Disclaimer:
I only own the plot and my original characters.
A/N:
Hey all! It didn't take me years to update! Yayy. I don't really have much to say to preface this chapter except that there are some violent, gorey parts. There's (slightly) less angst, though. Also this is my longest chapter to date!
Also, to those of you who've been wondering why Estoril never uses contractions in her speech, yes, it's intentional. I just decided when I first started writing this story that most Altmer don't use them. It's kind of annoying sometimes while writing, but, it also means something( I'll let you figure out what) when an Altmer doesn't use them.
Previously:
Estoril is shell-shocked from the result of the trial. She is highly anxious about her father's impending banishment from the Summerset Isles and is having trouble coming to terms with the fact that she isn't a member of the Thalmor anymore. She packs up all her things at her apartment in Alinor and is taunted by Junior Officer Ocantar before she leaves. When she arrives back at her childhood home with her father and Ondolemar, everything feels different. She has an identity crisis, and reminisces on times when she was a child and knew exactly how her life would pan out. She feels like an imposter in her own home. That evening when she has dinner with Ondolemar they get into an argument. Ondolemar is frustrated with Estoril's indecision and her reluctance to accept his help. He also feels like Estoril hasn't appreciated it when he has helped her. The argument ends with Estoril kissing Ondolemar impulsively - hoping that it might offer her some semblance of comfort and meaning. But she quickly becomes overwhelmed by the intimacy, and pushes him abruptly away and tells him to leave. Her mother then appears before her but she is different and demonic in appearance and attacks Estoril. A few days later, Estoril finds a book on Conjuration magic and becomes fascinated by it - going into the woods to try her hand at re-animating animals. On the morning that her father is supposed to leave the Summerset Isles, Estoril finds him dead in his bedroom. He commited suicide. This makes Estoril realize that something has to change and she decides that she needs to leave Cloudrest.
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Chapter 7 - In which I am disturbed
Dusk - Alinor ( Summerset Isles )
Middas, 30th Day of Sun's Height, 4E 201
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The Bosmer merchant's thralled corpse let out one final groan before it dropped - gracelessly - to the cold, stone floor of my basement - limbs splayed about and contorted in unnatural positions. I sigh discontentedly and ball my fists in frustration. How many times am I going to have to cast this damned spell before I can get the corpse to remain thralled indefinitely!? What am I doing wrong? This is just so tedious! Certainly, I have come leaps and bounds since I first started practicing Conjuration... but still... The branch of magic has been unreasonably hard for me to grasp, and it has been six years.
Six years... Six. Whole. Years.
Actually, my difficulty in achieving mastery is... decidedly embarrassing. I disdainfully eye the crumpled corpse before me - a visual representation of my failure - an obscenity.
" Only three days this time?" I scoff at the lifeless form - it's hazel, glassy eyes stare at nothing unblinkingly. I shake my head.
A loud knock coming from the ground level of my residence reminds me what time of the month it is. I climb the narrow, spiral staircase out of the basement to answer the door, and am greeted by the same courier as usual - Altmer, tall, ashen blond hair, a sallow complexion. I have never bothered asking his name. With little more than a curt nod in greeting, I snatch the package from his outstretched hand and shut the door.
Every month, Master Sinyir sends me a care package of sorts. Although I have told him many years ago to cease with this frivolity, he has done as he pleases, and I have received one package at the same time each month like clockwork. Perhaps he thinks that I am lonely and he wishes to provide me with some modicum of familiarity and comfort? If so, he is sorely mistaken in this assumption, and I have tried to tell him, but he has ignored my every protest. The mer's sense of duty, while admirable, can have irritating consequences such as these. He cannot seem to get it through his head that I want to be left entirely alone. Instead, he remains - a constant reminder of my past life.
I think I am going to need to lie down with a drink before I can open this.
I make my way to my bedroom and pour myself a sizeable glass of colovian brandy. The sight of my four-poster bed arrests me with fatigue, and I am reminded that I had not slept a wink last night. As I lie down on black, satin sheets and set my glass on the bedside table, I spy my reflection in the round, ornately carved mirror above my vanity and grimace. I appear as fatigued as I feel and my eyes are nearly as glassy as the corpse's in my basement.
Ever since father's death I have redirected every ounce of focus and dedication I held for my work within the Thalmor ranks to mastering Conjuration - focusing particularly on necromancy. Insomnia was an expected side-effect considering the intensity with which I have worked to achieve perfection. And yet... It still eludes me.
I glance over to Master Sinyir's package placed carelessly on the floor beside me. Still, after all this time - after all this time trying to forget - trying to bury my past, he refuses to let me.
It had been hard enough to leave Cloudrest behind.
Despite the agency I had felt in needing to extricate myself from my hometown, I was unsuccessful in doing so on my own.
Father had just died and I simply had not known where to go or what to do - just that something had needed to be done. And so, I had allowed myself to remain trapped, trapped in a house that felt more like my crypt with each passing day that I remained. And then there was the matter of father's funeral. Master Sinyir had taken care of all the necessary arrangements. I trusted him implicitly, and I, still in denial, had not wanted to involve myself. In the days leading up to the funeral I entrenched myself in the family library - avoiding coming to terms with the inevitable, and studying Conjuration.
