"The Black Arts On Trial
by Hannibal Traven, Archmagister of the Mages Guild
A summary of the debate which led to the Mages Guild resolution on Necromancy
HISTORY
Necromancy, commonly called the Black Arts, has a history that dates back before recorded time. Virtually all the earliest laws of the land make mention of it as expressly forbidden on pain of death. Independent practitioners of the arts of sorcery, however, continued its study.
The Psijic Order of the Isle of Artaeum, precursor to our own Mages Guild, also forbade its use, not only because it was dangerous, but their belief in the holy and unholy ancestor spirits made it heretical. Again, despite this, we hear many stories of students and masters who ignored this stricture. When Vanus Galerion left Artaeum, he may have disagreed with the Psijics on much, but he also refused to allow Necromancy to be taught in the Guild.
Almost 1100 years have passed since the time of Vanus Galerion, and there have been many archmagisters to lead his guild. The question of Necromancy has continued to be asked. The strictures against it in the Guild have never been lifted, but attitudes about it have shifted back and forth over the years. Some archmagisters have been inclined to ignore it entirely, some have fought very actively against it, and still other archmagisters have been rumored to be Necromancers themselves.
In my new role as Archmagister of the Mages Guild, it is my duty to set policy on this matter. Though I have my own opinions on the Black Arts, I took counsel with two of the most learned mages in the Empire, Magister Voth Karlyss of Corinth and Magister Ulliceta gra-Kogg of Orsinium, and we debated for two days.
What follows are summaries of the salient points of the debate, arguments and counter-arguments, which led to the resolution of the Mages Guild on the subject of Necromancy.
ARGUMENT
Argument by Master gra-Kogg: Necromancy is poorly understood. We will not make it disappear by ignoring it. As an intellectual institution dedicated to the study of the magickal arts and sciences, we have obligations to the truth. Censoring ourselves in our scholarship is antithetical to our mission of neutrality and objectivity.
Counter-Argument by Master Karlyss: The Mages Guild must balance its quest for knowledge with responsible caution and ethical standards. It is not 'censoring' a student's course of study to have him proceed cautiously and with purity of purpose. It is not limiting a student's freedom to set rules and boundaries - indeed, it is essential.
Argument by Master Karlyss: Necromancy is an anathema throughout the civilized world. To embrace it publicly, the Mages Guild would inspire fear and hostility in the populace at large. Vanus Galerion wanted this institution to be unlike the Psijic Order, which was elitist and separatist. We ignore public opinion at our own risk. We will certainly lose our charters in many places including, very likely, the whole of Morrowind, where sentiment against Necromancy is very strong.
Counter-Argument by Master gra-Kogg: Yes, we should be sensitive to the concerns of the community, but they should not and must not dictate our scholarship. 'Necromancer' to many uneducated persons simply means an evil mage. It is madness to limit our work because of prejudices and half-formed understanding. It is an affront to the purpose of objective study to turn our back on a subject merely because of public opinion.
Argument by Master gra-Kogg: Necromancers are the scourge of Tamriel. Whether operating independently or in concert with the sloads or King of Worms, Mannimarco, they are responsible for many horrors, animated zombies and skeletons and other forms of the undead. To best combat this menace, we must understand the powers of the Necromancer, and we cannot do that by restricting our study of the Black Arts.
Counter-Argument by Master Karlyss: No one is disputing the threat of the Black Arts - in fact, that is the very essence of my argument against the Mages Guild making it a School to be taught to our initiates. We can and should know what our enemy is capable of, but we must be careful not to step into a trap of looking too deep into his ways, and making those ways our own. We do no one any good if by studying the evil ways, we become evil ourselves.
Argument by Master Karlyss: Necromancy is inherently dangerous. One cannot 'dabble' in it. The simplest spell requires the spilling of blood, and immediately begins to corrupt the caster's soul. This is not conjecture, but simple fact. It is irresponsible of the Guild to teach and thereby encourage a sort of magickal study which has proven itself, time and time again, to bring nothing but terror and misery on the practitioner and world.
