Chapter 1 Curse of Order
The comatose Champion of Cyrodiil lay in a medical facility with three parallel beds on both sides and four cabinets on the far right end.
Two of the cabinets wafted the powerful stench of reagents and crushed exotic herbs. The other two cabinets were used for paperwork. The papers were stacked haphazardly and contained information about exotic herbs that can't be found in Tristain.
The champion's clothes were folded on the nightstand next to the bed beside the remnants of his odd, beast-like sword.
Rays of light shined from a nearby window down onto the man who remained in a cruel slumber.
His naturally black hair was short and mussed with a few strands of hair resting on his forehead. Black steel shackles were locked around his wrists, their etched runes glowed with hues that burned like the core of an inferno. Similar runes were a faded tan color seared onto his left hand.
His body was battered and beaten beyond belief. Cuts, gashes, broken bones and appendages bent at a weird angle. A majority of his body was bandaged, the exception being the fist-sized hole located where his heart used to be.
The fight he endured was so intense and dangerous that if the man were to open his eyes again, that in itself would be not only a miracle but a resurrection from a god. His heart is missing. It's already a miracle he isn't dead.
A girl with strawberry pink hair wearing a black cloak over her white blouse and gray pleated skirt sat in a wooden chair near the comatose man. This young woman has been visiting the man ever since the sudden accident. She comes regularly to check on the well being of her servant.
"Why…" she whispered to the comatose man. "Why did you have to die?"
She wanted to believe the unconscious man beside her, her familiar, was dead.
A familiar is defined as a being summoned to serve a mage. Summoning a familiar can only be done during the Springtime Familiar Summoning, which is a sacred ceremony that is only performed in succession, once. If it were performed again while the previous familiar was summoned, it would be considered sacrilegious. There is an exception to this rule. If a familiar dies while in service to a mage, then the mage is allowed to perform the Springtime Familiar Summoning once more to summon a new familiar.
Now, this is if a familiar dies. Louise had performed the ceremony for the umpteenth time and nothing would occur. Not even an explosion. This leads her and some teachers to believe that her familiar was still alive. It was the only logical explanation for her failure, even when you accounted for her remarkable ineptitude to perform magic.
So Louise was led to believe that her familiar is still alive, despite his lethal wound and still chest. His body also wasn't cold. On the contrary, he was warm as a fireplace.
"Why do I always have to fail?" she vented sorrowfully. "Even when I think I succeed, it always leads to an inescapable failure." She shook her head in despair. "I'm truly befitting of my name...Louise the Zero…"
Her misery tainted the atmosphere, her melancholic attitude wearing down her confidence and stoic nature. The god Founder Brimir himself could feel her sorrow.
She was trapped in a situation that irked her to no end. She recounted what happened that day, summoning her familiar and sealing the contract, then...well, no one could remember what happened next. Everyone seemed to have an episode of memory loss. Then after that, the corpse of her familiar appeared before everyone's eyes. Her memory was a bit hazy about sealing the contract, almost like a repressed memory.
Confusion shifted to irritation, then that irritation to anger.
"WHY!" she slammed her hands on the bed, clenching the bedsheet.
Every time she glanced at the hole in his chest, she couldn't help but feel immense pangs of guilt. She could have been the sole reason for his injury or it could have been something unrelated, either way, she was responsible for her familiar's well being. Even if it were instantaneous, it didn't matter. She failed.
"I can't even summon a familiar right…" Her head tilted downward and her eyes became wet, full of the self-loathing that had hounded her since her failure. She began praying to her lord and savior, Founder Brimir, a being from the scourge race known as the elves.
"O' Founder Brimir, hear my prayer. My familiar has been caught in the twilight between life and death. Give me the guidance to recover my familiar from the darkness, and the light to ignite the fire in his heart anew once more."
Louise's hands clamped together, and her head was downcast. She waited for some kind of sign to help her, anything to show her what she could do to help. Throughout the week, she hasn't received a single sign, but that didn't make her faith falter. It only strengthened her determination.
To her surprise, she received a better sign than she could've hoped for.
Louise...I am Founder Brimir...Mark my words in your very being, young mage…
"F-f-founder B-brimir?!" Louise tilted her head skyward in surprise. Her disbelief was apparent on her face.
Yes, I am your god...The familiar before you is a special 'servant' of mine…
"HE'S YOUR FAMILIAR?!" Louise shouted in shock.
No need to shout, young mage. I can hear you just fine.
"S-sorry, Founder Brimir," Louise rooted herself back to her mannerisms and nobility.
Yes, he is my 'familiar'...He's a champion of men...A knight of the highest order...A mage with over 200 years of experience...A warrior among fighters...He is a man who ascended to godhood…
"What?! I thought you were the one and only true God, Founder Brimir."
This man of legend is from another world...His nation is absent in our own...His achievements are superior to my own...He is worthy of praise from the highest order...This man is our only hope of the threat that endangers all the lands…
This was a lot to take in. Not only was her god confessing to being secondary to a dead man in front of her, but this dead man was apparently the only hope against an imminent doom upon the lands.
"How can I help? O' Great Founder Brimir," Ignorant of the details pertaining to the threat or what sort of god her familiar was, Louise still made her willingness to help known to the heavens above.
Mark my words, young Louise...There is a special guest who occupies your bedroom...He will be the guide to help you resurrect your 'amazing' familiar...What you require is...A Heart of Order...A Soul Gem containing The Gray Prince...wool from a sheep on the prairie…A Scroll of Lightning Bolt...And A Blue Mountain Flower Potion...Do you understand?
