Cryptic clues, bounding from the heirloom as Varulae put her hands to its smooth glass orb-shaped surface, left Aderyn confused as for where next to head. The family heirloom, a crystal ball, was said to have precognitive visions of sorts. Though, the history flowing from the orb and into the eyes of Varulae and Aderyn left them speechless: a riddle unanswered or decrypted now seeking to be solved.
Anvil's hidden darkness, a sealed away horror
Without key for lock, no hinge for door
Once descendant of man, now son of darkness
Magic dismally hides what progeny confesses
While Varulae pondered over this much Aderyn paced back and forth – a shadow growing over his mind. The birth sign of Thormoor, his birth sign as well, repeatedly flashed back into mind – the ritual, an enigmatic curse consuming the lives of those whom are chosen to carry its burden. Though, a faint memory of old repeatedly came to him – more of legend really.
Carahil, the now head mage of Anvil's Mages guild, was said to have battled against one of Anvil's own greatest evils. Its sin: consuming the lives of others, using the ancient dark arts of Necromancy to fortify itself with their souls and in turn reign with a never ending life – Lorgren Benirus. The once proud owner of the now demented Benirus Manor mysteriously vanished, his spirit rumored to have infused with the house itself, spawning evil phantoms at his undying whim. Of course, these stories were shared between the youth of Anvil, the kids daring each other to near the evil house, touch it, and run back without soiling themselves.
Overcast clouds above showered Anvil, a foreboding afternoon to the youngsters in town, the timing perfect as they all gathered around the front courtyard of Benirus Manor, "The Haunted Mansion" as they all called it. Three children in particular stood in front, ahead of the remainders who chickened out. Aderyn, Azzan and Romiskeld – the three bravest kids in town, fearless warriors they called themselves.
Azzan, the youngest of the three by one year at age six, offered to go first. With his heart ferociously pounding beneath his skin, he slowly crept up to the house. Despite his efforts, however, he made it only within ten feet of the house before a sudden bolt of lightning sprawled overhead, sending Azzan squealing in fright back towards the others. The rest of the kids laughed at him, but Romiskeld dared them all to try if they had any backbone behind their comments. Immediately they all shut their mouths.
Romiskeld was next. His brave Nord heritage would guide him to victory, his words to all of the kids. Just as Azzan had, the young Nord boy inched his way towards the house, looming high over his head, and on the second floor its two spire-like towers morphed, in his mind, into two giant eyes watching as he neared his way along. Alas, a second bolt of lightning crashed in the distance, the fear for the house itself too overwhelming, and sent him speeding away.
Now came Aderyn's turn. His reputation for confronting the dares of the other kids gave him confidence, their cheers in the background only coating his persistence in accomplishing the task. Step by step he made his way closer, the house looking far more menacing this time around. The large covered porch out front, its supportive pillars like a vicious maw awaiting his flesh to come within striking distance. Still, his fear would not overcome him. Unlike the other two, when a bolt of lightning stuck he did not back down – his hand only inches away from the stone walls.
His hand met that of the cold wet stone. His fears, however, intensified as a surge of magical energy coursed through his body like that of shocking magic. A flutter of images, gruesome deaths performed for a self-satisfying power monger, rushed into his mind. Though, before he knew it he was lying on the ground, Romiskeld and Azzan dragging him back to the other kids. Their cheers sounding drowned out like listening to them from beneath water. His head swam about, the images still flashing into mind.
That was the day, after touching the house, his birthmark vanished – consumed even by the magic sent throughout his body.
Aderyn stood before the house, the memories of his childhood adventures rushing back into mind. He heard rumors of Velwyn Benirus trying to sell the house. All citizens of Anvil, however, knew of the haunted manor and dared not even set foot near the cursed place. And, after a brief visit with the only one who could have confirmed his childhood fear of the place, Carahil reaffirmed the stories as true. She cautioned him of the place, knowing full well the power Lorgren possessed – his spirit, if it still be in existence, would contain an immense amount of power.
With the confirmation racing through his mind, the house now appearing more foreboding that he knew it to be true. Still, a faint voice in the recesses of his mind gave him confidence. He knew the gods watched out for him, and they would give him the necessary strength to overcome the evil embodied within the house. Taking his first step towards the house, the initial fear now gone with the holy adrenaline filling him, brought him ever closer to uncovering this mystery and finding Thormoor.
--
Two faint voices echoed from beneath a door adjacent a flight of stairs leading to the second floor, one human and the other evil. The darkly voice, tainted with malice, roared out against the second, followed by a blood curdling cry and then silence. If not for his vow to Romiskeld, furthermore his commitment to the gods, Aderyn would have returned out into the streets, safe from the evil compressing around him.
His hairs stood on end as he pushed open the door, the fetid stench of a decomposing corpse assaulted his nose. Goosebumps amassed across his skin as if the evil instigated their arousal. The air within the basement a thick and lifeless mire.
Even so, steadily he descended down towards the darkly voice, its unfamiliar chanting warning his conscience against proceeding. Fighting back the urge to run away, he came into view of a deathly being, dark ragged clothes hanging from its shriveled limbs – a deadly lich sorcerer. Off to one side the lifeless body of Velwyn Benirus lie limp, shriveled more so than the undead creature's. But the sight of these weren't what first caught his attention, for its hands waved above the missing child, Thormoor.
With a wild cry, Aderyn bounded forward, catching the menace with a quick swipe of his silver blade gifted to him for helping Varulae. A cry of agony resounded from the squalid creature, its hand severed. Though, the other hand quickly spun around and, catching Aderyn in the chest, sent him hurtling against the far wall.
Quickly he had to act, dodging the magic hurled at him by the lich, recalling his practice. Conjuring up multiple illusions of himself gave him the necessary amount of time to prepare a most useful spell in diminishing the spirit of an undead. A flaming blue ball of energy burst from his palms and collided with the lich, incinerating its flesh and severing its soul forever in the plane of Nirn – a combined spell of destruction and restoration. Destruction for incinerating the flesh and restoration for severing its spirit from possessing the lifeless body of Velwyn's spirit-consumed flesh. This fact lead Aderyn into believing that the lich, was in fact and truth, the power-hungry Lorgren Benirus.