Counter-Argument by Master gra-Kogg: All Schools of magicka are dangerous to the uninitiated. A simple fireball spell from the School of Destruction can cause great harm when cast by a novice, not only to others but to the mage himself. The School of Mysticism by its very nature forces the practitioner to divorce his mind from logic, to embrace a temporary sort of insanity, which one might argue is very like corrupting one's soul.
Argument by Master gra-Kogg: The Guild already permits some forms of Necromancy. The 'Schools' of magicka are, as we know, artificial constructs, originally formulated by Vanus Galerion to divide and thereby simplify study. They have changed many times throughout the years, but at their heart, every Master knows, they are all linked together. When a student of Conjuration summons a guardian ghost, he is touching on the School of Necromancy. When a student of Enchantment uses a trapped soul, he too may be considered guilty of a Black Art. The School of Mysticism, as I have stated before, has some kinship with Necromancy as well. To state that students may not learn the ways of Necromancy is to stifle common skills in the other, more historically legitimate Schools of the Guild.
Counter-Argument by Master Karlyss: Yes, the Schools are intertwined, but the standard spells of each School have passed the proof of time. We know that a student of Mysticism, properly instructed, will not be permanently harmed by his experience. In many ways, it is a question of extremes - how far we would permit our studies to take us. Necromancy by its nature relies on the practitioner going further into the darkness than is wise, virtually guaranteeing his destruction. It has no place in the Mages Guild.
CONCLUSION
The risks of studying Necromancy outweigh its usefulness. The Guild does not wish to censor the study of any of its members, but it will not tolerate studies in the Black Arts, except in limited form for the purpose of combating its evil adherents. This may only been done by rare individuals who have proven themselves both highly skilled and highly cautious, and then only with my express permission and supervision.
AFTERWORD
I regret to acknowledge the truth behind the rumor that Master Ulliceta gra-Kogg was more than an apologist for Necromancy, she was a Necromancer herself. Upon this revelation, the Knights of the Lamp attempted to arrest her at the Guildhouse in Orsinium, but she made good her escape. We have every confidence in the replacement Magister in Orsinium.
Though I disagreed, I respected her logical reasoning enough to include her arguments in this book, and I see no reason to remove them. It is disappointing, however, to see that her interest in 'the truth' was nothing more than a euphemism for her slavery to the Black Arts.
This unfortunate situation merely illustrates how essential it is for Guildmembers to be wary of the lure of Necromancy, and be vigilant to its practitioners' infiltration in our Mages Guild."
Cura and her allies walked the desolate sands of Coldharbour and eventually made their way through a few angry Alessian soldiers and into the Imperial City itself. The stones sung tales of despair and tranquility in equal measure, greeting the party on their entry.
As the shadows lengthene and the dust swirled about and shocked the air like a Banshee's wail Cura's thoughts inevitably drifted to the impending mission. It loomed on the horizon, a formidable challenge that would test not only her skills but the very fiber of her being. She knew the road ahead was fraught with danger, a journey that would demand every ounce of her resolve. Yet, within her, a quiet fire burned - a fire kindled by the righteousness of their cause and the unyielding desire to restore balance to a world teetering on the brink of chaos.
The mission was clear, yet its weight was immense. The Tower of Sacremnor hid in the center of the Imperial City, guarded by a weak boundary. Cura knew that the only way out was through it, and through Molag Bal himself. She must infiltrate the heart of darkness, to confront the greatest evil that festered in the shadows, that corrupted all it touched. It was a task many would balk at, but Cura was no ordinary vigilant. She was a beacon of hope in these troubled times, a symbol of the light that could pierce through the deepest night. Her determination was unwavering, her purpose steadfast. She would face this evil head-on, for she carried with her more than just weapons and armour - she carries the faith and will of all those who stand against the darkness.
In the stillness of her contemplation, Cura reflected on the lessons of her past, the trials that have honed her spirit. She recalled the faces of those she has sworn to protect, the innocent lives that depended on the success of their mission. It was for them that she fought, for them that she would lay down her life without a moment's hesitation. The thought of failure was a specter that haunted the edges of her mind, but she pushed it aside. Failure was not an option, not when so much is at stake.