"I'm afraid that I'm ignorant of the items you request, but I will retrieve them nonetheless. A Heart of Order, a Soul Gem containing The Gray Prince, wool from a sheep on the prairie, a Scroll of Lightning Bolt, and a Blue Mountain Flower Potion. I will leave at once. Thank you, Founder Brimir," Louise genuflected in respect, then quickly disembarked on her god-given quest.
While Louise left the room, silence reclaimed the room. Only to be broken by the same voice as before.
Hahaha! Cold reading, works every time, except when it doesn't. Then would it be hot reading? Bah, hot reading would be BORING! Where's the fun in reading if it isn't cold? It would ruin the sport of cold reading in general, we can't have that now, can we?
The ominous voice resonated from the comatose body of the Champion of Cyrodiil, sounding suspiciously similar to the mad god Sheogorath himself.
That mortal... So devoted, so pure, so innocent, so ignorant. This was easier than convincing an armless amputee to juggle.
...
Poor, champion, you've done so much, yet have not received enough cheese for your efforts. Well, not much I can do until that zero comes back.
An old man sat at his paperwork stacked desk, lazily smoking an old-fashioned pipe. Each puff from the lined mouth created a cloud as white and think as the beard it issued from. His lassitude was matched by his attire. A hooded black robe that looked to have never been ironed or starched in its long existence.
"Miss Longueville, this would have been one of the most peaceful and marvelous years we could've had, yet…" Headmaster Osmond's lined face frowned, trailing off.
The Headmaster's secretary was busy scribbling parchment with a quill while sitting on her desk. Her green hair was styled in a skyward pointing ponytail, keeping her long hair above shoulder level. Her clean blue robes were accompanied by a velvet purple cape, and her pristine glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose.
"Yet Louise de la Valliere summoned a corpse," Miss Longueville concluded, swishing her wooden wand in Sir Osmond's direction. A Spell of Levitation wrapped around the pipe, extinguishing it, and floating it into her waiting hand.
Sir Osmond stood up from his chair, and walked over to his secretary, stroking her bottom. "What I don't understand, is how did Miss Valliere summon a corpse, yet seal a contract with him. That should not be possible."
"It's certainly a paradox. A mage can neither summon nor create a contract with a deceased familiar, yet it still happened. And old man Osmond...if you don't stop molesting my buttock, I'm going to report your sexual harassment to the palace," Miss Longueville threatened.
Sir Osmond stumbled away, mumbling random and inane words that made no sense in the slightest.
"Stop acting like you're delusional every time you do something wrong," Miss Longueville chided, still focused on her paperwork.
"What truly perplexes me," the old man's attitude shifted quickly from perversion to profound seriousness "is The Royal Court's research agency has done extensive research on the morbid matter and found that summoning a dead familiar is impossible."
"So, the only logical conclusion is-"
"Is that Miss Valliere summoned a living human familiar, which died shortly after the contract was sealed. The problem is-" Sir Osmond was then interrupted by Miss Longueville.
"Is no one saw him die. All accounts from students and the single teacher overseeing the Springtime Familiar Summoning stated a loss of memory between his contract and his death."
"The answer to this complex issue evades us all," Miss Longueville continued, obvious distress from the lack of answers visible to the headmaster despite her industrious facade.
"Your mind will learn to answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer." Osmond snatched back his pipe and waved his staff above it, mumbling a quiet incantation.
Puffing his relit pipe, Headmaster Osmond slowly walking over to the window behind his sequoia desk. The central tower that Sir Osmond and Miss Longueville occupied, rose high above the five other silo-like towers. The silo-towers made a pentagon with walls connecting to one another, creating a barrier against the wilderness or worse, invading forces. Each of the five towers acted as a joint in the pentagon, the joints were all connected with stone walls, dividing its territory into courtyards.
No matter how much Sir Osmond stared at the architecture of his academy, it always shined with beauty and resonated with copious amounts of nostalgia.
Miss Longueville attempted to cast another Spell of Levitation at the pipe, but to her surprise and annoyance, it failed.
Sir Osmond blew out a large cloud of smoke. "You're not going to take away one of the few pleasures this old man has left in his life."
"Taking care of you is one of my jobs. Smoking is bad," Miss Longueville reasoned. "How did you cancel my spell?"
They fell into silence, contemplating the school outside.
"I can feel an omen…" Sir Osmond confessed to Miss Longueville, his back facing her.
"I can feel it too," agreed Miss Longueville.
The moment was interrupted by a "Chuchu". A white mouse ran past Miss Longueville and up Osmond's black robes, making its way to the old man's hand.
"Montsognir, my most trusted friend," Osmond gently pet his familiar with a finger, fishing a few nuts out one of his wrinkled robes'numerous pockets to give to Montsognir.
"Chuchu!" squeaked the little mouse.
"So, what's today's color?" Osmond queried.
"Chuchu! ChuChu!" Montsognir squeaked.
"Hmm, green as grass? Such an odd, yet exotic color to wear today. Hrm. Miss Longueville should really stick with black. Don't you agree, my trusty Montsognir?"
Miss Longueville's eyebrows twitched violently, and she stood up with such force that her chair shrieked against the floor.
RREEEEEEEEEK
"Old Osmond. I'm not joking that I will report you to the palace!"