I remember that when it was time for the funeral, there was no open casket. Only I, Master Sinyir and a handful of nobles I was not well acquainted with were present. We all stood outside in the cemetery, gathered near my father's casket and the plot of land that would serve as his final resting place. I remember a heavy silence had blanketed those in attendance as a priest of Arkay recited something flowery about Aetherius and the Eight Divines - his voice had had a trill that was awfully grating, and I had wondered to myself why it was not required for priests to have soothing voices - or if this was a trait of Arkay devotees in particular.
The first heckler had appeared just as father was being lowered into the ground. Many, many more had followed - the attendees were nearly outnumbered three to one. By the time the cemetery workers had finished shoveling the dirt over father's grave, what had started out as shouting had escalated to rock throwing. Swiftly, Master Sinyir had ushered me to my carriage as the funeral attendees scattered and Thalmor Soldiers had arrived to restore order.
The heckler's behavior, which then I was too ... out of sorts to comprehend had puzzled me, but I now understand. Father had been sentenced to banishment. In their eyes, he was not worthy of being buried on Aldmeri soil. That, and their dislike of father was so intense that they had not thought twice before disrespecting his funeral in such a manner. To this day, I can at least reap some satisfaction from the fact that father never had to face a fate worse than death, and stubbornly remains in his homeland.
From then on there were demonstrations throughout Cloudrest- protests against father's policies that still remained intact in the local government. I could not leave the house for fear of being attacked, and I had contracted a group of Thalmor soldiers to serve as my guards. Yet, the soldiers were not enough to deter the enraged citizens of Cloudrest from bringing their protests to my front yard all hours of the day and night.
Inevitably, these protests turned violent. One night, I was woken by one of the soldiers, who practically dragged me out of bed while yelling something about a fire in the east wing. And so, I had stood outside in the dead of night, watching as flames began devouring my home( almost wishing they would so I could be rid of it - be rid of my past), and as Thalmor Officers arrived to conjure water to put out the flames. Regrettably, the damage was not severe, the fire had been contained and put out where it had started in the east wing. The next morning, Master Sinyir - concerned- had approached me. He suggested that I allow him to relocate me for my safety - an offer I had been very excited by. But of course, his first suggestion was for me to join my mother in Skyrim, which I promptly and scathingly refused. His next suggestion was far more palatable. He told me that he had connections in Dusk, a major coastal city somewhat out of the reach of the Thalmor- less ... controlled. He told me that he would be able to procure a modest estate - modest in comparison to what I was used to, but still quite spacious.
Normally, the idea of being somewhere so unregulated- so out of the Thalmor's reach -would have been appalling to me. But I remember considering that I had been at odds with the Thalmor - ashamed and wishing for nothing more than solitude - I had welcomed the sort of isolation living there would afford me, and the anonymity that would come with it. Not to mention, considering the circumstances, it would only be easier for me to practice my Conjuration in Dusk.
After I transferred him the necessary funds, Master Sinyir had made the preparations for my departure, I had tripled the security around my house. Not that I cared about any further damage done to it, but I hardly wanted anything to happen to me while I was still residing there. As discreetly as possible, Master Sinyir began transporting my belongings to the estate he had procured. By the end of Second Seed I was packing up the last of my personal belongings - trinkets and baubles of sentimental value - and saying goodbye to Cloudrest.
I still remember what he said to me then as if he had just said it yesterday.
" Do not worry, this will not be the last time you set foot in Cloudrest, I am sure of it." Master Sinyir had comforted- wrongly interpreting my silence as gloom - as I had gazed out of the carriage to look upon my hometown one last time. We rode farther and farther into the distance until Mt. Eton Nir was nothing more than a dot on the horizon. I had felt beyond relieved.
To this day, I still find it funny that anyone could consider Dusk to be a major city. It is a far cry from the magnificence of Alinor or Cloudrest. When Master Sinyir and I had first arrived, our driver had taken us through the center of the city. Surrounded by a forest, with buildings comprised primarily out of grey, polished stone, the city was decidedly drab. Certainly, it had towers a plenty, but each was as colorless as the next. In stark contrast to the city's architecture, the people that inhabited it - milling about their business - were the most diverse, colorful group I had ever laid my eyes upon. Altmer, Bosmer, Khajiit, Dunmer, and even Bretons and Imperials! I had never been in such close proximity to the race of men before, and I had been repulsed. However, what could you expect from a port city near mainland Tamriel? And so, contending with other races regularly would end up being my unfortunate reality.
The city had not been our final destination. We had passed through it to a quiet, unassuming neighborhood with estates scattered very sparsely along the coastline. The estate Master Sinyir had procured for me had been vacant for years. The family that had inhabited it had moved out of Dusk to Shimmerene. Master Sinyir had tutored the estate's previous owners in their youth, and had remained in touch with them since. But according to Master Sinyir, the families that resided in this particular neighborhood were very old and had owned their homes for many eras. A family moving out of these parts was a strange affair. In spite of its strangeness, even when pressed, Master Sinyir had not given me an answer as to why this particular family vacated their home. So eventually I had relented.
The estate - the one I now live in to this day - has a sloping roof that is typical of architecture on the isles. However, this is where the similarities start and end. The building certainly looks centuries old, as the stone it is made up of has an odd, yellowed, sooty appearance. A long dirt road winds its way to the entrance that is covered by an overhanging balcony. The symmetrical, arched windows that adorn the front are darkly tinted. I remember stepping out of the carriage upon our arrival all those years ago, breathing in, and tasting the ocean. If I were to look out the window of my room right now, I could see it since a mere dune separates my grounds and a small beach.
