Nalice slammed the Duke of Crow's patron token and grinned at her opponent. With 72 prestige to their 12, the game was as well as concluded. The khajit sighed and folded, signaling his defeat, and Nalice rose to the cheers of the onlookers, waving as she shuffled her cards back up into her deck. Then she took to the streets, grabbing Mirri from the crowd and starting to discuss fish.
Nalice Velas was an accomplished Dark Elf Tribute player from the Mournhold chapter who delighted in the card game's focus on luck and cunning. From the orphanage to the streets, she'd risen from bookworm to broker, and caught on to the game's popularity in its early stages. She was a master of her chapter and well-respected for her in-depth knowledge of the lore behind the cards. In the process of doing so it made her a scholar, and she found it easy to go from playing cards to playing runes to get the results she wanted. She became an arcanist, a user of runes and glyphs in battle to heal and harm.
In this new capacity she became an adventurer who did work (not for free) but did assist Mirri, another dark elf adventurer, in rescuing her brother from the grips of a daedric cult, and earned a lifelong companion in so doing. Both elves had crimson hair, though Nalice's was fresh blood and Mirri more dried. They had similar faces- if you were a piece of guar dung that couldn't distinguish between dark elves.
They had grown quite close, almost as sisters, through their time together, sharing many interests, sharing many comforts, and confiding and trusting in each other.
The two were preparing to fish after a long day of excavating antiquities when abruptly a hooded stranger quickly came up to them, bearing an envelope. Disappearing as quickly as they came, the stranger left them only with cryptic instructions to come alone to the location in the envelope.
"I think I should go alone." Nalice said, steeling herself.
"The fetch you are! This could be a trap!" Mirri gestured furiously down the street.
"Then you'd better be the one not caught in it so you can spring me out, okay?" Nalice smirked.
"Oh, you.. Fine. It's your butt on the line." Mirri grumbled. And so Nalice went.
After an uncomfortable amount of time passed between Nalice entering the house and her lack of coming out, Mirri threw caution to the wind and crashed into the house, finding..
Nothing. There was a runic circle faded on the ground that she couldn't quite make out, though she made a copy of it in her notebook. As for Nalice and the benefactor, there was no sign of them. There were no other exits.. Unless..
Mirri discovered a hidden door in the floor with some poking around, and managed after some time to unlock it- too much time for her liking. Underneath was a network of caverns, and she came across a chain of prisoners being led to a central cavern. Keeping to the shadows, Mirri reached the sacrificial altar..
Just in time to see the dagger plunge into Nalice's chest, and Nalice's soul sucked out.. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. She couldn't hope to fight her way into a mass of cultists this big.. So she fled into the shadows, and waited..
Meanwhile in Coldharbour..
"Mirri!"
Nalice awoke with a start in a dilapidated cell after screaming, patting herself down immediately and checking herself for obvious holes in her chest. She was fine, as far as she could tell. She was even still in her duster jacket, though now she regretted just how much chest it showed off. Not that it would have mattered..
"Fetchin…" She muttered to herself.
Suddenly she felt a presence at her side. It felt comfortable, warm, caring. They helped pull her to sitting, one hand on her back and the other on her shoulder. She heard what sounded like Mirri's voice, if a few shades darker.
"About time you woke up, I was starting to worry. This is a fine mess we're in, isn't it?" Nalice turned to look at the speaker, and was equal parts startled and relieved to see what looked like Mirri.. But there was something … strange. She cleared her eyes and boggled at the Mirri-like figure.
She looked like a mild funhouse mirror of Mirri. She lacked the imperfections of scars, the freckles on her skin were more pronounced, her face a bit more noble, her figure more full in all the most delightful ways. In short, she looked like Mirri as she dreamed of her, as if someone had painted Mirri using the hazy, imprecise reference of Nalice's feelings and thoughts of her dear friend.
"Mirri?" Nalice asked incredulously, though she knew in her heart this could not be her dear friend. She prayed it was not- that would mean her friend had died as well.
"No." The figure shook her head. "I don't.. Think so. I wasn't with you when you were killed. I don't have any of her memories- at least, anything she never got around to telling you. I don't have your memories either. I just know that I'm not her, can't be her. I feel like her. I'm supposed to be her. I don't know what I am." She admitted in a desperate tone.
Before Nalice could answer, a banging on their cell door caught their attention. "Whoa there! Are you alright?" asked the massive figure in prisoner's clothing and holding a giant axe. "My name's Lyris. Hold on, let me get the door open. Hope you've got some fight in you, you're going to need it." With that, she smashed open the door's lock, swinging it open. Looking to her.. Friend? She wasn't sure what this figure was, but inside her heart she knew she could trust her.
"Let's go!" They agreed, and hustled out the door after Lyris, who was kneeling beside what looked like a dremora on the floor.