"I'm not afraid of the palace. If I was, I wouldn't be headmaster of this academy," Sir Osmond rebutted. Sir Osmond widened his eyes with new invigoration, his frame radiated with a passion only held by the young and spoke in a tone unbefitting of someone as old as him. "Kah! Don't get so squeamish every time a man takes a glance at your panties! Keep this up and you'll be single forever!"
Osmond took this passionate speech to a new level by stroking Miss Longueville's bottom once more.
Miss Longueville had enough at his moment and roundhouse kicked Osmond to the floor.
"Oww, Ack! Why?!" Osmond yelped.
The secretary stomped her foot on his back and head multiple times.
"How could you do this to your senior!?" Osmond questioned in agony.
No matter what he said, he unleashed the wrath of a woman, and no fury could compare to a woman's fury.
"I'M SORRY! I'LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN!" his plea for forgiveness echoed across the lands.
Louise didn't know what she was looking at.
The young mage Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière was at her destination; her bedroom. She was expecting something grander from a holy quest from her god, Founder Brimir himself.
Like having to climb a distant mountain in search of a monk who had dedicated his entire isolated life to talking to Founder Brimir on the peak of a mountain. Or possibly exploring an abandoned mine inhabited by some sort of talking dragon who encountered her lord and savior back 6,000 years ago. Or even walking to the forest just outside the academy to find an elemental spirit who owed Founder Brimir a favor, who would guide her to the reagents required to cast a resurrection spell.
Nope. None of that crap. Just her familiar bedroom.
Louise's room had a single window opposite the door at the far end of the room. Every piece of furniture in the room, the bed, the round table with two chairs, wardrobe, and vanity set was expensive and looked as though it could be designed for nobility.
This was in sharp contrast to the promised guest in her room. A very special guest that acted as a messenger from god himself.
It was a crab.
Yes, a crab.
The young mage couldn't help be feel underwhelmed by the sight of a crab, acting as a messenger from god.
Louise observed the room and couldn't understand how there were so many empty bottles of ale littered across her room in such a short period of time. It had been pristine when she had left a few hours ago.
The crab appeared to be unconscious, its body was limp on the floor. It had a bundle of goods wrapped up into a fabric sack.
"Ummm," Louise didn't know what she found stranger. That there was a crab in her room or that it had severe alcoholic issues.
Louise approached the drunken crab, and with each step she took, the glass bottles clinked and clanked around one another.
Clink. Clak. Clink. Clak. Clink. Clak. Clink. Clak.
She squatted down to the crab's level, then poked it gently. She didn't know what else to do.
"ERRRRAH!" the crab moaned with immense anguish. Its pincers flailed around the place, as it rolled its body.
"Uh, Mr. Crab?" she poked the crab a couple more time.
"What agre you doing in my room?" the crab mumbled.
"Actually, this is my room That you made a mess of," she said with a subtle tone of aggression.
"Tath's aa buynch ouf crab shit! thils iis my room!" the crab argued.
"How did you even get in my room!?" Louise shouted in irritation.
"Throzugh the winodow! how else?!" the crab shouted back
"Then it's not your room, you broke in!" Louise reasoned.
"Don't lact ilke you own the place!" the crab slurred.
"I DO OWN THIS PLACE!" Louise howled.
"Ow, ow, ow," the crab rubbed his pincer on his head in pain. "Luke, I hav'a migraine, quiet down."
Louise rubbed the temples on her head, taking a couple of deep breaths and remembering the mission she was given. Tweaking her attitude, she glanced at the drunken crab.
"Alright, crab, I was sent to you expecting a guide," Louise explained.
"Who sent you!? was iit Brutus? tell that bastard he'll get his money in a couple of weesks! he dolesn't need to go as far to stayb me in my back!" the crab replied, having misunderstood
"What? No! Look, I need some items and I was told by my god that you could help," Louise elaborated.
"God? What?... Oh, yeah, him," the crab pulled an alcoholic beverage out of its fabric sack. "What does he want this time?"
Louise contemplated what she heard from Founder Brimir and repeated it.
"A Heart of Order, A Soul Gem containing the Gray Prince, wool from a sheep on the prairie, Scroll of Lightning Bolt, and a Blue Mountain Flower Potion."
The crab dropped his bottle, and his eye stared deeply into Louise.
"Those are important things. Why do you need them?" The crab briefly sobered now the situation was made clear to him.
"My familiar is knocking at death's door," Louise answered with a weak voice. "And I want to help."
"Hrm," the crab rubbed the closest thing it had to a chin with his pincer. "Alrigh'."
The crab grabbed his merchandise, which was bundled in his fabric sack, he tossed it on his back and took a bottle with a purple liquid out of the sack.
"Follow me."
"Bet firstr, drkin this," the crab took a swig of the bottle's content, which was composed of a purple liquid.
"No thanks, I do not drink alcohol," Louise refused his offer.
"No stupuid, it's not aaale, i'sts a potion, you'll neeed it," the crab explained.
"What kind of potion," Louise questioned skeptically.
"Dis," the crab walked away from Louise.
Clink. Clank. Clink. Clank. Clink. Clank. Clink. Clank.
The crab climbed her wall and edged towards the open window which was several stories up in the air.
"See you uon teh other side," the crab jumped out the window causing Louise to shriek in shock and surprise.
"WHAAAAAAAT?!" Louise ran across the room in record speed.