I had taken an immediate liking to the house in all its oddness. It was mine and mine alone.
After giving me a tour of the estate and helping me unpack, Master Sinyir had assured me he would keep in touch and look after my childhood home for me - despite my indifference towards both of his promises, I humored him and bid him a kind farewell. I did, however, reject his offer to send servants to me outright. I wanted to be entirely alone and independent - free to do as I wish without prying, judging eyes.
Quickly, I realized that many of Dusk's inhabitants operated in shady circles. Under the guise of fishermen, sailors and merchants, many were thieves and smugglers - of both people and items. Whispers of a thieves guild hidden somewhere in the forest could be heard any given day strolling through the city. Although the Thalmor did have a headquarters in the heart of Dusk, as expected, they took a very non-interventionist approach to governing. The headquarters was usually empty, and seemed to be there more for show than anything. To make matters worse, the few Thalmor Soldiers stationed at the two guardhouses, patrolling the city, and at the gates, were more laid back than any Soldiers I have ever encountered -turning blind eyes to most of the city's inhabitants nefarious activities. It became quite clear to me that this was the result of corruption - running rampant throughout all facets of the city's institutions. And also, perhaps, the result of bribery by members of the thieves guild.
Instead of dwelling upon how repulsive I found the society I had become a part of, I saw an opportunity. All these miscreants could be made use of. I could use them to further my studies in necromancy.
At first, I merely identified, located, and watched them from afar - studying their worthless excuses for lives. The docks just outside the city proper became a favorite location of mine to stake out. When I had grown confident in the knowledge gleaned from my sleuthing, it was time to act.
My first target was an Imperial 'fisherman' who had ties with the local thieves guild.
Even now as I lie in my bed, I still have very mixed, very confused feelings about how things ended up.
I remember that he had been alone one evening, securing the ropes keeping his skiff docked. I had made a snap decision to act. His skiff was always docked in an empty, out of the way section of the boardwalk, so I had not concerned myself too much with the possibility of there being witnesses. I snuck up behind him until I was about 3 arms-lengths away, and anxiously threw a calming spell that hit him squarely in the back of the head- aqua tendrils twirling about his form before dissipating into a miasmic haze. Relieved that the spell had been successful despite my inexperience with illusion, I had taken in a deep breath, and with my hands shaking slightly from nervous zeal, I conjured up a bound dagger in one, and readied my glass dagger in the other. In a swift, decisive moment, I had jolted forward, snaked my arms over his shoulders and slit his throat. The imperial had made a wet, gurgling noise as he had choked on his blood before he toppled forward and fell onto the skiff's deck.
As I had peered down at him from the dock, I realized my error when blood began spilling everywhere from the sizable gash I had left - pooling underneath him. In my excitement I had managed an overkill. Cursing under my breath at my impulsive, short-sightedness, I scanned the surrounding area and racked my brain for a solution. Mercifully, it had not taken too long to come up with one. I knew I could not take him and leave the skiff here in such a mess. His connections in the thieves guild would have eventually found it. Furthermore, I had not even thought through how I could have lugged his body back to my estate. Despite all my patient observations over many days, in the end my overconfidence had resulted in rash decisions. There had only been one logical solution. And so, I had found myself climbing aboard the skiff, pushing aside the body, and trying to ignore that I was forced to sit in a pool of blood as I fumbled with the oars.
Killing had been easy, poetic almost in its simplicity- a predictably fatal action-reaction. I, acting upon the the target with brutality, and receiving the reaction - the rewarding payoff - of it's death. Dealing with the aftermath, however, was far more of a hassle than I had anticipated. The mess, for one, was not something that I was prepared to deal with, and I had grimaced when I felt the blood I had sat on seeping through my black, velvet robes. When I was in the Thalmor and had needed to eliminate someone - whether it was during an altercation like on Western Coridale or otherwise - there was always someone else whose job it was to clean up after me.
Despite the fact that I had completely muddled things up after taking the fisherman's life, I managed to salvage things. Using what little intuitive knowledge I had about rowing, I steered the skiff, keeping close to the coastline - luckily devoid of witnesses - until I arrived at the private stretch of beach right by my estate. Somehow, I had managed to transport the body to my basement without making too much more of a mess, using a mixture of adrenaline fueled energy and an inconsistent telekinesis spell. Later, I would return to the skiff, painstakingly dismantle it with an ax and save it's wooden remains for kindling.
Thralling the fisherman had been unsuccessful. The longest I managed to keep his body reanimated was for twelve minutes. Several days later, after my hundredth attempt, I gave up and burned his decaying corpse in my basement's stone fireplace - managing to contain the stench to that room and effectively airing it out over the span of a few days.
Since then, I strived to be much more methodical - more clean - with my killing. Calming spells became an essential tool, paired with poison- brewed in my basement which quickly became a workshop-I was able to get the sterile results I was after. Certainly, it was not as thrilling, but it was necessary. Furthermore, I made sure to have my carriage nearby - for both an escape and a way to transport the corpses. (As a result of my decision not to hire any servants, I found it only sensible to learn how to ride a horse and drive my own carriage.) Disposal of the bodies usually involves either a bonfire, pit, or water burial.
Getting caught has always been a non-issue, and so, I have never concerned myself with pondering non-existent ramifications. Anyway, the people that I target have always been low- lives that wouldn't be missed upon their disappearance. I am certain that whatever, few, upstanding citizens exist in Dusk would thank me if they knew - knew that I was recycling the city's filth. It really is a win win scenario. Yes, meting out my very own brand of vigilante justice against ne'er do wells suits me very well.
