhere in Cyrodil, 15th Day of the Evening Star

Azden Riseri valued what little light the orange flames of his torch made down the seemingly endless dark corridor. Usually a retched stench seeped into these kinds of places from damp corners and the moisture that outside air swept through cracks and holes in the walls. Naturally rats would squeak and scutter against the floors and spiders made homes near the delicious morsels. And at this point of his life Azden had seen so many skeletons that he could draw a perfectly detailed one from memory. But none of these things were present within the cramped spaces of Ashidavar Ruins. And that worried Azden beyond imagining.

As a self-proclaimed artifact hunter, Azden took great value and pride in knowing his stuff. In digging up the past so others can admire history in the present, in discovering the secrets of Tamriel's greatest magi, or gripping onto the last remnants of the dwarves. But here, it was like the rooms were perfectly preserved all save for the eerie darkness. He could hear his own heartbeat, it bothered him.

The young Redguard turned the gaze of his unique violet eyes, the one's he had since that magical incident, and directed it toward the faint white light of snow a few meters behind him that hinted at the entrance. He wanted to remember it one last time before he stepped deeper into the shadows. He ran a hand through his short but curly black hair and took a deep breath. 20 years of age, six feet tall, broad-shoulder and strong athletic figure, and yet these simple walls made him think at any moment this place would crush him and his puny mortal form. His special cloth weave jacket and black pants and boots no longer felt so protective, even though both had stopped a good arrow or two in their past.

The further he descended into darkness the weaker his torch got. But he sensed no chill in the air, nor moisture from the snowfall outside. Maybe the shadows tickled and grabbed at his light? Slowly pulling apart the beacon he held so close to himself, only caring to distance it enough to not burn his skin. Ashidivar ruins, 'The living evils of the Black Mage' That's how the commoners described it. The informant's story hadn't been far off from that. He hadn't had much time to read into this Black Mage, but apparently some long time ago, how time was usually written, a Breton adept in a strange necromancy had founded a haven for himself. More of a temple where he and his acolytes and worshippers had lived, terrorizing locals for years. Kidnapping people and bringing them into his haven to do experiments and what not, dark things, evil things. No one knew for sure because no one had ever stepped involuntarily in and made it back out. The place was sure built more like a prison than a temple. Deep underground rooms lined equally along an endless corridor…

For his own sanity, Azden prayed the corridor had an end. For his own safety, he gripped a spear tight in his right hand in case the gods didn't answer. No creature had come within a mile of the broken stone arches on the hilltop outside, the doorway had not a vine intertwined in iron grates. The life outside must've known about the death within, Azden started to think it would've been better to heed the warnings. His eyes almost shot open when a new light appeared a not far walk ahead, a soft purple glow. The darkness of the corridor slowly spread thin and finally fell to the torchlight once more. Azden increased the pace of his steps, yearning to be away from the possible horrors of the accursed darkness.

A chamber. One for arcane and occult practices of some sort, filled with dusty destroyed tomes and broken remains of many researcher's tools. One's Azden had never seen anything like before. But the stunning item, the thing he came to receive, his reward for braveness or stupidity, he always which one later, sat on the floor in the room. A tablet of some strange metal, shiny like cleaned steel but fine feeling and looking like a silk, whatever it was didn't come from this plane. Multiple symbols were engraved onto it, letting out the soft glow that reminded him of the color in his eyes, a discomforting thought. Any time he discovered something with strong magic presence he felt hesitant to take it. The tablet must have been the length of a nightstand and the width of a table, yet it weighed nothing and felt natural to hold. He stared at it, maybe a bit too long. It barely fit in his backpack, but it fit.

Azden walked back toward the entrance, not bothering to take anymore items with him. Quick and efficient this time around. Some placed shouldn't be poked around in. Though maybe it was the relief that he could leave task free, but for a moment the darkness of that same corridor felt inviting. Nice even, and the subjects of his work within it. The king would pay for his treach—

Wait, what was he thinking about!? Azden gulped and shook his head, the darkness held weight once more. He would bring this curse to that Imperial buyer and he would be rid of it soon. Enjoying a cold drink, warm meal, and soft bed at the closest inn before nightfall, yeah.

