High Fane. There it was created by the hand of Vivec to enforce to law of
Vivec. So strong it was that it had endured thousands of years of weather.
The Archmagister waited along the great spires of High Fane to catch a
glimpse of the coming storm. For years the church knew about the storm, it
was destined to come. Told by the signs of the god-moons themselves. The
Archmagister looked up. Yes, they were there. The god-moons, on a perfect
path for a perfect alignment. The Archmagister knew that such an alignment
was dangerous. Not once had a part of the world been exposed to such magic.
Not one part had ever seen the likes of what was to come, on a power that
is matchless in the history of Tamriel. No one should be given this magic,
thought the Archmagister. It was dangerous for it was powerful,
unstoppable, and absolute. And what was the old saying? Absolute power
corrupts absolutely?
The Archmagister could feel it. The waves of magic were slowly increasing throughout this part of the world, and worse yet, it was centered on Vivec. An eclipse of such type would eventually be felt throughout all Tamriel, but first, it had to permeate through here, where it'd be shaped. Three god- moons. Each behind the other, each magnifying the other's power. And so much power.
Think of it. The archmagister had been taught by those before him.
If the god-moons are that which gives Tamriel the magic it needs to sustain all life forms and terrestrial change, then what happen if - instead of evolving around Tamriel on a orbit which distributes magic equally through all lands - what if at some point, there is an ellipse? One moon behind the second, the second behind the third. Each power of each moon would be magnified through the power of the one that ellipses it. One point of Tamriel would succumb to great stress and magic beyond comprehension, while all other locations feel nothing, as if air had been cut off.
Think of it. Think of it quick, for we fear such devastation is soon to come.
Yes, a black storm was coming. The archmagister could feel its perturbations. Its waves outlined in magic could be sensed, an abhorrent feeling. A premonition. A foreboding, darkening feeling he felt. Yes, it was coming. So strong were its currents.
Perhaps, as a horrifying thought ventured up his spine, perhaps it's already here?
And then, he truly felt it. There was no rebelling against such a power. Soon, it would eventually enclose the world. Why fight? Why waste willpower against such an undefeatable opponent? Why push away the power of the enormous flail? Why try to tempt a futile quail? Why try to fight the power of a wintry hail; or blow against the flaps of the oncoming sail? There was no compromise with this deadly thing, a wondrous luscious powerful thing. Evil was coming, for sure.
It's coming. A whisper.
A blade slithered from somewhere in the deep shadows of Oblivion. The Archmagister lingered there, lithe, then from his eyes beamed an unholy red, not the normal red of a dark elf.
He smiled. It had indeed come.
--
The looming spires of High Fane with their angular precision brought the mind forth an odd sense of mixing reality and fantasy. The church's colossal framework emerged over the horizon where Tiber Curio stood on an old fishing boat. The father Archmagister stood tall amidst the great statues. It was hard to see his face, for he was probably too far, and perhaps it was because his figure, tall and dark, were hidden by the marble's shadow. The entire frame of the Archmagister was transformed into a mild silhouette from this far away.
As Tiber neared a ramp, he saw the Archmagister smiling. The face of the man showed great sincerity, no doubt because of the sure sign of agreement to come.
An agreement between High Fane and the Morag Tong! Such a spectacle! Who would have known of such a beginning? Collaboration between the most deadly furtive force and the most holy power in all the land?
"Hello, father." Said Tiber against the roaring wind. His priestly cloak flapped.
The Archmagister gave a welcoming bow, then led the way towards the large structure that was High Fane. During the walk, Tiber noticed a slight difference in the gait of the father Archmagister. His walk seemed a little bit hurried, as if to get out of the rays of light. Tiber looked up and knew it wasn't too bright outside. The clouds encompassed Vivec, and the sun rarely beaming through and only for a small moment. Cloudy days like this were of no use to the children, the dumplings, of Vivec. The children need sunlight, it gave their skins that magnificent dark hue, without it they'd never grow healthy.
The Archmagister led him to a penitent room, where he spoke, "Let us give proper conduct before we move on."
Tiber bowed. It was proper. As he bent down to kneel against the altar, he spoke in a praying whisper for the sun to come, and for the good wishes of people of all ages. Then, he felt a slight awkwardness that something was wrong. He looked back and saw that the Archmagister had withheld his prayer. "Again?" He continued then, acknowledging the smile of the father but maintaining his good wishes for the people of Tamriel. After a second prayer, he noticed again that the Archmagister was simply standing there. And as he bent around, he felt the hand of the Archmagister palm against his shoulder in a fatherly way.
A third prayer elapsed, but this time as he spoke, a jitter crept up to him. As he prayed, he felt the hand slowly but nevertheless loose its warmth, and felt instead its coldness against his shoulder. He felt the hand loose its flesh. The face behind him bent into a grotesque mess of skin and flesh. And he saw through the reflection of the prayer pool that the water was trembling. And suddenly he became to realize that there was another light emanating in the room, and this came from someone's eyes. He remained there, within the grasp of the Archmagister's solemn hand.
He noticed that he was afraid, for his flesh was jumping at him from all sides. He trembled in dread. And there was that awkward feeling within his throat and stomach, and the back of his neck ached. And he couldn't break the spell. There was a slight jab in his throat, too - no. on his throat, but it didn't possess much magnitude for he felt no pain.
He realized then that he was numb. Paralyzed. A spell had been cast forth onto him!
Fear crept onto him like a spider. Slowly at first, but he soon felt it rustle throughout his whole body. A dim pain or pressure was on his forehead, like a vein thumping.