Indeed, I have managed to get this corpse collection business down to an exact science. Executing the reanimation spell on them, however, is all really just a matter of trial and error. And since re-animating people is nothing like re-animating animals - a feat I was able to master within a matter of months - I struggled to grasp the concept. The feelings necessary for both feats are so very dissimilar. To this day, something I am doing is still amiss.
After all these years.
I even managed to overcome the troubles coupled with summoning all manner of Daedra, and do so now with decent fluency- encountering only the inevitable hiccup here and there.
Why, why, why am I having so much trouble with people?
The very longest I have managed was a week. One week is a laughably short amount of time, especially when compared to even an average necromancer that has been studying the craft half as long as I have.
Nevermind that I do not want to be measuring myself against merely an average necromancer.
No, I set my goals far, far higher, thank you very much.
Inevitably, through my extensive studies on Conjuration - devouring any book on the subject that I could get my hands on - I came across a book called Mannimarco, King of Worms. I learned that Mannimarco was a truly extraordinary necromancer, and unsurprisingly for someone so powerful, an Altmer. He had been the catalyst to his colleague, Vanus Galerian's, decision to found the mages guild - a response to the threat Mannimarco posed through his immense power. But perhaps, the most impressive feat Mannimarco had achieved was that of becoming a litch, and eventually ascending to godhood during the warp in the west- taking the form of the revenant moon that passes between Arkay and Nirn, and successfully blocking out Arkay's divine influence every eight days. The prospect of potentially gaining immortality through the art of necromancy is , of course, very enticing to me. And upon learning of said prospect some years back, I had worked only harder to achieve a level of perfection which still eludes me. I have even taken it onto myself to go on excursions throughout the isles to expand the reach of what knowledge is available to me - while keeping a low profile, of course.
Yet, to add onto my frustration, although I have gained much knowledge, I have not been able to find any written account for the process of becoming a litch - nothing concrete and beyond theoretical rumors, at least.
So, as of a little less than a year ago, I have switched tactics. Every eight days, on the night of the revenant- otherwise known as necromancer's- moon I have prayed to Mannimarco. Years ago, I had crafted my own necromancer's altar for the creation of black soul gems, I utilize it on the night of necromancer's moon. This process has gotten me in the habit of conducting some form of ritual. Adding another one on top of that was a trifle. Hence, before or after creating my black soul gems , I offer Mannimarco a sacrifice, to demonstrate my unwavering devotion and my desire for the knowledge to become a litch. Hoping against hope that Mannimarco will give me... something. A sign, perhaps? I cannot say I quite know the procedure for these sorts of things...
It has been a process of trial and error. I have offered Mannimarco all manner of offerings - food, items, people, animals, my own blood, combinations of the aforementioned items. Nothing has worked. But I have not given up hope. Something will happen. Soon. I know it. I have to believe it will.
I sigh as I rub my forehead and then stretch languidly across the bed - pushing my sheets so that they have now bunched up around my ankles. I loll my head to the side and my eyes fall upon the package once again. I suppose I might as well open it. With another, irritated sigh I reach down and pick up the package and arrange myself so that I am sitting upright. I tear open the the parcel, toss aside its bindings and examine its contents.
There is the customary letter, sealed with Master Sinyir's personal crest, a vaguely familiar black box tied with a bow, a spice satchel, alchemy supplies and a destruction skill book called The Art of War Magic. I had heard of this book before and wanted to read it, yet, had not been able to locate it. I must have mentioned it to Master Sinyir many years ago, I am surprised he still remembers. Begrudgingly I reach for the letter first. I suppose it would be best to just get reading it out of the way.
In Master Sinyir's spidery scrawl the letter reads:
Dearest Estoril,
Enclosed are a few spices and alchemy ingredients that I know you will be able to make use of, and a box of chocolates from Cloudrest's confectionery that I remember you were quite fond of. I also managed to locate a copy of the book you had expressed keen interest in at one point. I have read it, and while I found myself grimacing upon reading the portions regarding the vile Tiber Septim, there are passages that provide great insight into the workings of destruction magic.
I hope that you are still doing well, and that this letter finds you in good health. While I have never considered myself a pious mer, I sometimes find myself muttering prayers to The Eight on your behalf. I do not want to trouble you, but I would appreciate a letter in response once in a while. The only way that I know that these packages are reaching you is through reports from the courier. I would much rather be hearing directly from you if you would be so kind to go through the trouble for me.
On a more serious note, yesterday, on Loredas, I received a rather surprising letter. It was from your mother. I had not heard from her since her reply to the letter I had sent her concerning your father's passing. The subject she seemed most keen to discuss was wanted to contact you, was not sure how, and implored me to give her your address or general whereabouts.( I have not replied yet, and am going to hold off on doing so, it would be best for you to choose how to proceed.) She said she regretted not trying to get in touch with you much earlier. Her reasoning for not contacting you included both a fear of your father - which ceased upon his passing- and a fear of rejection from you - something she expressed deep regret for allowing it to control her actions.
Now, I am aware about how you feel about your mother. And her recent revelation to get back in touch with you does not excuse the fact that she had all but abandoned you in your childhood. You do not owe her anything for her neglect. However, she is still your mother. She is the only blood relative you have left. It might be in your best interest to make amends with her. If only because of the value her connections would have for you. She could be of use to you.