She considered her companions, the brave souls who walked this path alongside her. Each carries their own burdens, their own reasons for joining this fight. Together, they form a tapestry of courage and conviction, a united front against the encroaching darkness. Cura felt the bond between them, a connection forged in the fires of adversity. It was this unity that gave her strength, the knowledge that she does not stand alone. Sir Amiel, Sir Ralvas, Sir Torolf, Carcette, Mary, Korn, Varla, Bourlor, Gloriel, Maram, Aria, Mirabelle, Savos, Sabrina, and herself. A formidable group set to stand against the perils of Coldharbour, and Cura would welcome any who would join them in this endeavour.
Cura exhaled. She would have to regain her Dragon Soul. It surely wasn't going to be an easy task; a peril in and of itself. Cura walked with Carcette nearby, and kept an eye on her mentor, who was still stoic as ever. In the quiet moments between the chaos, Vigilant Cura's thoughts often turned inward, reflecting on the tumultuous journey that had led her here. She remembered Carcette, her mentor, whose stern yet caring guidance shaped her into the Vigilant she is today. Now, as a Knight of Order, Carcette is a shell of her former self, stripped of the warmth that once defined her. Cura mourned the loss silently, understanding the cruel twist of fate that has robbed Carcette of her humanity. She reached to take her hand, and Carcette did not reject it. At least there was that. Perhaps even without emotion, seemingly, a part of her still comprehended sentiment. Perhaps? Cura could be uncertain.
Cura held onto the memories of their time in Skyrim, the camaraderie among the Vigilants of Stendarr, and the shared purpose that united them. The environment she grew up in. Te Hall of the Vigilant may be a gaping pit now, mirroring Cura's heart of late, but there was yet hope that Brother Adalvald and Vigilant Tolan survived the ordeal. She would drown out the fear and uncertainty with the feelings of love for her family and friends waiting eagerly for her return.
Sir Ralvas directed them through the labyrinthine city walls, and to a large, flat building in the Northwestern quarter. They were greeted by a pair of ovular doors with diamonds emblazoned in the steel. The Knight of Zenithar turned to the party walkign behind him. "And here we are: Jhunal's Library. If anyone can help you retrieve your Dragon Soul, Dragonborn, it will be him."
As Sir Ralvas unlocked the door, he ushered them into a vast chamber where a grand staircase, bordered by endless shelves of books, ascended to the floor above. A pungent odor wafted out, assaulting their senses the moment the door swung open.
Author's Note: for this section, play "King's Field IV OST- Dark Reality" Thanks for reading! :)
The chamber was a cavernous space, its high ceiling lost in illuminated mist. Stone walls, rough-hewn and ancient, enclosed the vast room. A chill hung in the air, heavy with the weight of centuries of desolation. The ceilings were very high and castlelike with vaulted ceilings and windows lining the highest points of the rotunda ceiling at the very heart of the chamber.
At the chamber's heart stood a colossal cross, its metal surface gleaming dully in the dim light. Impaled upon it was a creature of immense size and power – a Dragon. Its wings, spread wide, cast an imposing shadow over the chamber. The creature's scales were a dark, metallic gray, and its eyes, glossy and white; it was utterly petrified.
Towering bookshelves lined the walls, their shelves laden with ancient tomes bound in leather and adorned with intricate symbols. The books gleamed with a sinister light, their pages filled with forbidden knowledge.
A sense of desolation permeated the chamber, a palpable reminder of the Dragon's defeat. Its mighty form, once a symbol of power and terror, was now a macabre trophy. The air was thick with the creature's last breaths, a mournful dirge echoing through the chamber's emptiness.
As Cura stood in the chamber's shadow, she felt a shiver run down her spine. The Dragon's presence was still palpable, its spirit lingering in the air. She could almost hear its final roar, a defiant cry against its inevitable fate.
Taking a deep breath, she felt a wave of pity for the wyrm trapped in stone. "Where is Jhunal?" she asked.
Carcette responded with a gesture, pointing to the room's eastern side, nestled among several bookshelves on the top tier. "He stands before the chasm." she said monotonously.
Slug-like clumps of flesh were strewn across the stairs and scattered throughout the library, squirming unsettlingly. It was a ghastly sight.
Sabrina's nose wrinkled in revulsion underneath her Plague Doctor's mask. "What in Oblivion is this?"