At least, that was the plan.

Dead Man's Drink, Cyrodil, 15th day of the Evening Star

The sorcereress' patience grew thin with every wavering moment that she had to seduce the drunken fool that gave answers with half-sense to them. It would have been much easier to read his mind and then blast him away with a firebolt. But the unwanted attention would ruin all of the delicacies put into her elaborate plans. She sighed to herself and gave a seductive and manipulating look that boasted the beauty of the Dunmer, or any of the elven races in which they were blessed to have. Her hands to her chin in an innocent girl façade with her arms purposefully placed to squeeze the size of her breasts a bit further out of her wine-strewn tunic than usual, she pretended to be wooed by the Imperial that stank of ale breath and cheese. Ugh. Just remember what you're doing this for, what's on the line.

"I would love to hear more about how you saved a town from goblins once Kornir, but I must ask you another question," The sorceress implied. She was young, even in Dunmer lifespan, for humans' years she would be about 24, which looked more of 18 to many folks who weren't an elf. And she used the youth of her body and voice to her advantage.

"Please do," He half slurred the words.

"This Redguard, this, Azden, will he be returning here?"

"Why of course, I am paying him for the job after all. Though to be honest I may cut his pay a bit, it's taking much longer than I thought." Kornir took a swig of ale from his tankard.

"So, he should have been back by now?"

"I think so. Tell me uh, Sylvia was it? Why's a pretty thang like you so interested in dusty ruins anyway?" He asked with a tad of suspicion. No amount of seduction in the world could get between an Imperial and their coin.

She almost cast a spell at him for disrespecting her with such an insulting title as 'thang.' Though she forced an innocent smile and replied, "Sylviana Lietgrei. And it's just family business you could say. And I think males who involve themselves with such dangerous work are attractive." The last word almost rolled off of her tongue and into Kornir's heart. She even touched his hand for a moment as a distracting tease. In truth, the sorceress took pride and joy in being able to bend men to her will so easily, a fun part of the already rewarding job of being a sorceress for the Lietgrei bloodline.

"Well you're more than welcome to stick around and see how the rest of my job goes, Sylviana."

It didn't sound right when he said her name, most people could not pronounce the intricacies of elven tongues. It seemed she had more waiting to do. At least she would have it soon. And an even better thought, she could be out of this dump soon.

Yes, the delicacies of her plan were all coming together. By next night she would be back at her home, Myrwatch, within the deeps of Skyrim, being praised and rewarded for her work. Gaining power. Yes. This day would be a good one.

A forest too thick, somewhere in Cyrodil, the 15th of the Evening Star

Searing hot pain, that's what it was. Azden had experienced many wounds in his dangerous but amazing life as a self-proclaimed artifact hunter, and had the scars on his young muscled body to prove it. But nothing compared to the still bleeding gash across his chest from the ethereal looking blade of, whatever the hell those things chasing him were! And in the cold and snow of all environments.

He had been five minutes out of the ruins with the tablet in his hands because it made an odd humming sound. He heard something, like air warping and suddenly a skeletal faced but heavy armored creature stood above him, some sword of purple flames found its way against his bare skin. It hurt more now than it did those moments ago. His spear found its way through the creature's chest, slaying it into an ash pile of magic residue. But four more warps later and he ran for his life.

Gods the pain.

What kind of sensation was this? Two potions of healing he downed now, and the pain intensified as he attempted to cure it. But survival had been a skill he held high since childhood, since he was an orphan in the unforgiving place of Hammerfell, he would not give up.

His feet gave him distance fast. Their lack of feet took them to him faster.

"They don't give up," He muttered and stopped to breath. He could not outrun them that much was clear. But the pain across his chest was fuel to his fire, he could distract them. Na illusion would be needed, a shaping of reality. Not many illusionists could pull of such amazing and tiring tricks such as shaping of the world itself instead of a single mind. Luckily for Azden, he had the best teacher.