CLINCLANKCLINCLANKCLINCLANK
Louise stuck her head out the window, expecting to see the splattered remains of the crab she met. To her surprise, the crab was on the ground safe and waving his pincer in support that she does the same thing.
A lot of her skepticism went out the window, just like the drunken crab. Though not enough that visions of failure involving broken bones and a mouth full of blood completely vanished.
Louise took a deep breath. She took a swig of the purple potion given to her. The liquid soothed her throat with an icy cold coolness.
She closed her eyes and crawled out onto her window's ledge. She made a quick prayer to Founder Brimir then she jumped, expecting to plummet to the ground.
Contrary to her common sense and the knowledge of the world she lived in, her descent was slow. Very slow actually. She glided down like a feather, teeter-tottering with the wind.
Her feet lightly touched the ground. She stared shock, at the crab.
"Watcha loookin at?" the crab slurred archly.
"How, how do you have a potion that causes such a magical effect?!" Louise was flabbergasted. The greatest apothecary in her nation's history couldn't brew such an incredible potion. Potions were, to her knowledge, strictly used as a curative for the ill or a medicine for the severely injured. No one has embedded a liquid with a magical spell. That was only in fairy tales.
"It's nuttin special, just a-" the crab hiccuped, "slow-" hiccup "fall-" hiccup "spell."
"A slow fall spell?" she inquired. Louise heard of the Spell of Levitation which was more versatile, but this potion's instantaneous effect would be more useful in emergencies when there was no time to say an incantation or wave a wand or a staff.
"I'm a guide - *Hiccup* - not a - *Hiccup* - teacher," the crab informed. "If you wanna know, - *Hiccup* - talk to yo'r family'ar."
The crab began to crawl away from Louise, heading for the main gate of the academy.
Louise was still stunned that a drunken crab accomplished more than the greatest minds in Tristain could ever achieve.
"Where are we going, Mr…" now that Louise had a moment to think about it, she never asked for the crab's name. Regardless of it not being human, it was a guide of Founder Brimir himself.
"Old Salty," the crab pulled another bottle of ale from his merchandise sack, drinking the alcoholic beverage.
"Why are you called Old Salty?" Louise inquired.
"Why arue you so psink?! You ask tofo many questions!" Old Salty proved his name to the young mage.
"Why are you a crab?" she rebutted.
"I'ma mudcrab...racist" Salty responded.
"You are a crab, and I'm a human, there is no racism between two different species," she rebutted.
"Speciesist," Old Salty sassed.
"We are getting nowhere with this," Louise stated.
"We're getting closezr thoough."
Louise and Old Salty walked out of the main gate of the Tristain Academy of Magic. To their right was a dense forest and to their left was a wide prairie with a dirt road separating both the two
Old Salty headed right and entered the dense foliage with Louise following.
"Where are we heading?" the young pink-haired mage asked.
"Yo' don't remember? You were here?" the mudcrab claimed.
"I was not here, I would have remembered it," Louise countered.
"No you were here, I can prove it," Old Salty insisted.
The foliage of the forest was sparse and empty, the farther they traveled into the forest, the more and more damaged the forest appeared to be in. To the point where a majority of foliage was cleared by a large explosion. A crater remained in the foliage clearing.
Then the smell hit Louise. Bodies upon bodies were piled on each other. Strange white corpses were stained with blood, the creatures had three holes in their heads. Armored men wearing helmets with three vertical line slits and a single long spike at the top. These men also decorated the grave along with the creatures.
One body, in particular, stood out from the rest, it was robed in black with a metallic mask which was polished to the point of reflection.
"What are those? Are-Are they human?" Louise voiced her concern.
"You can caoll them humman, but they threw teeir hummanity aawy a long time agooo," the mudcrab took a swig of his ale before moving on with his statement. "Yo' killed dem, killed dem good."
"I-I killed them? How? Why? What?" Louise was confused on many levels of possible confusion. How did she kill them? Why did she kill them, and what caused her not to remember something this important?
"What did I say before? Save it for yo'r family'r."
"Wha-"
"Save it! Grab de hurt," Old Salty commanded.
"Grab the heart?" Louise tilted her head in confusion.
"Dat's a Priest of Order," Old Salty drank even more ale. "Yo' neeeed a Heart of Order, dat's a Priest of Order." He pointed a claw at the masked corpse. "Put to and to togeder."
"How-Wait-You want me to-" Louise stuttered.
A knife was thrown towards Louise's feet. It was a jagged knife. The young noble got on a knee and picked it up.
"Yo' had no problem killin before, pleez don't give a crab's shiiit about it taking a hurt now," the crab said, drunkenly philosophic.
"But-" Louise was interrupted.
"Eider cut a hurt out or let yo'r family'r die," Old Salty made the options clear.
Louise felt like she had swallowed a rock. She carefully made her way down the steep crater, knife in hand. The urge to run away was expanding in her chest, making her more aware of her pounding heart.
She was going against everything she had been taught to avoid. As a noble growing up, it had been drilled into her that tasks from sweeping dirt to cleaning was beneath her station. As a sheltered child who had never even seen an animal butchered for dinner. The thought of climbing into a pit of corpses to cut out a stranger's heart was unthinkable. Louise would do it though. For her god and for her family.