"Dead." She announced. "Musta been the runt of the litter.. Come on, we don't have much time!" They rushed after her, stopping to pick up weapons from the dead bodies on the floor. Nalice grabbed a greatsword, Not-Mirri picking up a staff. They immediately had chance to use it, as a pair of dremora teleported into the next room as they were running past a crew of prisoners holding closed a door.
"I hope you're good in a fight!" Lyris cried out as she bull rushed one of the dremora. The second dremora began casting a lightning spell as Nalice pulled out her arcanist tome, quickly summoning a trio of deadly chakra runes and flinging them like cards at the dremora. Too slowly, it seemed, as lightning struck her side a mere second after her own chakra passed straight through the dremora, slaughtering it.
Nalice collapsed to a knee, but instantly Not-Mirri was there, holding a hand out to the wound and emitting a beaming ray of purple-tinted light. Nalice felt better immediately, watching the wound heal. "How can you…?"
"I don't know!" Not-Mirri said, her gaze focused on the wound and then her hand when the healing was done. "I just.. Knew."
"Handy." Nalice said, and an unspoken agreement to leave it for later passed as the two ran over to Lyris, waiting by the door.
"You alright?" Lyris asked.
"Yes, my friend here can.. Heal."
"Handy." Lyris said.
"That's what I said!" The three turned to leave, when suddenly a blue vision of an elderly man in the tattered robes of a moth priest appeared before them.
"Vestige. You must rescue me, and I must in turn rescue you.." He said before fading.
"The Prophet!" Lyris exclaimed, sheatheing her hammer. "Hold, we need to speak. That was the Prophet, and he risked a lot by appearing before us. He must think you're very important. You must be able to help me break him out- and believe me, I can use all the help I can get. That blind old man is the only person here who can get us home. Tamriel is a long way from here."
"Where ARE we?" Nalice asked.
"You don't know? It's Coldharbour, the domain of Molag Bal." Lyris said. Nalice paled. "And to top it off, well.. There's no easy way to say it. You're dead."
"I was afraid of that." Not-Mirri said, looking at Nalice sympathetically. "But then how are we having this conversation?"
"I don't know. The Prophet can tell you more. What I do know is that a man named Mannimarco killed you. His worm cult is doing some kind of ritual back in Tamriel. Everyone in here was sacrificed to Molag Bal. And after you died, whatever was left showed up here. They call you the Soul Shriven."
"I'm what's left of me after I die?" Nalice said incredulously.
"Yes, and unless you help me, you'll be a slave and spend the rest of eternity here, working under the lash of Daedra. So I suggest you come with me."
"You're not dead too, are you?" Nalice asked.
"What? No, I was captured and brought here. Conventionally, if that makes any sense. I and the Prophet are prisoners same as you."
"Then let's move out." Not-Mirri said. "I don't like the idea of spending my short existence as a slave," She said seriously.
Nalice briefly imagined Not-Mirri as a slave and then shook her head, trying to clear her mind of that thought. Now was not the time! After a moment, Not-Mirri blinked and tilted her head.
"Then again, it doesn't sound so bad." She said coyly, shifting her weight on a hip.
Both Nalice and Lyris stared at her for a second. Lyris broke the silence, moving to the door and opening it. "Let's go." She said.
They made their way through the forge, destroying a Sentinel's eye to blind Molag Bal only to be foiled by magical locks on the gates. Seeking the help of a crazy old soul shriven named Cadwell, they were directed down a sidepath, where Nalice's skill at thieving came in handy as she picked open the lock of a door.
Through steam pipes and skeletal guards they made their way, eventually coming to the Prophet's Cell.
"Alright, the good news is we made it here in one piece and the Prophet seems unharmed." Lyris said. "Now the bad news.. You'll have to go on without me. The cell works by exchanging prisoners once these locks are engaged. I'll have to change places with the Prophet, since I'm the only one here with a beating heart."
Not-Mirri and Nalice shared a look. Nalice could swear Not-Mirri's skin became three shade lighter, as if she were a vampire.
"Believe me, I wish there was another way. But if Molag Bal isn't stopped, he'll destroy everyone and everything we've ever loved."
"Well, I'm in then." Nalice said resolutely. Not-Mirri nodded her agreement, resting a hand comfortably on Nalice's back.
With that, Lyric stood in the ritual circle, and Nalice and Not-Mirri engaged the locks at the same time. Lifting into the air, Lyris was jerked around like a puppet, giving them both a final look before she was sucked into the dark mass in the center of the room, and an old man in tattered moth robes appeared in her place, collapsing in the ritual circle.
"Freedom!" He gasped. "I remember this feeling. It will be fleeting if we don't escape." He looked over the two rescuers. "Thank the Divines, you are safe! There is that. Though.." He stared at Not-Mirri. "You are unexpected."
Not-Mirri blinked and gestured at herself. "Unexpected how?" She asked, folding her arms.