Using what Magicka he could, he bended the nearby thickets and trees to look that of an impenetrable vine wall of sorts. A mile in each direction, which would be impossible in the geography of the woods. But that's the point.

He stopped to look at what was real, seeing the four horrors become still and angered. One let out a blood-curdling scream, but they truly fell for it. Adonis forgot about all his physical limitations and pushed on into a sprint away from his now stumped pursuers. They wouldn't be stumped for long, he just needed to get out of the area by then.

After a little while he found himself back at Dead Man's drink, the inn placed in the middle of nowhere as far as Cyrodil civilization went. Not many people were around except for the common traveler or two. When he stepped inside the building it was more or less the same with the number of customers. Most of everyone slept from drink or had been too intoxicated to acre about his sudden entrance. Most except for the Imperial and…a Dunmer? An exceptionally beautiful one at that, but most elves were when compared to the other races in the room.

Adonis's healing potions had taken some effect, the bleeding wound now a partially sealed one. Still open enough to catch a nasty cold though. The pain never decreased in intensity, the opposite actually, the more it healed, the more it hurt. Dark and Deep, Adonis thought the swore. He took a seat at the table with his contractor and the gorgeous woman and took a moment to breathe.

"By the gods man, what happened to you!? And what took you so long?" Kornir asked in surprise.

"Your tablet summoned some visitors. I escaped them, and honestly I don't know if they gave up chase or not." Azden's voice was soft-spoken and silvery, even in a stressful time. The Dunmer on his right fell shocked by the pleasantness of his voice, he had a special accent. Like one of someone who spoke many languages and therefore developed a beautifully conflicted tone.

"Visitors? What kind of visitors?"

"Ghastly I would say." Azden looked to the woman on his right. "I'm Azden Riseri by the way." He greeted assuming she had business with the Imperial as well.

He intrigued her for some reason she could not explain. She forgot to greet herself, truly.

"Listen, Kornir, this tablet, I don't know what it is, but I don't think you should be buying this sort of thing."

Kornir slammed his tankard on the table. "Hey, I'm already docking your pay for how late you've been. Don't try to smoot talk me into giving you more coin by pretending you're doing me some favor!" He complained.

"W-what? N-no I don't care about the coin! Look, the things chasing me are connected to this tablet somehow. It's dangerous," Azden attempted to warn the drunken fool.

"Just show mt eh damn thing."

Azden sighed, but did just that. Placing the behemoth of runes on strange material on the table. Kornir raised a brow at the glowing symbols. Sylviana stared mesmerized at it. Finally, what she came for sat right in front of her. She didn't want to waste anymore time in this foul place.

"Now, let's talk about pri—"

A gust of flames threw both Kornir and Azden off balance and watching Sylviana. "Actually, I'll be taking it for free. And if anyone argues I will burn them to a crisp."

"Hey, what's going on over there, don't make me call the guards!" The innkeeper shouted. A lightning bolt striking a bottle next to his hand shut him up.

"Damnit! I should've known not to trust a pretty face!' Kornir cursed aloud.

"Listen, you don't know how dangerous that tablet is. If you take it, you'll get hurt, surely!" Azden pleaded to her.

"I'll let that insult to my power pass this once because you are cute, but do it again and I'll have to hurt you."

Azden blushed at her sudden compliment and threat, it was quite confusing. Kornir was cursing himself to death, but staying quiet enough to not become a charred corpse or pile of ash. Azden saw the woman gaze at him, as if she contemplated something. She made her mind up.

"You, Azden Riseri, put the tablet back in your bag. Slowly, try anything and I'll kill you," she demanded. He did as she asked, but could not tell where this all was headed. "Now, I will be taking the tablet, and you with me."

"What! Why!?" Azden and Kornir asked in perfect unison.

"Because I said I will. I need no more explaining than that. Unless you'd rather die?" She asked him.