She approached the masked corpse stumbling over the surrounding bodies. Her hands were shaking around her white-knuckled grip on the knife. Louise hesitated, then resolved herself. The blade pierced the cloth of the robes, then further, cutting through skin and muscle until it hit bone.
Louise was surprised and thankful there was no blood as she widened the hole she made in the corpse's chest. The body under the robes was desiccated like a dried-up husk.
The young mage was a smart girl, passionately pursuing knowledge of the world around her. One of those arts she knew academically was about the basics of medicine and anatomy. With some trial and error, she managed to remove the shriveled heart from its cavity without damaging it. But that was after numerous trials and failures with making an opening with a jagged knife.
.
She held the cold heart in her hand and a spasm of disgust went through her. It was the grossest thing she ever touched.
The heart in her hands pulsed, nearly causing her to drop it. She bit back a scream that made her inhale sharply. She gagged at the smell of week-old bodies decaying around her.
She scrambled out of the crater and handed over the still-beating heart to Old Salty.
"Took ya long enough." The mudcrab put the heart into his merchandise bag and began to scutter the direction they had come from, away from the gruesome scene.
"W-what was that?" she asked with a traumatized look.
"That's yo'r handy work," the crab admitted.
"How do you know?!" she demanded an answer.
"I was der," the mudcrab made his way out of the foliage and into the prairie fields.
"But-" Louise was interrupted.
"What do I keep tellin ya?!" Old Salty shouted.
"You're a guide, not a teacher."
"WRONG! I'm a guide, not a historian!"
Louise didn't know what to think of anymore. Her familiar dies, Founder Brimir gives her a quest, she meets a drunken mudcrab, and she took the heart of a priest. She felt like she was hallucinating or this was all just a bad dream.
They eventually made an exit from the dense foliage of the forest and gazed at the open plains. The prairie was lit a beautiful color by the sinking sun, turning the swaying grasses auburn as it began to sink below the horizon. Herds of roaming sheep finished their grazing and began to form a herd to bed down for the night.
"Next up, wooly-wool" Old Salty reminded the nearly traumatized woman.
Louise and Old Salty stopped before the herd. Louise glanced down at Old Salty who held out shears for her to use. For once Louise was thankful, even if the menial labor she would perform what was fit for commoners, instead of cutting a heart out of a priest.
Brandishing the shears and prepared for the worst, she walked carefully up to the nearest sheep. It looked at her, it pupils so different from a human's; horizontal and resembling a dumbbell.
The sheep lay quiescent as she uncertainly cut the thick wool from its body. It seemed thankful for the trim. After a half-hour of hard labor, a slab of wool hit the ground. Beads of sweat raced down Louise's forehead.
The sun sunk under the horizon and night reclaimed the land, which worried Louise since there was no telling what sort of monsters were hiding and ready to pounce.
"Don't kissh the sheeeep now," Old Salty jested.
"Why would I kiss a sheep?" Louise questioned dubiously, handing Old Salty the wool.
"You kisshed me, so I'm just sayin, dunt do it."
A beat of silence passed, and Louise clenched her fists as she couldn't take anymore from this drunkard. The difference between their social positions was as massive as a canyon. She needed to show him who was noble and who was the crab.
Her brows furrowed and a vein popped out of her forehead. She reeled back a kick and knocked the crab a good couple of meters into a thick bush of tall grass.
"Oi! What de fock!" the mudcrab yelled, irately waving the pincer still clutching the wool.
"The hell I did, you drunk, fantasizing, idiot," Louise's anger was fuming from her frame
"Foooocking woman" the crab insulted the short-fused woman.
Louise and Old Salty walked through the fields in awkward silence. The young noblewoman refused to talk to the crab anymore. The silence was broken halfway through the trip when an owl hooted, scaring the wits out of Louise.
"Her-Her-Her, such a wittle baeby" the mudcrab mocked the dignified noble.
"Shut up!" she stomped her feet as she reached the academy. Quickly making her way to the infirmary.
The Old Salty led Louise back to her comatose familiar who lay unmoving in his bed. A small revelation was brought forth by Louise. As she feared that they missed a few components.
"What about the Soul Gem or the Scroll?" an anxious tone followed her question.
"Don't worry about dat, I already have does," he brushed off Louise's concerns.
Louise stared at her familiar, his tranquil face showing no strain from his horrifying injuries.
A voice familiar and comforting rang in her head.
Welcome back my child, I see you've done what I've asked of you without fail.
"Yes, Founder Brimir," Louise said with the utmost respect, cheeks rosy from being praised.
Now what I need you to do, is to grab the Heart of Order and the Soul Gem. Wrap them together with the wool you've gathered.
Old Salty unpacked a soul gem and handed the crystal to the noble.
Louise did exactly that, covering the heart and Soul Gem completely. She then tilted her head skyward for further orders.
Next, place the heart in your familiar's hole.
Louise ent to place the bundle inside of her familiar, then backed away.
Old Salty should have the Scroll of Lightning Bolt and the Blue Mountain Flower Potion on him.
"Old Salty, he requires the Scroll of Lightning Bolt and the Blue Mountain Flower Potion. Give it to me," Louise ordered the mudcrab.
"Eh, fiiiine."
His pincer reached into his merchandise sack, retrieving the requested items. They were a rolled-up parchment paper with a red stamp ribbon and a red glass vial that glowed with a crimson liquid.
He gave both items to the young mage who tilted her head up, awaiting more orders.
