-Black Marsh -? Years ago-
The small Argonian child played by himself in the mud, why an Argonian female minded her garden. The child started to talk to someone, and she looked over and screamed, lurching up and running from the child. Another Argonian came running, dressed in tribal feathers. "Calm yourself, what is the trouble, Ziyeni?" She asks. Ziyeni shakes, pointing behind her, where the child is playing with a Pony Guar skeleton, that is very much animated." "Tree minder..." Ziyeni says with a shudder. "I cannot watch over him anymore, the others will agree with me. Take him away!" She runs, fleeing. The Tree minder sighs. It's not the first time she's placed the child in a clan's care, only to have him rejected. He was a strange one. She walks over to him, kneeling. "Little one, you must cease. You upset the river and those who dwell in it." The child looks over, and his head falls, the Skeleton falls to pieces, sinking back in the swamp. "Lonely." He whispers. "No one likes me..." She places a hand on his shoulder. "We will take you to a new clan. But you must never use this type of magic again. Do not make waves, lest you drown. Or drown others."
-Clan Mossyrocks-
Tree Minder spoke with the clan leader. She had moved with the child since the first incident, but this time she could not stay with him. Her current clan had special need of her, and she owed them for taking them in. It was not natural moving from clan to clan like this. On the two-week journey through the dangerous marshlands, she had done her best to teach the child to put what he had done deep within him, buried underwater where it could never surface. "He is a strange one." She said. "The river throws him around, and he cannot swim to settle in one current." She pauses. How much to say. She wanted him to be safe. Happy. "His egg appeared in the hatching pool. No one could say who placed it there. It was most unusual. It was not done in the way of the Hist, more like a shadow on the water. But the child is not to blame for this." The Clan Leader tilts her head. Puzzlement is in her eyes. "The Hist has no answers for this?" She finally said. Treeminder shakes her head. "The Hist will not speak of it. When he is of age, perhaps the Hist will enlighten him. Perhaps this clan can be where he swims without a struggle. Will you take him?" The Clan leader nods. "Of course. He will be raised with the other children, and we shall attempt to guide him."
-? amount of years later-
He walks through his clan, who stands by watching as he walks to the Hist. He is a rangy Argonian with dark grey scales and copper. His eyes are a crystalline colored, with darker colors around the eye slit. Two slightly curved maroon-brown horns, and four smaller ones, 2 each on the side of his jaw with tiny horns on his nose ridge, and a small mane of near black feathers on his head. As he eyes his clan, he thinks the word is insufficient. He never has fit in, though he has tried to float the river. Stopping at the Hist Tree, he bows his head to Tree-Minder, who has traveled from their old clan. Raising it, he smiles at her. She smiles back, but she's nervous underneath her warmth for him. Had he done something wrong? Sometimes, he thought the fact he existed was enough. He had buried his magic down deep as instructed. He tried to fit in and swim the river, but it was as he was swimming up-current against the might of the river. His clan leader approaches him and bids him to come and taste the sap, and speak to the Hist. He does as she instructs, and closes his eyes.
When at last he feels the need to open them, he's standing amidst many trees, glowing with warm orange light. The Hist is prominent, in the center of the grove. But there is an anomaly, one of the trees glows a cool blue. It stands out and it is as if the other trees lean away from the blue tree. The blue tree's grow increases and it starts to spread among the orange trees. The orange trees wither and die, and the blue starts to encroach on the Hist. He looks down at his hand and sees it glows blue, as does the tree that does not belong.
The Hist, at last, speaks to him. "You do not belong. Part of you is not Saxhleel. Part of you should not be what it is. Therefore you are a blight that will destroy those that do.
What? He thinks in despair. "I do not use that magic." He pleads with the Hist. He's been trying too hard to swim with the river. But the river is now rejecting him. "I have done nothing wrong." He says desperately.
"You Exist." Is Hist's reply.
His greatest fear come true. His existence is somehow wrong. It was not his fault this magic was in him! He lowers his head, trembling.
"You must be washed from the River." The Hist continues. And before he can once more plead for a different outcome, the vision is lifted, and he's back standing with his clan. No, the clan. Not his. He trembles harder. He can no longer feel the connection to the Hist. He is empty and alone.
The Clan Leader steps forth. "You are to be taken to the edges of The Marsh, where you go therefor, we do not care. But you may never come back to the Marsh.
Banishment for something he had no control over. "No!" He snarls. He will not just go whimpering away. He flexes his claws, anger welling inside of him. But before he can attack, Tree Minder dashes in front of him, and holds his shaking arms, her forehead resting against his. Tears glimmer in her eyes as she starts to say his name.
"No!" He snarls. "If I am not Saxhleel, then I refuse the name the Hist gave me." He shudders, struggling in Tree Minder's grip.
"Please." Tree Minder begs him. "I did not want this, but the Hist has spoken. We are of the same mind, if not the same heart."
He stops struggling, breath hitching in his chest as he listens to Tree Minder.
"If you fight, they will kill you and scatter your remains on dry ground." She continues. " You will cease to be. Go, accept banishment. Find a life out there. Find your own river. Just live, please live."