Mirabelle and Savos stood in awe, surrounded by the seemingly endless sea of books that adorned and overflowed from the library's walls. "This library dwarfs the Arcaneum," Savos observed, his voice tinged with astonishment. "Urag Gro-Shub would be in his element here." With an almost magnetic pull, he gravitated towards a particularly inviting stack of books, ready to dive in. However, Mirabelle, cautious and unsure of the rules of this grand archive, gently tugged him away from the precipice of pages.
"Ugh... the stench is barely tolerable." Mirabelle pinched her nose. "This is the Library of Jhunal? I suppose it makes sense that Molag Bal would mock him, as well." The former Master Wizard looked at the place with a level of scorn. Julianos, after all, was the patron of her profession. The former Arch-Mage could also share in her sentiment of disgust at this terrible mockery. In the best case scenario, this was an arrogant fool who dared take the name of the Divine for himself.
Thus far, they've seen the blasphemies against Mara, and against Arkay, but now it appears to be Julianos' turn.
Cura inquired, "I... admit that I don't know much about Jhunal. What can you tell me about him? All I know is that he is the Ancient Nordic God of Wisdom and Magic. Some equate him to Julianos."
Mirabelle nodded solemnly. "Yes, there is a Nordic God Jhunal who governs runes, wisdom, magic ... and knowledge, too. Specifically, seeking for more knowledge. Whether there is a connection between he and Julianos, none can say for certain. All that we know is that Julianos occupies his place in St. Alessia's reformed Pantheon. The Clever Men of the past would follow the Hearth Gods even though most Nords turned to the Eight. Jhunal - Julianos has a tumultuous relationship with the other seven, I've heard."
Varla looked at Mary and Korn, and inquired. "Could it be possible that Jhunal can wear many faces as well, Mother?" he inquired.
Mary nodded, "Jhunal and Julianos are one, though fragmented, as with the Dragonborn and Akatosh and with Shezzar, as well as with Korn and I and Mara." She gently stroked Korn's head. "Our Hearth symbols are more than just our symbols, however: Jhunal - or, Julianos, if you prefer - has three Owls. A white Owl, a gray Owl, and a black Owl - each with their own autonomy."
Mirabelle tilted her head. "So, Cura's equitability with the Dragons mirrors your own equitability with Mara's wolves, and with Jhunal's equitability with Julianos' Owls?"
Sir Ralvas interjected, "Er, well - the Jhunal here was said to be a mage from Atmora. After he was banished from Skyrim, he joined Marukh's Alessian Order, and his knowledge of the Old magicks and Runes helped him rise through the ranks. In his final years, he devised a clandestine spell known as "Marukh's Torch," capable of incinerating an entire city. His refusal to divulge this arcane knowledge led to his exile from the Order. Following Jhunal's demise, his trusted disciple Cosmas inherited the secrets of the arcana. To win back the Alessians' favor, Cosmas employed the arcana to "purify" several cities, including Malada and Pailune. With Jhunal ousted, it was Cosmas's name that was recorded in the annals of the Alessian Empire."
Sabrina raised a brow upon hearing the name of Pailune. She nodded. "Huh. I've heard some old stories about something like that. Be careful, Cura. I know you have to deal with this Jhunal punk to get your Dragon Soul back, but don't let your guard down. If Abbot Cosmas was his disciple, there's no telling what kind of insanity this guy's capable of."
Varla seemed to look a tad confused, and pondered this information himself, seeming to draw blank.
Mirabelle and Savos exchanged glances. The Arch-Mage chuckled. "I truly wouldn't mind learning some of these spells, myself."
"Are you certain that would be prudent? There's no telling what danger would lie in using them." Mirabelle cautioned Savos against it. "Magicka, in its most contained form, can be volatile. That was one thing Tolfdir always stressed: the importance of temperament and control. The Ancient Magicks were untamed; raw; brutal. It would be best to keep them in the past."
Before them lay a creature of nightmare, a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and decay. Its body, bloated and misshapen, resembled a grotesque parody of a human form, yet with an unsettlingly elongated and amorphous quality. The creature's skin was a patchwork of sickly hues, ranging from pallid grays to deep, crimson reds, as if its very essence was rotting from within.