"It'll take more than some spell to slay me," he grunted almost.

She laughed. "Naïve and cute, this should be fun. Not by my spell Redguard. No, no, no. That mark across your chest. Let me guess. It hurts oh so much, the more you make an attempt to bind it." Her voice had a victorious tone.

"H-how did you know that?" A stunned expression ran across his face.

Sylviana had smooth dark-purple skin, curves in all the right places, especially her juicy and attractive thighs, hips, and chest, long flowing milky white hair like spider-silk, and sharp yet elegant crimson eyes. Azden hated how much her form messed with his heart as she stepped closer to him. Her index finger traced his wound, bringing a wince from him that caused her to smile.

"Because I know a lot of things Azden Riseri. Things you could only dream of learning as you delve in dirty and blood-filled dungeons all day long. I, Sylviana Lietgrei, daughter of Morigsi Lietgrei, am a powerful and intelligent being. And you will learn to fear me in the upcoming days," She softly whispered into his ear. The tickling sensation of her breath being what Azden dared felt pleasant had she not been threatening his life. To think that those soft and plump lips had been so close to his skin…

NO! What am I thinking!?

"So, as I said I will be taking you with me."

"What makes you think I'll come with you?"

She laughed again. A harsh thing to do to someone in a time like that. A tease that he had no power or control. That he had no chance. It scared him as much as those dark hallways of Ashidavar had. "Because even if you had a choice, I'm the only person you know, this I'm sure of, that can save your life from your wound and now, your new and powerful foe."

That last word put him on edge. What foe did he make grabbing that tome? What exactly did he pull himself into? Azden could not argue with those words, so he spoke no more.

Before more could be said the door kicked open. Someone screamed and fell as a corpse into the room. An ethereal blade in their chest. No way. They found where he was. Two of the, things, floated into the room, more of flew with incredible speed. Azden reached for his spear, but Sylviana had put fire near his face, a warning to what would happen if her grabbed it. Two lightning bolts, more like one that jumped, quickly dispatched of the two creatures.

"Come with me or piss me off and make me drag you. Trust me, it's healthier for you to obey me." Sylviana waited for his response.

Azden glanced at Kornir and the corpse on the floor. With a sigh he left his spear on the ground and followed the Dunmer. She led them out to her beautiful black horse and got on its saddle, then waited for Azden. The same woman who threatened his life had been the same one who said she could save it. What was really going on? He got on with her and they rode out. For a moment he thought himself an idiot for nor fighting her. But then turned to see twenty of the creatures descending upon the small inn. Everyone would be slaughtered. And this Sylviana probably could care less.

Sylviana had rode all night to keep distance from the Scourge beasts. Simple yet effective creations. Killed as easy as a bandit, but able to clear out a town of commoners. This Dark Mage must have been quite the person to employ the common use of such mocked creatures. The seductive, powerful, strong, and capable sorceress chuckled in victory. She had the tome and the cutest guy she had ever seen too all to herself. And the most interesting guy as well. Violet eyes in a human, that was new. She loved that detail about him. Azden had been quiet the entire night, part of the creature's blade magic was energy sapping, he could probably barely stay awake. The fact that he did stay awake all night showed how little he trusted her. He didn't have too, he just had to obey.

She stopped the horse on the road for a while just to stretch her legs, but also to do more mischievous things. Azden sat facing the treeline, just staying awake and alive. Thinking about the odd events that happened to him in such little time. The life of a self-proclaimed artifact hunter proved daily to be a challenging and interesting one, but he loved it. Like anything in life, it came with pros and cons. He wasn't sure what to label this part of the job. Vexing?

"Azden, get off the horse and face me," Sylviana stated in that demanding tone.

Too tired to argue or feel anyway about it, he did just that. The cut on his chest still searing with pain. Sylviana held long strands of silk in her hands with a grin that spoke danger to Azden.

"I'm going to bind your hands and feet, then gag you. You are going to let me."