From the corner of his eye, he could no longer see the hand of the Archmagister. He didn't know when it had retracted, for the numbness. There were fingers, many fingers tending him, spikes or so it seemed, needles passing along his numb flesh. He realized that there were things crawling him. or was there? And then his mind spiraled down into a vast chamber where no one could feel or touch or sense. It was neither sleep, nor awake, but somewhere between death and life, towards death. His eyes gazed no more, and he felt no pain except the pain of having no control.
There are things worse than death. Tiber was about to enter them.
The Archmagister could feel it. The waves of magic were slowly increasing throughout this part of the world, and worse yet, it was centered on Vivec. An eclipse of such type would eventually be felt throughout all Tamriel, but first, it had to permeate through here, where it'd be shaped. Three god- moons. Each behind the other, each magnifying the other's power. And so much power.
Think of it. The archmagister had been taught by those before him.
If the god-moons are that which gives Tamriel the magic it needs to sustain all life forms and terrestrial change, then what happen if - instead of evolving around Tamriel on a orbit which distributes magic equally through all lands - what if at some point, there is an ellipse? One moon behind the second, the second behind the third. Each power of each moon would be magnified through the power of the one that ellipses it. One point of Tamriel would succumb to great stress and magic beyond comprehension, while all other locations feel nothing, as if air had been cut off.
Think of it. Think of it quick, for we fear such devastation is soon to come.
Yes, a black storm was coming. The archmagister could feel its perturbations. Its waves outlined in magic could be sensed, an abhorrent feeling. A premonition. A foreboding, darkening feeling he felt. Yes, it was coming. So strong were its currents.
Perhaps, as a horrifying thought ventured up his spine, perhaps it's already here?
And then, he truly felt it. There was no rebelling against such a power. Soon, it would eventually enclose the world. Why fight? Why waste willpower against such an undefeatable opponent? Why push away the power of the enormous flail? Why try to tempt a futile quail? Why try to fight the power of a wintry hail; or blow against the flaps of the oncoming sail? There was no compromise with this deadly thing, a wondrous luscious powerful thing. Evil was coming, for sure.
It's coming. A whisper.
A blade slithered from somewhere in the deep shadows of Oblivion. The Archmagister lingered there, lithe, then from his eyes beamed an unholy red, not the normal red of a dark elf.
He smiled. It had indeed come.
--
The looming spires of High Fane with their angular precision brought the mind forth an odd sense of mixing reality and fantasy. The church's colossal framework emerged over the horizon where Tiber Curio stood on an old fishing boat. The father Archmagister stood tall amidst the great statues. It was hard to see his face, for he was probably too far, and perhaps it was because his figure, tall and dark, were hidden by the marble's shadow. The entire frame of the Archmagister was transformed into a mild silhouette from this far away.
As Tiber neared a ramp, he saw the Archmagister smiling. The face of the man showed great sincerity, no doubt because of the sure sign of agreement to come.
An agreement between High Fane and the Morag Tong! Such a spectacle! Who would have known of such a beginning? Collaboration between the most deadly furtive force and the most holy power in all the land?
"Hello, father." Said Tiber against the roaring wind. His priestly cloak flapped.
The Archmagister gave a welcoming bow, then led the way towards the large structure that was High Fane. During the walk, Tiber noticed a slight difference in the gait of the father Archmagister. His walk seemed a little bit hurried, as if to get out of the rays of light. Tiber looked up and knew it wasn't too bright outside. The clouds encompassed Vivec, and the sun rarely beaming through and only for a small moment. Cloudy days like this were of no use to the children, the dumplings, of Vivec. The children need sunlight, it gave their skins that magnificent dark hue, without it they'd never grow healthy.
The Archmagister led him to a penitent room, where he spoke, "Let us give proper conduct before we move on."
Tiber bowed. It was proper. As he bent down to kneel against the altar, he spoke in a praying whisper for the sun to come, and for the good wishes of people of all ages. Then, he felt a slight awkwardness that something was wrong. He looked back and saw that the Archmagister had withheld his prayer. "Again?" He continued then, acknowledging the smile of the father but maintaining his good wishes for the people of Tamriel. After a second prayer, he noticed again that the Archmagister was simply standing there. And as he bent around, he felt the hand of the Archmagister palm against his shoulder in a fatherly way.
A third prayer elapsed, but this time as he spoke, a jitter crept up to him. As he prayed, he felt the hand slowly but nevertheless loose its warmth, and felt instead its coldness against his shoulder. He felt the hand loose its flesh. The face behind him bent into a grotesque mess of skin and flesh. And he saw through the reflection of the prayer pool that the water was trembling. And suddenly he became to realize that there was another light emanating in the room, and this came from someone's eyes. He remained there, within the grasp of the Archmagister's solemn hand.
He noticed that he was afraid, for his flesh was jumping at him from all sides. He trembled in dread. And there was that awkward feeling within his throat and stomach, and the back of his neck ached. And he couldn't break the spell. There was a slight jab in his throat, too - no. on his throat, but it didn't possess much magnitude for he felt no pain.
He realized then that he was numb. Paralyzed. A spell had been cast forth onto him!
Fear crept onto him like a spider. Slowly at first, but he soon felt it rustle throughout his whole body. A dim pain or pressure was on his forehead, like a vein thumping.
From the corner of his eye, he could no longer see the hand of the Archmagister. He didn't know when it had retracted, for the numbness. There were fingers, many fingers tending him, spikes or so it seemed, needles passing along his numb flesh. He realized that there were things crawling him. or was there? And then his mind spiraled down into a vast chamber where no one could feel or touch or sense. It was neither sleep, nor awake, but somewhere between death and life, towards death. His eyes gazed no more, and he felt no pain except the pain of having no control.
There are things worse than death. Tiber was about to enter them.