She also wanted me to tell you that you are more than welcome to visit her at the Thalmor Embassy in Skyrim, located outside its capital, Solitude. Perhaps it is time to seriously consider this as an option. I could arrange transportation to Skyrim if you choose to go and see her.
I am looking forward to the possibility of hearing back from you.
Your faithful friend,
Sinyir
I am seething in anger. How dare she. After all these years. And why has she not contacted me? Because of fear?
Weak.
Mother has always been so weak. How am I supposed to know she is telling the truth? She is a liar. I do not trust mother. Am I supposed to see this as some sort of genuine attempt to connect? How pathetic. It is all just far too little, far too late.
My issues with "Mother" - the "imaginary" one - have improved immensely over the years. I am not sure why, but the more I have delved into the art of necromancy, and the longer I have been away from Cloudrest, the greater control I have over when she appears before me. I have managed to keep her at bay most of the time, except for when I am under great stress, and I have never again seen that... demonic version of her ... Which I will not spend another moment dwelling upon.
Yes, I have been doing much better on my own. After all that has happened - after my suspension from the Thalmor, father's death and all the chaos that ensued afterwards - I would not have it any other way. I revel in my independance bourne of shame. I have created something wonderful from the ashes of my past. And for mother to want to worm her way back into my life after missing so much of it is nothing short of selfish.
I rip the letter up into tiny, tiny pieces until it resembles confetti, open my picture window, and cast it away. I watch the fragments of paper flutter - carried away by the sea breeze. Satisfied, I relax, lean against the window frame, and admire the sun that will set over the water in an hour - deciding that it would be a wonderful idea to make myself sandwiches for dinner and have a picnic on the beach.
Several days later I am preparing myself. Tonight the revenant moon will be out - bathing Tamriel in all it's mystical splendor, it's power. I gather up all the grand soul gems in my possession and place them in a wicker basket by my necromancer's altar in the basement. I gaze upwards, a satisfied grin creeping across my face as I observe the clear sky and the sunlight streaming through the ceiling window. Yes, the altar is placed just so - perfectly under the window to catch a sufficient amount of moonlight. I have tried several different placements for it - all of them being inside for fear of passersby catching sight of it - and this one has reaped me the greatest successes. The black soul gems created in this location have been the most effective in all my soul-trapping endeavors. I can scarcely wait to get my hands on more of these magnificent, obsidian-toned gems.
In gleeful anticipation - nearly bouncing on the balls of my feet - I stride over to the opposite end of the room and rummage through a chest to find my designated ceremonial dagger. Upon finding it, I move to the center of the room. With an deep, preparatory breath, I slit the upper portion of my right palm - grimacing from pain as blood spills out. Quickly, I put my hand to the smooth stone floor and draw a hexagon framed by a series of runes - with the symbol for 'necro' at its center. I then place candles at each of the hexagon's points.
Satisfied with my handiwork, I cast a fast healing to seal my cut shut. To be safe, I subsequently imbibe a potion meant for infection resistance - the likes of which I keep handy in my robe pocket.
Now I must wait.
So, I curl up on my wine-red chaise in my library with a cup of canis root tea, a blanket, and The Art of War Magic - most of which I read with a raised eyebrow while rolling my eyes at the pro-Nord, pro- Tiber Septim tone of it all. Who is the author? Zurin Arctus? Of course. Tiber Septim's head battlemage. Disgusted, I read no further. One can only be so open minded before being pushed past reasonable limits. And this tome's contents have certainly achieved in pushing those limits. Tossing The Art of War Magic aside, I scour my shelves for The Legend of Vastarie, a far more valuable tome in my humble opinion. While the Altmer woman in question was a friend of Mannimarco's whom he later scorned for her creation of Sigil Geodes, I find much of her accomplishments admirable still. To venture alone into Coldharbor! I could only dream to match such bravery! And her intelligence! To even consider the possibility of transmuting a black soul gem into a Geode that could contain a sentient soul is remarkable!
I lose myself among the pages of Vastarie's adventures.
Finally, when the clock strikes midnight, the time has come. I make my way back to the basement and fetch the earth-filled jar I left out for myself at the bottom for the spiral staircase. With a few snaps of my fingers,I light the candles. Bathed in moonlight, with nothing but the flickering lights as company, I stand before it, raise my arms, look up at the ceiling window, and chant:
"Hear me, God of Worms! For I am your humble servant! Deliver me from my troubles, give me the strength to see them through!"
"Hear me Revenant moon, watching over me from Artherius! Hide me from the enemy Arkay so that I may serve you! Bless me with but a taste of your power and I will be forever grateful!"
"Guide me towards my objective with your heavenly light, for I am your loyal servant! Those who stand in your way, I will end!"
"Grant me a sign, a whisper that may assist me in my quest for knowledge of lichdom - living death eternal!"
"So it shall be!"
Decisively and with great force, I toss the glass jar onto the 'necro' symbol
in the hexagon's center. The glass shatters resoundingly. The dirt spills out, revealing a mass of wriggling worms hidden within. With a sharp sweep of my right arm, the candle's flames spring to the dirt - scorching the worms and dissipating with a purple flash. In the flame's wake, nothing remains but the runic symbols which now glow a deep mauve.