"You are a Prism, a reflection of the thoughts and feelings within the Vestige." The Prophet explained calmly, with a slight sense of urgency. He turned to Nalice. "Vestige is the name I have given are but a trace of your former self. A soulless one. An empty vessel that longs to be filled." He looked to Not-Mirri, Prism, for a moment. "It is as the scrolls foretold, but not exactly as I imagined."
"I'm a Prism?" Prism asked. "Wait, does that mean that the Vestige-"
"Don't call me that!" Nalice snapped.
"That Nalice, sorry, is… responsible for me? I'm just a reflection of her thoughts?"
"You are a reflection of her conception of you. A prism through which her mind conceives of you. I am unsure how you came to be. I can only imagine that the Vestige-" Nalice growled. "Imagines herself as incomplete without the person you resemble, and so the same magic that created her in Coldharbour splintered a piece of her off to create you."
"Awww…" Prism said for a moment, looking at Nalice with a blush. "Wait, so I am how she conceived me to be? So if she imagines me to be playful, I am?"
Nalice couldn't help herself. She realized that Prism's appearance- it was based on her idea of Mirri. She was an exaggeration of traits and characteristics. But over the course of their short time together, that conception had changed, and Prism had changed with it. The flirtation, the skin tone- it had been as a result of her ideas changing. She could see Prism subtly change to be even more exaggerated in her figure- and now she was imagining Prism as being more 'playful' than Mirri while trying to focus herself.
"Hey!" Prism said, gently swatting Nalice's shoulder playfully. "Stop that!"
"I can't help it, stop making me think about you!" Nalice growled. "Prophet- why are you called the Prophet?" She said, desperate to change the topic.
"That is what I have come to be called. My true name is lost, even to me. Years of torment have taken their toll. Come now, we must make haste to the anchor!"
"The Anchor?" Prism and Nalice said at once.
"The anchors are Daedric machines of darkest magic. Their chains bind our world and pull it closer to Coldharbour. I can use the mooring of these anchors to return us to Tamriel, but you must lead me to it."
"Alright." Nalice said, looking to Prism. "Let's go then."
A quick jaunt through the tunnels of Coldharbour later, and they stood before the anchor mooring. A brief battle with an enormous bone golem delayed them, but after dispatching it, they stood underneath the summoning portal that lead to Tamriel.
"Attune yourself to the skyshard!" The Prophet commanded as he summoned a crystal down from the portal. "It is a shard of aetherial magicka that carries the essence of Nirn."
"What?" Nalice asked incredulously.
"You must re-attune yourself to Nirn to regain your physical form. To do this, you will need a skyshard. If you collect and absorb its power, it should restore your corporeal form."
Nalice stood before the skyshard and tried to attune to it. Nothing happened. "Uh.."
Instead, Prism began to glow as she stepped near it. Nalice looked to her as she stepped up, and began to siphon energy from the skyshard into herself. Inside, Nalice felt warm, as she too glowed with energy.
"It seems I have to do that for you." Prism said. "Prophet.. If i'm just a reflection of Nalice, what's going to happen to me..?"
"You should dissipate upon her removal from coldharbour." The Prophet said with a tone of sadness. "I am sorry, but this is the only way, and we must go now."
"Just like that?" Prism asked incredulously. Nalice felt a pang of pain inside her. Despite knowing her only briefly, she felt strongly for this … creation from herself. She felt responsible for her. She wanted her to live.
"I am sorry." The Prophet said. "Say your goodbyes, and prepare to return to Tamriel."
Nalice looked to Prism, both of their eyes watering. Without words they embraced, hugging each other tightly. "I'm sorry. I wish there was another way." Nalice whispered.
"No apologies. If this is what is needed for you to live, I go gladly. Go. Go and have the most brilliant life, okay? For both of us." Prism sniffled. They bumped foreheads and held each other's necks in their hands. After a brief moment, they kissed- a short kiss, full of grief and promised desires cut short.
"Farewell, Prism of my heart." She said.
Then Nalice stepped onto the platform with the Prophet, and Prism stepped back as he called upon the great god Akatosh, dragon lord of time. Powerful winds blasted the room, blinding Nalice as she was lifted up into the air with the Prophet. She could only see the shimmering portal, deaf to all cries and blind to all else. Someone took her hand before it all went white.
It was a long fall down.
Nalice came to, sputtering and spitting up seawater, on the floor of a boat. She was soaked, hair sticking to her face and body.
"Fetching fetch, I thought I'd lost you." She heard Mirri say, and felt herself hoisted upright, then embraced, despite all wetness. She instinctively embraced Mirri back, almost sobbing. "Don't ever fetchin leave me again, you hear me?"
Nalice just held onto her until the emotions began to subside. Then Mirri stepped back, a cross look on her face.
"What happened? And WHO?" Mirri turned Nalice to see another figure laying on the deck, alive but seadrenched. "Is THAT?!"
Prism lay on the deck, unconscious but alive.
"You have some explaining to do.."