Its face, if one can call it that, was a mask of horror. Empty, black eye sockets stared vacantly into nothingness, while a gaping maw, devoid of teeth, stretched across its lower half, revealing a cavernous darkness within. The creature's limbs were twisted and unnatural, ending in gnarled, clawed hands that seem to writhe with an independent life of their own.
A foul stench hung heavy in the air, a sickly sweet odor of decay and corruption that clung to the senses like a physical presence. The creature's very existence was a blasphemy against nature, a grotesque mockery of life itself. It was a being born of darkness, a harbinger of madness and despair.
As Cura gazed upon this monstrosity, she felt a cold dread creeping into her heart.
And yet, despite its horror, there was something strangely compelling about this creature. It is as if it was drawing her in, beckoning her to speak with it. The creature seemed engrossed in a large book, its back, if one could call it that, was turned to the group.
Mary looked at Varla and spoke. "In our world, my son, there are two kinds of beings: those borne of the Divines, and those who wish to emulate the Divines - some who are more zealous and some who are more desperate than others. And those who would go to great lengths to be adored by the masses and empower themselves."
Varla crossed his arms, and turned his gaze to the strange blob. "I... take it that it doesn't always end well." He gazed upon the writhing masses of flesh throughout the library, seeming to slither amongst the books. Korn walked forward and sniffed one such entity before pulling back her snout in disgust.
Cura gently poked the fleshy blob. "Er, excuse me?"
The strange entity turned to her and spoke in a nasal, but high-pitched voice. "Ooh, a visitor? First the Black Worm and now you. Hehe. So many curious people..." his tone was deceptively lighthearted.
Carcette stepped forward. "If you are Jhunal, perhaps you can tell Cura about Laza." She was monotonous and stone cold as she spoke, causing the bloblike entity to recoil.
"That name brings back memories. He had no magical talent, but he was so wonderfully obedient. So simple is a mind of a shepherd." Jhunal stated. "Because of him I was able to catch a lot of Dragons. I'm very grateful to him."
Mirabelle looked at a jar on his desk nearby with Black Soul Gems in it. "I... see you've also collected Black Souls."
"They are the essence of men, elves, and the Hist. Lower beasts and animals lack them, and any mortal who loses his becomes a beast." Jhunal responded. "I call this 'the Will to Shezarr." It is a steep road and very few can ever reach Shezarr." his tone grew softer and less enthusiastic. "Most souls get corrupted and return to Father Sithis. Like Molag Bal."
Cura gestured towards the Dragon laying dead, impaled upon the metal cross; the massive centerpiece of the Library. "What happened to that Dragon? Why is he petrified?"
Jhunal turned his flabby top half towards it. "I tried to snatch their souls, but they closed themselves from me. The secret art of flesh does not seem to work very well on Dragons." He began to sound dejected and disappointed. "I thought I could become a Dragon if I gained a Dragon's soul. But I failed. A soul needs a suitable vessel for it, and I... lack it."
Cura nodded, "Yes; you aren't Dragonborn." She continued to look at the poor wyrm, hanging there upon the metal cross beams. It was uncanny. "Why did you think it was a good idea?" she had to ask.
"For a hermit like me, Dragons are the ultimate desire. I long to be like them. I always wanted to soar in the skies like them." Jhunal sighed. "It may be a ridiculous dream, but no matter how many years pass me by, I cannot stop wishing for it to come true."
Cura shook her head. "It's not a ridiculous dream at all. Dragons are awe-inspiring creatures. I can't really fault you for wanting to be like one."
Jhunal paused for a few moments before squirming closer to Cura, causing the Dragonborn to back away instinctively due to his grotesque form. He seemed to realize something and gawked. "You... you're Dovahkiin, aren't you? Don't deny it - I can feel it coming off of you! You're the same sort of being as Saint Al-Esh!"
Cura nodded, "Yes, I am Dragonborn."
Jhunal squealed with excitement, but tamed himself quickly. "Aw, I must admit; I am quite jealous of you! You're far closer to the Dragons than I ever will be."
Savos Aren crossed his arms and leaned against a large stack of books. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I heard you mention the "Black Worm" earlier."
"A very clever man, but arrogant and with a twisted mind. He's difficult to handle." Jhunal shuddered as he recounted his encounter. "I tried to interest him in some secret experiments, but instead, he used me as a test subject. I was torn to pieces. It took several hundred years for me to reach this size." he bounced up and down like a Horker to make his point.