I survey the runes pensively as they too slowly fade. The choice of worms as an offering is perhaps... a touch too literal in its symbolic nature. I have held out on using them for quite some time. And I find myself now feeling rather sheepish for offering up something so meager, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I have already tried much more elaborate, abstractly symbolic items. Admittedly, it has all been akin to throwing darts blindfolded.
I now move over to the necromancer's altar as the runes fade completely. A purple beam of light filtering in from the ceiling window illuminates the altar's surface. I place the grand soul gems onto it. In a gleam of purple, all twenty of my grand soul gems are turned into black ones. I eye the glistening jewels appreciatively as I place them back into the wicker basket so that I can transport them elsewhere. At least the payoff for this ritual is instant.
Satisfied with the night's rituals, I decide it is time to turn in for the night and expel any lingering, negative and doubtful thoughts. I will deal with them when I have to - when I have failed and I will have to try again.
The next morning I decide to go downtown. I am curious if there are any new merchants in Dusk, as there are always all manner of individuals passing through the city. Perhaps I will find something that I can use for my next offering to Mannimarco.
I do not take the carriage into the heart of the city today, instead, I pick my favorite horse - a Dapple Grey named Helea - tack her up, and ride her to the market. Meandering at a leisurely pace on horseback, I take my time to scan the area and scowl at the many inferior specimens I pass on the road. I come upon a group of children playing at a pond next to the stables by the city's gate. They are Altmer, some are wearing shabby clothing, while others are dressed more tastefully. How odd. My father would never have allowed me to interact with those of lower social standing. Dusk really is a mess. If these sorts of dealings are permitted to occur...
The children notice my disapproving gaze, they all stop their games and stare back at me. I recognize the two better clothed boys - a pair of siblings whose family lives a couple miles down the coast from my estate - my closest neighbors. The boys turn to one another and begin to whisper - while turning back to examine my approaching form at regular intervals with stark curiosity. When I am mere feet away from the children, they all stop their whispering and staring and return to their previous activities - acting as if they had not stopped to begin with. I glare and scoff at the urchins as I dismount Helea, and I lead her to the stables. Those children had better not get any ideas and disturb my horse!
The Thalmor guards at the dull, stone, city gates wave me through when they recognize who I am. As I pleasantly smile and nod at the pair of them, I sneer inwardly. The two of them are mere decorations- the illusion of order. That they could even be considered a part of the Thalmor is preposterous. They do not even possess a fraction of the dedication I had when I was in the Thalmor.
Today, the marketplace is not as busy as it usually is. I do not mind. I walk along the cobblestone road - passing the usual shops and stalls to get to the square at the end. That is where the traveling vendors set up their wares. Upon approaching, I see that they are all the same people as last week - a few fishermen, a bookseller( I have already bought all his spell tomes), a group of Khajit (skooma dealers, no doubt) and a Nord blacksmith. However, in the corner of my eye I see a pair of unfamiliar faces. Two Nord women have set up a stall at the left end of the square. In the interest of seeing what useful wares they might have, I push down the immediate feelings of revulsion that arise. I head straight for them.
As I approach them, I realize they are in the middle of an altercation.
" Huldfrida! Stop it! Now! You'll scare off customers! I can hardly think straight!" The shorter, blonder of the two says in an exasperated voice to her companion.
" ...not safe, not safe, not safe. I tried to tell them all, and did they listen? They didn't. Not safe, not safe, not safe, I tell you!" The stringy- haired, Nord woman named Huldfrida stammers nervously.
How vexing. I cringe when I notice that she dons adept robes of restoration. This is what human mages are like?
" Suzanna's gone! I know it!" Huldfrida the mage continues to no one in particular. Her grey eyes darting wildly - never resting on one spot for long.
The other Nord woman lets out a long, drawn out sigh. " Suzanna's fine. Right now she's probably in Candlehearth Hall as always - flirting and serving up some mead, I wager."
Yet, the Nord woman's words do nothing to placate Huldfrida, who continues wildly shaking her head and stammering repetitively.
"No, no, no! Not safe... not safe.. I tried to warn them! But Suzanna is gone now... Just like all the rest of the girls."
"Huldfrida... Ah," the Nord woman pauses mid sentence when she sees me standing in front of her stall. Quickly, she plasters a smile across her face." Good morrow m'am, is there something I can help you with? I have only the finest wares and Skyrim's best mead."
Unbidden, I find my eyes drifting back towards Huldfrida. She really is quite the spectacle, and is still muttering up a storm. The other Nord woman notices this, and with a wide smile still frozen on her face says:
" My deepest apologies, m'am. Huldfrida is... unwell at the moment."
" Oh, it is quite alright." I respond mildly. Somewhat curious of the whole debacle laid before me. " Huldfrida - she is a mage, yes? And, what is the matter with her, if you do not mind my asking?"
The Nord woman - still smiling - looks somewhat uncomfortable with my questioning, but answers regardless. " Yes, she is . Huldfrida and I grew up together in Windhelm, as soon as she got the chance, she went to study restoration magic at the mages college in Winterhold. She was always an odd one...But her love of magic has paid off, she graduated about a year ago and she works with Wuunferth the Unliving - the court wizard - in the Palace of Kings..." The Nord woman trails off for a moment while glancing back at her companion in question. " I'm Grelfa, by the way."
" And the reason for Huldfida's current state of distress...? " I urge, growing irritated by Grelfa's indirectness. I am wholly disinterested with the tangent this chatty Nord has gone off on.