He stands there with Tree Minder, tears in his eyes as well. Finally, he speaks. "For you, I will try." He says softly. They stand together for long moments. She had always been like a mother to him. And now he'd never see her or the Marsh again. He finally stepped back and two of his former tribe step to his sides, and they start the long journey to Marsh's edge.
They left him at the edge of the marsh with just enough money for transport. So now he stands at the docks at an unnamed port, his head down, with no idea what to do. He sighs and moves toward one of the boats that one of the dockworkers told him will take him to one of the lands in the Ebonheart pact lands. He'll be the safest traveling in a land friendly toward Argonians during these turbulent times. But before he can reach it, a mysterious voice speaks to him.
"No, take this boat instead." The voice asks of him. He snaps his head up and looks around, but cannot see the speaker. He shrugs, and heads toward the boat the voice said. Why not? It would lead him to lands that had fewer Argonians. Even those far from the marsh would know him to be an outcast. He pays his fare and walks up the gang plate onto the boat. He hisses slightly, it sways under his feet. He's never been in a boat before. He never needed to. He looks around for the mysterious speaker, but no one stands out to him. The boat sets sell, heading toward Stros M'Kai, a small island in the Daggerfall Covenant.
A rainy night, a few more days from Stros M'kai, he finds himself wandering. The rain feels good on his scales and he stands at the stern of the boat letting the wind and rain wash over him. His home is farther and farther away, and he shall never be able to return. Still, he cannot help himself standing here, looking at a home that can no longer be seen.
"Forward." The mysterious voice says softly. "You should look only forward."
He jerks back, then glances at his side. A man now stands there, glowing blue and transparent. Is he a spirit? Dry scales had those, or so he had heard from the rare traveler. He turns to get a good look at this spirit. The spirit wears mage robes, has long hair, elegant pointed ear an intense eyes. A mer, then. Did he summon him with his magic by mistake? It has been so long since he had an accident, but he is traumatized and lost. "You are a spirit." He says. "I did not summon you by mistake, did I?"
"Mistake?" The mer says, looking at him. "Do you consider your magic a mistake? I hear the disdain in your voice."
"I am not to use it. It disturbs the river." He says quietly in despair. "It is bad. It is very bad."
"They would tell you that." The mer says. "It is no curse, it is a gift. You deprive yourself by denying it."
"Why would they tell me not to use it, if it is a gift?" He replies
The mer smiles. "Because they do not understand it. And because of that, they fear it, and you. Necromancy is very powerful. You could be strong, powerful."
He blinks several times. His magic had a name? Tree-Minder had never told him that. And it should be used? Not locked away, deep inside himself? He is so uncertain.
"You can belive those who disposed of you as if you were trash, or you can believe me. I can teach you." He trails off, awaiting his answer.
He wishes to teach me. He thought. But Why? He did not trust anyone anymore. Not after the Hist had abandoned him. "Why would you teach me?" He asks the mer.
The mer pauses before answering. "It is a diversion. An interesting one." The mer muses. "And its time off from my punishment for a minor transaction."
He stares at the mer. Perhaps not a spirit then? But what else was there? "Punishment for your magic?" He asks.
The mer laughs. "Of course not. Those who feared me had no power to stop me. Hmm... Let's just say I tried to take something that was not mine to take."
"I see." He said. He did not see, but he had to say something why he thought of the strange mer's offer. But there was no choice, in the end. He was alone in a world he never set foot into. He was utterly lost. "Very well." He finally says. "I would like you to teach me."
The mer once more smiles. "I need your name." He asks.
He hisses low in his throat. "I renounced it." He says angrily. His tail swishes as he looks out at the dark sea for a few long moments before finally saying. "I belong to no one and no place. So shall I be the night?" He growls at the sea, the night, the world in general. "But the night has fangs one cannot always see. They will strike and rend their venom upon you." He looks back at the mer. "You may call me, Viperish Night. And you will give me your name?"
The mer slowly shakes his head. "That, Viperish Night, I am bound not to say. There are things I cannot tell you for now. You may call me your Mentor to make things simple. Also, there are two conditions if you wish me to train you."
"What conditions?" Viperish Night asks warily.
"I will teach you. You will travel through the Daggerfall lands and explore it and its people. Help them if you can, it will ensure they do not see you as an Ebonheart spy. And at night, your lessons with me shall begin." Mentor pauses. "The conditions are this, for now, you will not travel outside the Daggerfall lands and you will not have anything to do with the Worm Cult or the Daedric Prince Molag Bal's machinations.
Viperish Night flicks his tongue out. Even in the marsh, they have heard rumors of the anchors that came out of Oblivian and the Daedric fiends that streamed out. Such strange conditions. "Why?" He finally asks.
"All I'm allowed to say is if you disobey these simple conditions, you may cause a break. And it will destroy you, and potentially more than you." Mentor says.
Viperish Night found himself very puzzled. But this mer could teach him. And he would not be alone in this frightening world he found himself in. "Very well." He agrees. "I will obey your conditions, and you will teach me this necromancy."