Cura asked, "What can you tell us about the Red Stone, Jhunal?"
"It is a fake. It's too big and too red for the Heart of Lorkhan. It's a bad imitation but I don't know its true purpose." Jhunal admitted sheepishly. "It can distort the essence of the soul and even interfere with the Tower. It must have come from the abyss of Father Sithis."
Mirabelle tapped Cura on the arm, "Allow me, Cura." she walked up to Jhunal. "We have encountered something of a problem here in Coldharbour; due to Molag Bal's devious machinations, Cura's Dragon Soul has been sundered from her body. It was trapped within Coldharbour, and she seeks a way to recover it. Given your knowledge of Dragons and your... unorthodox methods to gathering their Souls, perhaps you could assist her in this endeavour."
Jhunal regarded Cura with his hollow eyes that gleamed like molten silver. "Sure! I'd love to help you!"
Cura flinched with surprise. "R-really?"
Jhunal bobbed his fleshy head. "Sure! Just... maybe help me reassemble the rest of me? The rest of my form lingers around the place, squishing and squirming, but I can't see anything. If you could bring them to me and help reshape me, I'd be most happy to reciprocate!"
Cura turned to her allies. "Guys..."
Sabrina recoiled in horror. "Yuck! No way, you can't be serious! I'm not touching that!" she exclaimed, jabbing her finger towards the undulating mass wriggling between the bookshelves close by. "Gods in Aetherius!"
Gloriel rolled her eyes. "If anything, you're the most qualified to handle it, wearing that Plague-safety uniform."
Sir Amiel shuddered. "Well... they are rather... grotesque, I think. I can't blame Sabrina for her apprehension."
Varla barked, "Bah! You're all a bunch of cowards!" he bent down and picked up one of the fleshlings and ascended the stairs with it. Sir Torolf, Bourlor, and Sir Ralvas gathered a few of the fleshlings and ascended to where Cura and Jhunal were.
Mirabelle, who stood nearby, covered her mouth and gagged at the sight and smell of it all. She stumbled over to the railing and vomited into the chasm below.
Korn squeaked and stood in the corner of the room with her tail sagging between her legs. The poor wolf was disgusted, as well. Cura beckoned for Mary to approach as well. "You're capable of restoring people to what they once were, Mary; could you perhaps mend Jhunal?"
Maram and Aria came up with a couple of the stray fleshlings which were hidden in the corners of the library, and Maram was quick to condemn the idea. "We should put him together again, but don't restore his humanity. He is a dangerous individual."
Aria shook her head. "People could make that same argument about us, Maram." she whispered. "If Lady Mara sees fit to restore him, she will. It's not our call to make."
Mary turned to Jhunal. "I will assemble your form. Remember that this is Divine mercy - and it can be undone." she reminded and cautioned him both in one sentence.
"I understand... Mara." Jhunal responded humbly. "I have learned from my past mistakes, and will endeavour to do better. Let me be whole again!"
All in the premises watched in silence after the mangled scholar's plea resounded off the hollow walls. Mary narrowed her eyes at him, a glint of external knowledge edging her forward.
"I see... it must be so. There are events in motion that rest beyond even the Gods." she muttered to herself with a sigh.
In the hallowed silence of Jhunal's Library, the air shimmered with ancient magic as the aspect of Mara approached the misshapen form. Her presence was a soothing balm in the dusty corridors of forbidden knowledge, her aura radiating the warmth of compassion that she was known for.
"Jhunal," she spoke, her voice echoing softly, "your pursuit of wisdom has been a solitary vigil, but even the most dedicated scholar must remember the balance of life."
With a gentle touch, she reached out to the patchwork of mangled flesh, and the air pulsed with divine energy.
The transformation was gradual yet profound; flesh turned to gray feathers which gave way to flesh, bones to talons to fingers, and the hollow sockets turned to the wise eyes of the Owl, which began to reflect a newfound humanity. Jhunal, now restored to his humanoid form, stood in awe, his gaze sweeping across the countless tomes that had been his only companions for so long.