"What! NO! WHY?!" He argued, now more awake than he had been.

"Because I said so. And if that is not enough for you, though it should be, the only way I'll save your life is if you agree to this. It is the only way I can trust you won't attack me or run."

"I shall not be bound and made defenseless."

"Then I will force you to be." A grin crept across her face. A firebolt formed in her hands. Azden warded it away.

"So, the boy knows a spell or two. How cute." But for a moment he disappeared. Invisibility spell? Really, what does he take me for, some fool? She walked around the close trees for a minute. A smile on her face. "I can hear your breathing. That wound must be getting unbearable. I could help you with that. If you obey me."

"I'm not your slave," He responded, appearing behind her.

"You will be, after you owe me your life," she giggled.

So that was her plan. That's why she brought him along, to make him as slave. Azden walked behind a tree. She followed to see nothing. And come to think of it the forest itself looked odd, wasn't that tree on the other side…

Suddenly, a hand came for her head in an attempt to knock her unconscious, only being saved by exceptional hearing that allowed her to hear the swishing of the air. Azden's hand missed and hit her shoulder instead, it didn't feel good. She didn't look happy.

"Clever illusionist!" She summoned an arm and hand of some odd energy and grabbed Azden by the throat with it, lifting him off the ground.

His lack of air made the chest pain even worse somehow. That iron grip around his throat. Azden kicked and thrashed but could not break free from this spell.

"You are going to regret that. I am going to give you one last chance. You push tour luck Azden Riseri. Defy me again and experience pain much beyond that of your chest wound, a slow agonizing death. I could play with you, take the air from your lungs, then give it back. Over and over til I tire of the game. You don't know true power yet or fear. I could treat you well and be kind, but you must learn to be like the lowly creature you are and obey me!" She almost shouted in anger now. She hadn't meant to get like this. She was losing control.

Azden could not reply. Only feel his lungs begin to burn with the lack of oxygen. Only be at the mercy of this cruel and wicked person. She dropped him, he gasped for precious air as he slowly massaged his own throat to make sure it hadn't been crushed.

Sylviana put a hand on her hip and waited for something. Life or death.

Azden glared for a few moments. But too weak to fight, he put out his wrists so she could easily access them. "Kierna moertu makta thir nena," He spoke in a different tongue.

Sylviana tilted her head. "You speak the language of my people?"

He hadn't notice. An old habit from being with his best friend. "Yes." This tone of his voice sounded cold, calculating, dangerous and sharp. Sylviana was taken aback by it. Maybe it was needed to bind him.

"Well you are right. You don't have a choice."

Myrwatch, Swamps of Hjaalmarch, 16th of the Evening Star

Azden did not talk or fight the entire trip. Even as they crossed into the freezing lands of Skyrim and its holds, as they went through woods, mountains, and swamps, he could not fight. He felt weak. He tried to stay awake, but just like his wound, the more he fought exhaustion, the more it overcame him. The more he tried to fight her, the more powerful she seemed to be. The more he ignored the tome, the more it loomed in his dreams and thoughts. Was he truly doomed to a destiny of loss and submission? Or was this just another rough patch in the road. 'The obstacle is the path' Virezi used to say. 'What you throw into a fire is fuel for the fire'

Well some paths aren't meant to be taken, and water sure as hell ain't fuel for a fire.

The thought didn't help as snow fell from all directions. Is Skyrim always some frozen hellscape of bandits, war, and Dragons!? He hadn't seen one yet, but hopefully such creatures don't actually exist. Or at least come close. But with his recent luck, becoming dragon food would probably be a better fate.

Myrwatch she kept saying. Talking to the man who could not talk back, Myrwatch this and that. Her lovely home, her lovely mother. Her show-off sister. Seemed Sylviana didn't care for her sibling. Maybe that would help later on? Nah, probably not. The horse stopped again. The small vibration pushed pain onto his chest. He grunted.