"Ah, yes! Sorry." Grelfa utters - broken out of a momentary trance. " There have been a series of murders in Windhelm. They have been of a most... disturbing nature."
My interest is piqued. Disturbing murders? I listen more intently.
" The killer has left bodies out in the open... brutally mutilated bodies ... The victims have always been young women. And, Huldfrida, she's gone a bit mad with worry. Her friend, Suzanna, works at one of the inns in Windhelm. And ever since we've left Skyrim, every once in a while, she'll get really agitated. Maybe she's just homesick?" Grelfa shakes her head. " I can only pray that the souls of those poor young girls are resting easy in Sovngarde."
Before I can even process what Grelfa has told me, Huldfrida looks straight at me. Her blood-shot eyes stare unblinkingly. "It's dark magic, I know it! It has to be." She implores.
And I'm not sure if she is talking to me or?
"Every eight days! Every eight days! I told him. I told Wuunferth, but he didn't listen."
Every eight days? Surely she could not mean...?
" Necromancy is afoot! And, and, the amulet! That evil artifact! Doomed to fade in and out of existence. It has returned! I'm sure of it! Why won't they listen to me. Evil is afoot!"
I hardly hear Grelfa chastise Huldfrida. My mind is reeling from what I just heard Huldfrida say! Necromancy... Amulet! Could she mean the legendary amulet that Mannimarco himself created!? I try not to let my excitement show.
Grelfa, who has managed to calm Huldfrida down some, turns to me and offers up a sheepish, apologetic smile. " I'm terribly sorry, m'am, I should've left her at the inn today.I didn't realize she would be this bad." Turning to the chest behind her, Grelfa bends down and rummages through it. " Here, its complimentary," she says as she holds out a bottle of what must be mead. " For putting up with her."
" No, no," I decline. " There has been no harm done. I was the one who asked to know what was going on, after all."
"Please, I insist." Grelfa says while all but thrusting the bottle forward. And I realize that she is offering me the mead more for her own peace of mind than mine.
I decide that accepting the gift would be beneficial. There is more that I need to know - one cannot go about hastily trusting Nords- so there is no sense in being rude now. With a forced smile, I accept the bottle. " Thank you." In that same vein of friendliness, I add, " you may call me Estoril."
"Well, Estoril... It's been... interesting. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"
"I would certainly be interested in taking a look at your wares," I lie.
Upon hearing this, Grelfa immediately perks up and begins chattering on about the varieties of nirnroot she has on hand. I nod at appropriate intervals and pretend to be interested. I also pretend to take interest in the items she has laid out at her stall.
When she pauses for more than a split second I interject. " It sounds to me like you have done quite a bit of traveling."
" Oh yes," Grelfa affirms - beaming. " Even though I'm a daughter of Skyrim, I've always dreamt of traveling across Tamriel and into the furthest reaches of Nirn... I come from a family of farmers, and they have been surprisingly supportive. In fact, they help supply my wares, and I share a portion of my earnings with them in return. So far, I've traveled to Cyrodiil, Valenwood, Elsweyr, and this is my second time on the Summerset Isles."
She must have noticed that my eyes were glazing over, so she asks, " Are you fond of traveling?"
" Outside of Alinor? I cannot say that I am. I have spent the entirety of my life on the Isles." I tersely reply - my civility wearing thin.
"Oh, I see..."
Groaning inwardly, I try to further stimulate conversation. "Well, I can certainly see the appeal of traveling. It all sounds like quite an adventure. I, myself, am a mage. I reap plenty of excitement and adventure by way of the arcane arts. I am certain that Huldfrida would feel similarly."
Grelfa smiles wistfully, " I'm sure she does." She then sighs. " Although, I'd hoped that some distance from Windhelm would do her some good."
Happy with the conversation topic shifting back onto Huldfrida, I take the opportunity to ask the question that I had been itching to. " Well, a change of scenery can certainly do wonders in reducing one's levels of stress." I trail off for a moment. Hoping to insert a natural pause for a seemingly natural shift in the conversation. " Say, what was it she was talking about earlier? A necromancer's amulet...?"
Grelfa rolls her eyes. " Yes, you heard correctly. She's been going on about that amulet for a month now - ever since the murders started. Even if the amulet existed and was involved somehow she has no proof. Wuunferth is the only one that believed her. And even he has been skeptical - again, there hasn't been any proof. But Huldfrida, well, she's always been rather insightful - prophetic, even. But she's normally a bit more... coherent."
"I see," I reply - my mouth dry with anticipation. I lick and bite my lips. " Well, it is all quite worrisome nonetheless. Necromancy is very dark and dangerous indeed. If she is prophetic - as you say - then it would probably be wise to be on the lookout for such an amulet, would it not?"
Grelfa sighs, " Yes, I suppose you're right. Although, I wish she would calm down some... It's not like there is nothing being done in her absence. Wuunferth and many others are working on the case as we speak. He had agreed with me when I suggested she needed some time away from it all, her incessant muttering was putting people on edge more than it was helping things along."
I follow Grelfa's gaze as it moves over to the mage in question. She has calmed down quite a bit - her mutterings reduced to whispers - and she is sorting through a few overflowing satchels of wares. Taking inventory, perhaps?
"Having her around isn't all bad, she can be quite helpful." Grelfa muses.
Satisfied with what I have learnt, I am itching to take my leave - to decide what I am going to do about all this new information.