"Mara," he whispered, his voice tinged with emotion, "you have reminded me that knowledge is not just to be hoarded, but shared. In restoring my form, you have also renewed my purpose." He stretched his fingers and clenched them, testing his flexibility. His long gray hair fell upon his shoulders in a wavy cascade and his gray robes hung over him like a gentle shroud. As he was once known; Jhunal, the Grey Owl of Atmora, stood once more as a Nordic man, his eyes reflecting the depth of his knowledge and the gratitude for his renewed humanity.
Together, they stood in the heart of the library, a place of knowledge and memory, where the echoes of the past mingled with the promise of the future. Mary, with the benevolence of Mara flowing through her, had restored more than Jhunal's form; she had mended a fracture in the fabric of his being, allowing the scholar to once again pursue his ceaseless quest for understanding. And as the light of Mara's gift dimmed, the library seemed to sigh, its shelves and tomes bearing witness to a moment of divine grace.
Jhunal turned to Cura and looked upon her with his silver eyes. "Dragonborn, the path you seek is laden with shadows and the cold of the tomb, yet it lies within your reach," he declared solemnly. "The spell you need is ancient, as venerable as the earth's bones. Necromancy, the craft that flirts with the brink of life and death, shall serve as your tool."
Cura gasped. "Necromancy? I cannot - " She glanced over to Carcette, who simply nodded at her permissively.
Jhunal circled Cura as he spoke the incantations of old. "Listen well, for these words are not to be taken lightly. To cast this spell, you must draw upon the essence of the Dragon Soul, meld it with your own life force, and weave it into the fabric of the mortal realm."
"Dovah sos sil aav unahzaal."
"Dovah sos sil aav unahzaal."
"Dovah sos sil aav unahzaal."
With each repetition, the words became clearer to her. Jhunal walked circles around Cura, whispering this phrase to her.
Cura listened intently, her mind absorbing every syllable, every nuance of the ritual. She could feel the dragon blood within her stir, as if recognizing the joining words. "Dovah sos sil aav unahzaal. Dragon blood soul join eternal."
Cura held her hands together and repeated the phrase alongside the Sorcerer. "Dovah sos sil aav unahzaal." Strands of dust began to fall from the ceiling above and the room trembled at the presence of the Thu'um.
Jhunal continued, "You will need a focus, something that has touched the life of a Dragon. A scale, a bone, a remnant of its mighty power. This will anchor the spell, give it form and purpose. Though, in your case, however, your body is perhaps enough to draw it in, as it was once its vessel. The Soul may perhaps need to be brought to submission, depending on how long it has been apart from your body."
Cura scratched the back of her neck. "Do you suppose I may have to... tame the soul itself?"
Carcette nodded sternly. "Yes; you will have to do battle with your Dragon Soul, and use the Forbidden Arts to draw it back into yourself."
Jhunal's voice grew softer, yet no less commanding. "Remember, Dragonborn, that with great power comes great peril. Necromancy is a tool, neither good nor evil, but its use will mark you, change you in ways you cannot foresee. Tread carefully on this path, for the souls of Dragons are not easily swayed."
Cura bowed her head in gratitude, her heart alight with the knowledge she had gained. "I understand, Jhunal. I will use this Ritual Thu'um with the respect it deserves, to honor the dragon whose soul I carry. Thank you, wise one, for your guidance."
Savos Aren examined something on a desk nearby: it appeared to be a fossil of sorts with a Dragon's face emblazoned on it. "What is this, Jhunal? It's hot to the touch."
Jhunal walked over and picked up the slab. "A Dragon Soul stone." he presented it to Cura. "Actually, perhaps you could attract your soul back to yourself with it. Dragons are naturally drawn to the presence of another. Do you know your Dragon name?"
Cura nodded. "Yes; Alduin and others have referred to me as "Vokras Strunkelm" in the past."
Jhunal tilted his head. "Alduin? You met the World-Eater and lived to tell the tale? My, you are quite full of surprises, aren't you?" He raised an eyebrow and relinquished his grasp on the Dragon Soul Stone. "At any rate, I wish you luck. I believe the best place where you can battle the Dragon Soul would be in the Outer Fields, in the Southeast of the city, to minimize damages and obstacles."
Cura nodded. "Very well. I'll get to it."