First, unravel the Scroll of Lightning Bolt. Utilize the spell by repeating the name, aiming at his heart. When the spell is complete, open his mouth and pour the Blue Mountain Flower Potion down his throat.
Louise nodded nervously, uncertain that she would be able to cast the spell. But if her god believed she could do it, she would.
Louise let the parchment unfold, revealing alien runes that matched the ones on her familiar's wrists. She closed her eyes and aimed her open palm at her familiar's heart.
"Scroll-" beads of sweat raced down her forehead, "of Lightning-" her mouth dry, "Bolt," her heart skipped a beat.
The scroll lit aflame and disintegrated into shreds of ash. A streak of light manifested from her hand and lunged for her familiar's heart. Sparks covered the wool bundle, shocking it for a few seconds.
Then, the unbelievable happened.
Budump-Budump, Budump-Budump, Budump-Budump
His heart began to beat. The wool and soul gem melted into the heart, giving it more healthy read pigment.
Louise couldn't believe any of this. She used magic. SHE USED MAGIC! Louise practically squealed in joy, giving a small hop of excitement.
The young, pink-haired mage/firmly gripped her familiar's and forced his mouth open. She uncorked the health potion and poured the liquid down his throat. He began to cough, flecks of the crimson liquid landing like blood around his mouth.
Miraculously, the hole in his chest began to close up. First bone, then muscle, tissue, skin, knitting together to cover the gaping wound. Until all that remained was a pink circle on his chest.
"HOHAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The Champion of Cyrodiil took a violent gasp of air.
His torso jolted, taking its first breathe in over a week. His eyes snapped open, immediately scrutinizing his surroundings. His eyes then locked with the young mage's.
"You." He said that word with simple delight. He remembered.
One week ago. Springtime Familiar Summoning.
A man in his late thirties to early forties stood before a group of students, all wearing black cloaks and golden pendants engraved with pentagrams.
The teacher, Colbert, was bald and bespectacled. His academic robes a dark blue with white trim. He held a staff with red stripes, thick near the bulbous knot at the top of the rod that thinned as they spiraled down the pole.
Heavy black clouds swirled around the sky, so heavy and low they seemed it seemed they would break loose an ocean's worth of water. Lightning danced around the plains in the distance.
"Ahem." Professor Colbert cleared his throat. Most of his students had completed the familiar summoning. There was only one student who hadn't tried yet today. It wasn't her first attempt. She had failed the process four times previous. Her name was-
"Louise de la Valliere, please come forth," the teacher announced, which earned a few snickers here and there from the crowd of nobles. The noble mages were gossip driven folk and Louise was infamous within the school.
"Louise the Zero is at it again," one of the nobles whispered.
"Wonder how big this explosion will be, I heard yesterday's attempt left an impressive crater," another noble, louder.
"Ha, that's nothing. One time she blew up one of the academy walls to ruin," a third noble joined in on the fun.
"Ha, Louise the Zero, just classic."
"QUIET!" Colbert shouted, causing the gossipers to straighten their backs. "If you can not act like nobles, I will have you suspended for harassment. Do you understand?" the teacher threatened, causing them to nod their heads silently.
She played deaf and ignored the constant jeers around her abilities as a mage.
"Miss Valliere, please step up to the runic circle," Professor Colbert requested after composing himself.
The circle was composed of runes written in white chalk mixed with a closely guarded secret blend that was used to prevent illegal familiar summonings.
Louise stood before the runic circle and closed her eyes, thinking of the proper phrasing to summon the perfect familiar. After a few moments, words firmly in mind, she rose her wand high in the air and said the following in a stern voice.
"My Familiar that exists somewhere in this vast universe, my divine, beautiful, wise, servant!" Louise called upon the vast emptiness of the universe. "My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière. Pentagon of the five elemental power, heed my summoning, familiar," a pulse could be felt from her very words from the ground around them.
A single droplet of water fell from the black clouds swarming the sky and hit one of the runes written on the ground in chalk, smearing it. A small error that could yield unexpected, even frightening results.
"I wish from the very bottom of my heart and add to my guidance and appear!" she entreated her familiar, waiting for its response. With those final words, all the students braced themselves for the inevitable. Colbert himself took an instinctive step back after so many past failures.
BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The explosion was greater than any previous failure. It obscured what remained of the circle with a thick cloud of smoke. A few students were knocked down by the mere size of the explosion. Louise sighed, she hadn't expected to succeed, but still felt crushed. It was truly insanity, doing something over and over again, expecting a different result.
"Another failure," Louise said before anyone else could.
"I'm sorry Miss Valliere. Tomorrow is another day," Colbert encouraged.
"Ha, Louise the Zero did it again!" laughed one of the nobles.
"What did you suspect, it's only natural that she failed," another noble reasoned.
"My god, it's a new record, did you see that explosion?!" the third noble queried.
Louise remained stoic, not giving her enemies a chance to relish in her anguish. Her turmoil of emotions boiled just under her skin.
"Louise the Zer-" a bottle hit the noble in the face and shattered, knocking the bully down to the ground. They lay, bleeding from glass shards that had pierced the skin.
"Shad up! I have a hangover!" a voice boomed from within the clouds of dense smoke.
"ARGGGGGH!" the noble was rolling around on the floor in pain.
"Who's there?" Louise questioned the mysterious voice.
A six-legged being crawled out of the smoke and approached the young mage. Its pincer held a glass bottle of ale.
"Eh?" Louise voiced her concern to her lackluster summoning.