" Well, it was very kind of you to bring her along. I can tell that you are quite a well-intentioned individual." I say, stretching my good humor to its limits while inwardly dying a little from complimenting a Nord. " I must be going now, it was very nice talking with you. I will take this," I reach forward to grab a crimson nirnroot, leaving coin in its place.
Grelfa smiles warmly and easily. " Thank you for your kind words. I had a nice time chatting as well. Perhaps we will cross paths again before Huldfrida and I venture off."
"Perhaps."
With that, I wave and head back to the stables - the smile dropping abruptly from my face as I turn around.
The Necromancer's Amulet!
I had only heard and read inconclusive bits and pieces about its whereabouts over the years. All indications pointed to it being lost to the world - in limbo perhaps. What Huldfrida had said about it being doomed to fade in and out of existence, well, she was right. After Mannimarco left this plane to ascend to godhood, the amulet has been rather unstable. No doubt due to its immense power - power it would bestow upon its wearer! The amulet is something beyond a mere mortals understanding, wearing it could provide extraordinary wisdom.
Perhaps, with this amulet, I could succeed where I have failed. ... No, not 'perhaps I could,' I certainly would...
And then it hits me.
This must be it! The sign I was waiting for!
As I pass through the city's gates, I feel a weight lift off my chest, and a wide grin creeps across my face. I have finally done it! It takes every ounce of control that I have to keep myself from bursting out into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Instead, I put the crimson nirnroot and the mead into one of my saddlebags and hurriedly ride Helea back home.
I know that I must take action. I have been given the sign I had sought out. Time cannot be squandered. And although I am loathe to admit it...
I need to get to Skyrim.
But how to do it?
In my bedroom I pace, mulling over various possibilities. But when I pause for a moment and gaze out the window, the solution hits me. The image of fluttering, confetti pieces of paper flashes before my mindscape. I can take advantage of resources I already have at hand.
I bolt across the room to my desk and hurriedly pen a letter to Master Sinyir. He offered to assist me in traveling to Skyrim, so I will take him up on his offer. I am no fool, I will not place myself in unnecessary danger, and traveling to Skyrim - alone and with no knowledge of travel - would be very dangerous indeed. Receiving Master Sinyir's assistance will also give me an alibi to offer up to guards or whomever I might encounter on my journey. Traveling to Skyrim under the guise of visiting my mother will raise far less suspicion than almost anything else I could come up with.
When I am satisfied with the letter, I set out to find a courier. I can scarcely contain my excitement! Things are finally looking up!
About a week later, I received a response from Master Sinyir. He detailed his delight at length in the letter - delight upon receiving my reply. He also commended me for doing the right thing - deciding to make amends with mother. Following all that fluff, he got to addressing what I had been waiting for, and informed me that he had set the necessary preparations in motion. He let me know that I should expect a Thalmor Senior Officer by the name of Ancarion at my estate on Sundas, the 10th of Last Seed - which was two days after I received the letter.
Promptly, on the specified date, Senior Officer Ancarion is at my doorstep. I am flooded with nostalgia as I wistfully note his hooded Thalmor robes. He holds himself in a way that is so dissimilar from those pretenders downtown. An air of confidence verging on arrogance hangs off him - his eyes scanning me calculatingly, and he does not speak, clearly waiting for me to first. Yet, it has been such a long time since I have been in the presence of a true member of the Thalmor that I find myself awkwardly at a loss for words, and I feel a pang of jealousy that is nearly painful.
Clearly annoyed to do so, Ancarion speaks first, " You are Estoril, yes?"
"Y-yes." I reply, clearing my throat. " You must be Ancarion. How is it that you are acquainted with Sinyir?" I continue, hoping to smooth the awkwardness over and stimulate further conversation as I usher him in.
" He was my tutor in my youth."
I let out a short burst of laughter. " Of course, who has he not tutored."
My attempt at humor falls flat and I only receive a curt nod in response to my efforts. After wringing my hands for a nervous moment, I wave him over to a couch in the room just off to the left of the foyer.
"Please, make yourself at home," I say, doing my best to be hospitable.
After Ancarion and I have seated ourselves, he explains to me that he and a group of Junior Officers and Soldiers are being sent to Solstheim- an island to the northeast of Skyrim - on a highly classified mission. He continued to explain that Master Sinyir had assured him that I would not cause him any trouble if I were to tag along. He would be able to take me to Skyrim's border but no further- the classified nature of his mission would not permit it. When I tell him that I am not yet ready to set off, I can sense he is intensely irritated, but he silently accepts my request to leave the following morning.
That night I let Ancarion sleep in one of my spare bedrooms. I am unable to rest the whole night. The many thoughts buzzing in my head make sleep elusive. Furthermore, my encounter with Ancarion has left me feeling uneasy. I am both repulsed and fascinated by him - fascinated because of what he represents. He appears to be a paragon of what a member of the Thalmor should be. But also I find myself ... envious. I remember what it felt like - I remember what it felt like being the one entrusted with 'classified missions'. I miss it.
But now I have a higher purpose. And although I still guide myself by the Thalmor's fundamental principles, I will transcend life itself. I have set my mind on this, and I will achieve it! I will become a lich, and I will use the necromancer's amulet to attain this power!
The next day, I admire the sun rise over the water from my bedroom window one last time, I am swept away by how perfect and serene everything is. I take it as a good omen. I finish packing up, and am finally prepared. Everything is falling into place. It is time for my destiny to unfold.