Jhunal raised a hand. "Wait - so you must know: a Dragon dwells within the First Inquisition Court, bound and trapped therein. His name is Kahkaankrein; perhaps something you could look into after the fact. I assume, having kinship with them, perhaps you would wish to aid one in need."
Cura was taken aback by this. "Kahkaankrein... yes; I will look into that matter. Thank you."
As Cura turned to leave, a sly smile fell over Jhunal's face. Korn took notice of it and continued to walk onwards, following the group out of the Library.
"Well... that went well, if a little disgusting." Sabrina remarked, resting her head on her hands behind it. She kicked a stone off the cobblestone road.
Cura looked down at the Dragon Soul Stone in her hands. "A Dragon Soul is actually within this. Jhunal was a real monster, wasn't he?"
"You are wise not to trust him," Mary said firmly. "Jhunal the Grey Owl has ulterior motives in helping you. Once you get your Dragon Soul back - do hurry to aid poor Kahkaankrein. He is Kyne's favourite of the Dragons."
Sir Amiel spoke up next, "Perhaps a couple of us should remain behind to keep an eye on Jhunal for the meantime."
Savos Aren raised his hand. "Mirabelle and I shall stay behind and speak of magicks with him. Perhaps there is much we can learn and teach him, Academically, of course."
Mirabelle scoffed. "You just want to pour through his library."
Savos crossed his arms. "I do. So, what of it?"
"I suppose he wouldn't mind too much - just don't take a week to capture your Dragon Soul." Mirabelle demanded.
Cura shook her head. "It won't take a week. It will likely take a few hours, at worst. I hope."
She figured that it would be a simple enough idea on paper, but she was at the disadvantage of being out-of-touch with the Thu'um. The precious little she could remember would not be enough to handle a Dragon; let alone the spirit which carries a Shard of Akatosh himself.
In the quiet recesses of her mind, Vigilant Cura stood at the precipice of an internal struggle, a silent war waged not with swords or shields, but with the very essence of her being. Her Dragon Soul, once a source of immense power and pride, had become an adversary she must confront without the aid of the Thu'um, the ancient and sacred shouts of her people. The Ritual Thu'um, imparted to her by the wise and cunning Jhunal, was her sole companion in this fight - a beacon of hope amidst the storm of her turmoil.
As she journeyed through the labyrinth of her thoughts, Cura grappled with the reality of her situation. The Dragon Soul, a tempestuous force yearning for reconnection, clashed with her steadfast resolve. She could not yield, for to do so would mean losing a part of herself forever. The Ritual Thu'um, though powerful, was a mere whisper against the roar of her inner dragon. Yet, it was a whisper that carried the weight of her determination, the promise of reclamation, and the possibility of harmony.
Cura knew the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty. The Ritual Thu'um was not a weapon but a tool of balance, a means to bridge the chasm between her human spirit and the wild, untamed energy of the dragon. It was a dance of fire and shadow, each step a delicate maneuver to regain what was lost. In the silence of her heart, she recited the words taught by Jhunal, each syllable a step closer to unity. "Dovah sos sil aav unahzaal."
The struggle was not one of force, but of understanding. Cura sought not to dominate her Dragon Soul but to accept it, to weave it back into the tapestry of her essence. The Ritual Thu'um was the thread, Jhunal's teachings the needle, and her will the hand that guided them. With each recitation, the discord within her ebbed, replaced by a growing sense of peace. It was a testament to her courage, a reminder that even in the absence of her full power, she was not powerless. The journey to reclaim her Dragon Soul was not just a battle; it was a pilgrimage to the core of her identity, a quest for the harmony that lay within.
And so, Cura continued her inward odyssey, each moment a step through the shadows, each breath a chant of the Ritual Thu'um. In the hopeful solemnity of her quest, she found not only the strength to face her Dragon Soul but also the wisdom to embrace it. For in the end, it was not about the power she wielded, but the balance she achieved and the understanding that true strength comes from within.
The Dragon Soul she once rejected; feared; longed to be rid of, she now wanted returned to her, to feel its warm, fiery embrace once more.
She looked into the vast Void in the skies above, seeing its white flicker soaring below the blackness. It was time. Time for Cura to become whole again.