"You called?" the crab inquired.
In another world, it would be weird if anything other than a human spoke English. In the lands of Halkeginia though, familiars have the capability to perform a myriad of functions creatures of their shape normally couldn't.
Cat familiars could help improve it's master's hearing. Dog familiars could help improve it's master's sense of smell. Some familiars can speak telepathically and this crab, this crab can speak.
"But-I-No-What-" Louise swerved her head to Colbert, "Professor Colbert! Mulligan! Let me try again!"
"No, Louise. To perform a second time after succeeding is sacrilegious," Professor Colbert informed.
"But-" Louise pleaded but was interrupted.
"Perform the contract," Professor Colbert ordered.
"Errr," Louise grumbled in irritation, she summoned something but it didn't meet her expectations. The pink-haired mage approached the crab who wobbled in place, possibly, or really likely, severely drunk at the moment.
"My name is Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière. Pentagon of the five elemental powers. Bless this humble being, and make him my familiar." She recited the contract between master and familiar, got on her knees and kissed the crab.
A moment passed and nothing happened. There were no runes being inscribed on her crab familiar, which is what happened to every other familiar as a result of the contract.
"Did yo' jush kisssh me?" the drunken crab asked in confusion.
"What?" Colbert let his concern known. "How is that not Miss Valliere's familiar? More importantly, if that's not her familiar, how can the crab talk?"
"Did you just kiss my crab?! No one can kiss my crab, not even me! Well, maybe on a drunk night. A very, very drunk night," a voice broke the confusion. There was one more individual hidden within the smoke.
The last of the haze cleared, revealing an oddly dressed man. His strange outfit was high-quality fabric but looked like two suits sewn together. The right side red while the other was purple. At his belt was a sheathed sword with two separate blades connected to the hilt with teeth in between them. A purple eye on the hilt. He leaned on a cane whose knob was a large, living eye. His hair and beard were white but he was filled with a vigor that made his age unclear.
"WHO ARE YOU!" Louise howled at the stranger.
"Oh, Founder. Did Louise summon a commoner?" one of the noble whispered.
"Can't believe it. She couldn't summon a normal familiar so she summoned a commoner familiar. Classic Louise the Zero."
"I am Sheogorath, Prince of Madness!" the man gave gusto to his title. "A pleasure to meet you this fine afternoon. But I must ask. What compelled you to bring me to your lands?" Sheogorath inquired, walking steadily towards Louise.
"Power, fame, glory, money, hatred, revenge, sorrow, or…" Sheogorath guessed randomly. Getting on one knee to whisper to her ear. "Madness?"
"Louise. Please complete the ceremony." Professor Colbert began to rub his temples from confusion and stress.
"What do you wish for?" Sheogorath asked with a devious smile.
Louise began mumbling the contract spell, earning Sheogorath's interest.
"What are you whispering?" the crazy man leaned closer to hear.
"...Make him my familiar," Louise finished. She pulled the old man towards her lips and gave him a peck on the lips.
Professor Colbert flinched. Not because Louise was kissing the old man, but from what he felt as he finished casting a Spell of Detection. Whoever this stranger was, his magical potential was more than what was possibly feasible.
"Whoa! Why are you being such a harlot with those lips?! First, you kissed a crab, then an old ma-" he stopped before he could finish his sentence. A burning sensation erupted from his right hand and beams of light broke through his skin, engraving his hand with runes symbols.
Sheogorath had faced many peculiar things in his life. He'd been in the head of an insane dead emperor to have a tea party. He'd manipulated another god into killing his own son. He's even killed a ravaging beast only using a small bird. This joined that list. Not at the top, but this incident had him experience a feeling he hasn't felt since he was mortal. Pain.
He screamed in agony towards the angry sky. His hair changed color from white to black with streaks of white. His reptilian pupils changed to round ones, golden irises becoming icy blue. Sheogorath experienced a feeling he hasn't felt in nearly a thousand years. Sanity.
Though sanity coursed through his being, there was something that didn't change. His power.
He is a Daedric Prince, a god among mortals. There are many different Daedra in existence but the princes are the strongest of the strong.
What separates Daedric Princes and Daedra was power. Daedric Princes were gods who controlled spheres of influence. Sheogorath controlled the sphere of insanity, which was taken from him right now.
But Daedric Princes are composed of magicka. As many beings had learned in the past, it would take the power of the gods to truly cripple or kill someone like Sheogorath.
In an instant, the runes disappeared as if never there. His hair and beard drained of color. His eyes once more a reptilian molten gold.
"You know, lassie," the old man started, stern and sharp, promising violence worthy of an angry god. "It's not proper of a woman to snatch a kiss from a man, or his crab."
Sheogorath rose his hand in the air and slammed it downward towards Louise, then he froze. Sheogorath's head swung to his left, staring at the academy gate. He felt a presence he hadn't felt in a long time.
klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq, klybonq.
The sound of metal boots marching on concrete filled the air. Dozens of weird creatures marched, echoing with precision.
First came the Vanguards of the march. They wore helmets with three holes. A frown was carved into the helmet and white, hair-like strands sprouted from the top of its helmet. Their full-body armor was light and weak. They were known as Pawns of Order.
Next were lines of knights in metallic gray armor. Their helmets had three vertical slits and a singular long spike at the top of the helm. They were the Knights of Order; Daedra.