"You must be tired, and hungry, and thirsty. You poor thing," the Dunmer teased. Azden just let the words pass through his head, no point in giving her more satisfaction of his struggling reaction. He was beyond tired; he hadn't eaten in a day or drank anything. And with the gag around his mouth he could not capture a couple snowflakes for refreshment. All the while she had made sure to give herself proper nourishment the days ride. She pulled him off the horse, he did not struggle. Azden had not been completely broken or even bent. But as a survivalist he knew to save energy where he could. No point of being prideful if you can't live to feel pride.

She pulled her waterskin from the saddle of the horse and a small pack that had fresh juicy berries and fruits, Grapes and plums. She ate one and drank a bit of water, making sure Azden saw every bit of it as she licked juice from her plump lips.

"Tell you what Azden Riseri, you have not given me trouble for a day now. I think you deserve at least this much."

A glimmer of hope filled his still vibrant violet eyes. She teased to reach for his gag, then stopped.

"But you still never paid for that little stunt you pulled earlier. You are a big strong man; you could have seriously hurt my arm you know?" She chuckled. His eyes never left the waterskin or fruits. "If I take this gag off, you must beg me exactly as I tell you to for this. Ok?"

He barely nodded, but the embarrassment did fill his thoughts.

She removed the gag and saw the emotionless yet tired expression of his face. What she imagined most philosophers looked like all the time. "Now, repeat after me. Oh, great Sylviana, my soon to be savior and master, please allow me a taste of your food."

He cringed at the sentence, but his belly would hurt more than his pride if he hadn't gotten any food in this frozen place. "Oh, great Sylviana, my soon to be savior and…master, please allow me a, uhm!" He was interrupted when she shoved a grape in his mouth. A sudden lewd look on her face, she was enjoying this, a lot. She gave him a few grapes, then an entire plum. He hungered for more, but would not put himself in more trouble to complain about it.

"Now, for the water."

"Really? Must I do it for both?"

She began to recoil the water away. He sighed.

"Repeat. Oh, mistress Sylviana," she began with a smirk, "please fill my stomach with the life liquid in your possession."

Maybe he could quickly swallow some snow off the ground? Better than giving her that kind of sentence. He couldn't do it. Say such a thing. How could she make him?

"Well, I'm waiting."

"I-I"

"I-I-I" She mocked his stutter. "I don't remember it starting with I."

He swallowed any emotion he felt. Turning into that calm and collected him he usually was, except those times he hadn't been in anything like this. "Oh…mistress Sylviana."

She put a finger to his mouth. "Again."

"Oh… mistress Sylviana"

"Louder."

"OH—"

"Just the M-word."

"Mistress."

"Louder!" She exclaimed with glee as if this was a new discovery. She loved to hear him call her that. A bit too much, or maybe not enough.

"Mistress Sylviana!" He shouted what he could manage.

"One last time!" She clapped

"MISTRESS SYLVIANA!" That time had been of many things. Frustration, anger, sadness, but also a bit of relief. Ultimately, catharsis.

"Yes, yes! I love it so!" She knelt in front of him and let him drink of the waterskin. She let him have the entirety of what remained for being such a submissive boy. His face blushed, hers did more. Azden felt the coolness of the life liquid enter his being. He would never take it for granted again. He felt odd, yet…a little bit turned on at once. He hoped this would be the only and last time he felt such a confusing emotion.

When he drank it all she smiled at him. He had to face away; he could he look at her after such an embarrassing moment!? Sylviana lightly took his chin and made him face her. She gazed inro those violet eyes that she wanted to belong to her forever. Then her lips pressed against his. Azden felt shock, pleasure, and comfort. He felt comfort from his captor. Huh. They were so soft and inviting, the nicest thing he felt in a while. He hated to admit it, but his flesh yearned to kiss her more, to feel her lips again. She giggled.

Slowly Azden's eyes began to close. Exhaustion finally won. The last thing he saw as a smiling beauty, and a dangerous devil as he passed out in the snow. All in all, it seemed his future and destiny would revolve around this woman somehow. Maybe, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing?