Riddle78
Four Thousand Club
I was sitting in my chair,reading a dusty old tome. The cave was damp,and the lighting was poor,but the savages of Skyrim wouldn't allow me to pursue my studies anywhere else. They couldn't understand magic. To them,it was weakness,dishonorable. Somehow,it was the tool of villains. They simply hated it because it was beyond their comprehension. If only they knew... Magic was power. It allowed mortals to make their will manifest.
This tome was interesting. It was an old journal,that of an incredibly powerful sorcerer. It detailed many different ways of wielding magic,but it was also punctuated with musings of their own mortality. They obviously sought a means of immortality. They feared death. Or,more likely,what was beyond. The old sorcerer's findings were largely built around the Restoration and Conjuration schools,but there were also mentions of one of the older schools,Mysticism.
I flipped the page,though a foreign sound interrupted me. I tilted my head,and listened. Rasping chain. Rattling plates. An intruder. A warrior. I recall a disgusted scowl crossing my face,as I came to the realization,that it was a local. I placed my quill in the book,and put it away before I left my study,ready to smite the fool that thought that they were superior.
I didn't have to go far. The fool had made short work of my few acolytes. He charged down a hall,my last acolyte pinned to his shoulder. They came to a stop against the wall of the corner ahead of me,to the symphony of shattering bones. The intruder,to my surprise,wasn't a local. They were an Orsimer,as you know,by now. And he wore the armour of his people,a dull grey-green,roughly hammered into shape. But,his helm was different. The helm was fully closed,excepting the eyes. And his eyes did glare out,red like burning coals.
For a moment,I was gripped by terror. Why,I'll never know. The Orsimer hefted his battleaxe,and buried the blade into the acolyte's skull. However,what happened next surprised me. The familiar violet cyclone formed. His axe was purloining the soul of my acolyte! This was unacceptable,so I unleashed my fury upon him. I loosed a cascade of frost,fire and lightning upon his plates. Armour could never hope to stop magic.
Or,so I thought. The Orsimer turned to face me,and actually took the time to laugh. He marched towards me,slowly. He simply drew another weapon from his back,a large,reinforced pole. He threw it at my feet,just as I exclaimed, "Why won't you die!? With all of my power,how do you still stand!?" The Orsimer laughed a malicious laugh,and was upon me. He gripped my throat,and hoisted me up against the stone wall of the cave.
"What do you know of power,High Elf? You think your little parlor tricks are power?" His eyes bored into my very soul. He was absolute in his beliefs. His grip tightened. I could barely breathe. "You're a slave to magic. And slaves have no power beyond what is given to them." The Orsimer sneered at me. I couldn't see his face,but his eyes betrayed his expression.
The Orsimer continued his lecture,as if I were some petulant schoolchild. "Power is control. Power is dominance. Power is,above all,freedom. You're a slave. Without freedom,you lack true power." He lowered be,so my feet touched the stone floor,if barely. "You think magic is power. Magic is poweful,yes. But so is a good axe. But neither is actual power. They are tools." He leaned in close,his armoured brow mere hairs from my own.
"I bend my knee to none but Malacath." He dropped his battleaxe,and pulled something from his belt at his back. What I saw,I couldn't believe. Not until now. It was a crystalline star with eight arms. It looked just like Azura's Star,except... It was blackened. "Behold,Elf,the fruits of power. What was once the tool of Azura's slaves is now my tool for power. The Star,before,was weak. It could only ensnare the souls of lesser creatures. But now,thanks to the acolytes of the Worm God,it can ensnare any soul"
What he spoke of was impossible. So sure of this,I found the strength to wheeze out, "Impossible!" The Orsimer simply laughed in my face. "Impossible,you say? Look closely. Each segment contains a soul. All. Except. One." He held the star to my face,and lo,I saw the souls. Swirling,screaming,all mortal. In that moment,I believed him. But,if he wanted my soul,I will make him work for it. So,I kicked at him. My boot struck his codpiece,and he laughed.
"So,you still have some fight in you. Alright,little slave." He put away his blasphemous Star,and pulled a phial from his belt. He thumbed off the cork,and forced its contents down my throat. The concoction was thick and vile,but I immediately felt strong,and skillful. He wanted to duel. And then,he hurled me bodily,back into my study,and hurled the reinforced pole in after me.
Surprisingly,the table held. "Stand and deliver,slave!" I looked at the weapon he tossed me. It looked remarkably like a staff. Maybe it IS a staff? "Maybe you'll know how to use a longmace! It's close enough to your yoke you call a staff!" So it was a brute's weapon,one step removed from a warhammer. Still,I looked at the weapon,and felt that I could use it. I picked up the weapon,and it felt... Right. The potion guided my body,as if I were a trained fighter.
I left the table,and the Orsimer stepped into the room,his axe in hand. It looked like the bastard child of a poleaxe and a headsman's axe,roughly hammered into shape,the same grey-green as his armour. He gripped his weapon with both hands,almost casually. I held the longmace in my own hands,though I can't remember if it was a proper stance. The potion has long since expired.
The fight was quick. He charged,I sidestepped and swung at him. It was a solid blow,a square blow. I even put a dent into the side of his armour. He didn't stagger,but he grunted. Hr felt it. In that moment,I felt that I had a chance. How foolish,I was. It was a farce. He wheeled around,faster than I could have ever imagined an armoured man was capable of,and he leveled his axe at my neck. The last thing I saw was that familiar violet cyclone,as my soul was pulled from my corpse,and into the Star. And now,here I am,beholden to the whims of the one Orsimer who wields power.