Behind them were a couple of priests in black robes. They wore metallic gray masks, the top sharply edged like a stagnant flame. The same gray metal made their gauntlets, belts and slim chest protection. They were the Priests of Order, though it would be more appropriate to call them Bishops of Order. Humans who accepted the Blessing of Order.
They all moved with inhuman precision, every step a mirror of their neighbor's.
The Knights of Order screeched, the sound similar to metal grinding against metal. A howl that would haunt the dreams of everyone present.
The Daedric Prince began to glow, then the space around Sheogorath brightened to blinding intensity, like concentrated sunlight. It became a pillar of light that broke past the black clouds, creating a cloudless sky. It was in the late evening, yet the sky acted like it was noon.
The light dissipated. Sheogorath reverted to his mortal form, hair now entirely black. Black shackles appeared around his wrists, engraved with runes that glowed like fire. He felt so drained he wanted to pass out.
Gray light manifested in a sphere of above the soldiers who marched into the academy. Inside the light was a giant, bland head wearing a trident-like helmet with three spikes covering the front of its face.
It was an avatar of Jyggalag.
The eyes of the floating avatar glared down at the shackled man and spoke monotone words.
"You. You are a parasite that may never leave me. Why do you disturb this realm I have claimed?"
"If this a realm that you've claimed," the shackled man took heavy breaths. "Then why is it so...disorderly, mistake driven, flawed?"
"The flaws of this realm are not my concern. The Greymarch will purify the lands in due time," Jyggalag explained.
"What are your worries? Why do you chain me down?" the man in shackles accused.
"Gods can not kill gods, that is law. The other Daedric Princes figured that out when they tried to do the same. So, they took a new approach. They cursed me to transform into you every millennium, just for it to be undone and revert me back to my former glory. A never-ending cycle. I can not kill you, and you can not kill me. But I can curse you."
"A...curse?" The Champion of Cyrodiil inquired.
"Yes, a curse. Those shackles bind you back to your mortal form before you took on the mantle of Sheogorath. Though I can not take away your sphere of influence, it appears I will not have to with those runes on your hands. While I can not obliterate Sheogorath, I can suppress the madman. You are a swordsman without a sword, an archer without a bow."
"A curse? I call it a blessing, my mind has not been my own for over 200 years!" The Champion of Cyrodiil voiced his gratitude. "Although I'm thankful, I still hate you. Although I'm happy, I despise you beyond belief."
The man walked forward threateningly. "I defeated you once, I'll do it again," he said, confident.
The vanguards of the march, the Pawns of Order, charged towards The Champion. The watching nobles paralysis broke and fled the incoming threat.
A concentrated inferno lunged like a snake, consuming a majority of the vanguard forces. The Pawns of Order collapsed, smoking.
The one responsible was the bald teacher. "I have no idea what's going on. I'm also ignorant of the history that you two have. But one thing's for certain. You will not hurt my students," Colbert's eyes were as hard as rocks.
"Thank you," The Champion appreciated some back up once in a while. "Let me show you some of my talents."
The Champion of Cyrodiil began to charge at the next Pawn of Order. The pawn raised his sword, meaning to bring it down like a guillotine. As he swung the blade down, The Champion parried the blow with his blade. Duskfang.
The two swords clashed against one another. Duskfang twisted to allow the enemy's blade to force itself into the gap between its blades, letting Duskfang's two blades pierce the slots in the pawn's helmet. The pawn's body began to violently spasm before falling like a puppet whose strings were cut.
The remaining vanguard regrouped and joined the Knights of Order who sprinted towards The Champion of Cyrodiil.
A spell rose from his thoughts. A unique and custom spell he created a long time ago, which helped him get out of a lot of situations where he had been outnumbered.
The Champion of Cyrodiil raised his hand and channeled his magicka to make this spell come to life.
Deadly Detonation
Fire Damage an area effect of 100ft, 1 second.
He cast the spell towards the center of the crowd of soldiers, tossing them around like ragdolls.
The Priests of Order cast support spells and the fallen soldiers rose again.
For every knight they defeated, a Priest of Order would summon more. For such spells an obelisk was necessary but there wasn't one in sight. It had to be hidden nearby. Until he could find it, he needed to get the unending horde away from the civilians behind him.
The Champion of Cyrodiil sprinted off towards the main entrance. The Forces of Order turned and charged after the sprinting man.
Louise, watching the entire event play out, instinctively followed her familiar. She didn't understand anything that occurred so far and was in the dark just like everyone else. But that didn't matter. She needed to help her familiar.
Louise followed the damaged path, rushing through the foliage of the forest. Eventually, she reached a clearing. At the highest point of the grove was a twisted oak tree surrounded by a bed of blue flowers. The flowers were splattered with blood.
Her familiar's body lay against the knotted trunk, rib cage broken and bleeding. A giant stood over him, ripped out heart still in its grip. Blood dripped from its metallic armor. Over four meters tall its body was bulky and rough. It's head entirely hidden entirely by a featureless helmet. Not even a slip for eyes. It was a Rook of Order.
The beast roared a hellish scream.
Bodies of the Order littered the field. Near the Rook of Order was an Obelisk.
Louise pointed her wand at the beast and shouted the first spell that came to mind.
She had never cast a spell that was successful. Never in her life attempted to cast a spell unrelated to an element. Her train of thought in the heat of the moment was, 'if my familiar can do it, then I can do it too.'
Spell of Detonation.