This tome was interesting. It was an old journal,that of an incredibly powerful sorcerer. It detailed many different ways of wielding magic,but it was also punctuated with musings of their own mortality. They obviously sought a means of immortality. They feared death. Or,more likely,what was beyond. The old sorcerer's findings were largely built around the Restoration and Conjuration schools,but there were also mentions of one of the older schools,Mysticism.
I flipped the page,though a foreign sound interrupted me. I tilted my head,and listened. Rasping chain. Rattling plates. An intruder. A warrior. I recall a disgusted scowl crossing my face,as I came to the realization,that it was a local. I placed my quill in the book,and put it away before I left my study,ready to smite the fool that thought that they were superior.
I didn't have to go far. The fool had made short work of my few acolytes. He charged down a hall,my last acolyte pinned to his shoulder. They came to a stop against the wall of the corner ahead of me,to the symphony of shattering bones. The intruder,to my surprise,wasn't a local. They were an Orsimer,as you know,by now. And he wore the armour of his people,a dull grey-green,roughly hammered into shape. But,his helm was different. The helm was fully closed,excepting the eyes. And his eyes did glare out,red like burning coals.
For a moment,I was gripped by terror. Why,I'll never know. The Orsimer hefted his battleaxe,and buried the blade into the acolyte's skull. However,what happened next surprised me. The familiar violet cyclone formed. His axe was purloining the soul of my acolyte! This was unacceptable,so I unleashed my fury upon him. I loosed a cascade of frost,fire and lightning upon his plates. Armour could never hope to stop magic.
Or,so I thought. The Orsimer turned to face me,and actually took the time to laugh. He marched towards me,slowly. He simply drew another weapon from his back,a large,reinforced pole. He threw it at my feet,just as I exclaimed, "Why won't you die!? With all of my power,how do you still stand!?" The Orsimer laughed a malicious laugh,and was upon me. He gripped my throat,and hoisted me up against the stone wall of the cave.
"What do you know of power,High Elf? You think your little parlor tricks are power?" His eyes bored into my very soul. He was absolute in his beliefs. His grip tightened. I could barely breathe. "You're a slave to magic. And slaves have no power beyond what is given to them." The Orsimer sneered at me. I couldn't see his face,but his eyes betrayed his expression.
The Orsimer continued his lecture,as if I were some petulant schoolchild. "Power is control. Power is dominance. Power is,above all,freedom. You're a slave. Without freedom,you lack true power." He lowered be,so my feet touched the stone floor,if barely. "You think magic is power. Magic is poweful,yes. But so is a good axe. But neither is actual power. They are tools." He leaned in close,his armoured brow mere hairs from my own.
"I bend my knee to none but Malacath." He dropped his battleaxe,and pulled something from his belt at his back. What I saw,I couldn't believe. Not until now. It was a crystalline star with eight arms. It looked just like Azura's Star,except... It was blackened. "Behold,Elf,the fruits of power. What was once the tool of Azura's slaves is now my tool for power. The Star,before,was weak. It could only ensnare the souls of lesser creatures. But now,thanks to the acolytes of the Worm God,it can ensnare any soul"
What he spoke of was impossible. So sure of this,I found the strength to wheeze out, "Impossible!" The Orsimer simply laughed in my face. "Impossible,you say? Look closely. Each segment contains a soul. All. Except. One." He held the star to my face,and lo,I saw the souls. Swirling,screaming,all mortal. In that moment,I believed him. But,if he wanted my soul,I will make him work for it. So,I kicked at him. My boot struck his codpiece,and he laughed.
"So,you still have some fight in you. Alright,little slave." He put away his blasphemous Star,and pulled a phial from his belt. He thumbed off the cork,and forced its contents down my throat. The concoction was thick and vile,but I immediately felt strong,and skillful. He wanted to duel. And then,he hurled me bodily,back into my study,and hurled the reinforced pole in after me.
Surprisingly,the table held. "Stand and deliver,slave!" I looked at the weapon he tossed me. It looked remarkably like a staff. Maybe it IS a staff? "Maybe you'll know how to use a longmace! It's close enough to your yoke you call a staff!" So it was a brute's weapon,one step removed from a warhammer. Still,I looked at the weapon,and felt that I could use it. I picked up the weapon,and it felt... Right. The potion guided my body,as if I were a trained fighter.
I left the table,and the Orsimer stepped into the room,his axe in hand. It looked like the bastard child of a poleaxe and a headsman's axe,roughly hammered into shape,the same grey-green as his armour. He gripped his weapon with both hands,almost casually. I held the longmace in my own hands,though I can't remember if it was a proper stance. The potion has long since expired.
The fight was quick. He charged,I sidestepped and swung at him. It was a solid blow,a square blow. I even put a dent into the side of his armour. He didn't stagger,but he grunted. Hr felt it. In that moment,I felt that I had a chance. How foolish,I was. It was a farce. He wheeled around,faster than I could have ever imagined an armoured man was capable of,and he leveled his axe at my neck. The last thing I saw was that familiar violet cyclone,as my soul was pulled from my corpse,and into the Star. And now,here I am,beholden to the whims of the one Orsimer who wields power.
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