User:Auri-El Reborn/Fanfic Draft 01
- 1 The Draft Itself
- 2 Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter One: The Warrior
- 3 Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Two: The Assassin
- 4 Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Three: The Thief
- 5 Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Four: The Mage
- 6 Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Five: The Tower of the Elders
- 7 Part Two: Followers: Chapter One: Morvayth Tamren
- 8 Part Two: Followers: Chapter Two: The Journey to Alinor
The Draft Itself
This is a (soon) full draft of Part Four of my "Rise of the Mer" fanfiction series (Part Four shall be the conclusion of the initial series and the beginning of a series which shall deal in length with the years following Emperor Areldir of Alinor's conquest of northern Tamriel) and introduces Carandial Aloriel, the High Elf bastard son of Emperor Areldir. Areldir has declared the beginning of the Fifth Era, but 26 years into it, he is assassinated, leaving his kingdom in the hands of his three ablest generals and advisors -- Emanalor the Pure, Tevelilor the Great Strategist, and Ulmo the Mage. A Psijic Mystic, Carandial must quest for the legendary Psijic Artifacts of Power and also for his right as Emperor of Tamriel. But he is not alone, and shall gain three followers -- who are the topic of the first three (brief) chapters which introduce them. He shall also gain help from the long-missing Iachesis of Artaeum, the Spirit of Sotha Sil, the undead legendary Mystic Kenilor Sae (who appears in my fanfiction The Sickness) and the living Psijic Master, Gamil Zirak. Through his friends, masters, and powers, Carandial must sieze control of the Imperial City, lest Tamriel fall into another age of rampant chaos.
- The Psijic Heir
- The Sundered Throne
Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter One: The Warrior
- Mournhold, Morrowind
- 1 Rain's Hand, 5E 29
Raelynn Varador was a Duke in the court of King Arthen Virenen II of Mournhold, and quite proud of it. He was a great and renowned battlemage and had once been the Arch-Mage of the Mages Guild in Morrowind from 4E 958 - 1009. Now, in 5E 25 on the 20th of Evening Star, he sat in his chambers, gazing out of his window on the wonderous industrial district of Mournhold. Mournhold had become one of the most advanced cities in Tamriel in the past Millennium, a fact its rulers would not let the other kings of Tamriel soon forget.
"My lord," Virtel, one of his many servants addressed him. "The King has requested your presence."
"Ah! I shall make haste to his hall --" Raelynn was cut off by his servant, a crime which was sometimes punished with death by most of the Nobles in Mournhold. But Raelynn was a merciful Duke.
"Actually, lord, he had requested that you meet him in his quarters."
"Ah, I see. Well I shall make haste to his chambers then." And with that, Varador left the room to meet his Lord the King.
"Lord," Raelynn adressed the King Arthen II.
"Ah, the Lord Varador. How wonderful it is to see you," the King said to him. "And... on time." He clapped his hands and smiled in delight. The King was quite a charismatic character, especially considering how rather "square" his father, the King Rythe Virenen IV, had been, and his father Lord Remanthil Virenen of Narsis. "Now, then, to the matter at hand."
"Indeed," Raelynn said.
Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Two: The Assassin
- The Imperial City, Cyrodiil
- 3 Rain's Hand, 5E 29
Ajeenum-Kali had never been much of a stealthy killer. He and his sword, the infamous "Taer'Endruel" had killed many in the Argonian's 23 years as an assassin. But he did this not by skulking in the shadows, rather by breaking into the homes (or place of lodging in many other cases) and killing all inside, not hesitating to also sack and rape it of all things of even the most remote value. Naturally, this type of assassination, if indeed assassination it may be called, did not sit well with either of his former imployers, the Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood (he had served the Guild, as they were now called, from his seventeenth birthday until just before he was twenty and one years of age. The Dark Brotherhood he had been a member of for less time, only two years. By the time he was 24, he had decided to become a freelance assassin, as he had been since the age of 14. And so a freelance killer he stayed for 16 years more, serving evryone from Kings and Queens, Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, to the most simple commoner. Who and for whom he killed mattered not so long as he got payed well for his job.
Now he went to his temporary place of residence, the house of a Dunmer by the name of Mhiral. He was an odd enough fellow, a Mage clad in an elegant fur robe, aptly named the "Frostfur Robe" from the enchantment which, according to Mhiral, when coupled with a few other enchanted articles of clothing allowed one to transform into an Ice Atronarch, though Ajeenum had never actually seen it before. This home of his was located in the town of Fordwaters, once the Waterfront of the Imperial City until the bridge connecting them had been destroyed during the Slums Rebellion in 4E 608. Since then, the town had grown to an amazing size, also encompassing land just off the opposite coast of Wawnet Lake (once Imperium Lake during the Veron Dynasty -- 4E 139-407 -- and before that Lake Rumare during the Septim Era). However, Mhiral's house house was the tallest of the buildings, Norben Manor, built in 4E 29 by the son of the Champion of Cyrodiil, a Redguard (he inherited his mother's race) by the name of Lord Kelvar Norben, Lord of Battlehorn Castle, and the First King of the Imperial City following Uriel Septim VII and his son Martin (he ruled from 4E 17-33), he lived mostly on the Waterfront, and for awhile it was a prosperous district; the rest of that story, however, is to be told later.
Ajeenum had nearly arrived at Norben Manor when all of a sudden a trio jumped in front of him. Two of them were men, one a Nord in thick Fur Armour, while the other one was a Breton clad in full Leather Armour, excluding the helmet. The last, an Imperial woman in a rather "clingy" leather suit, appeared to be their leader. They all wore Black.
"If you've come to rob me, then you're making a big mistake," the Argonian warned. He enjoyed killing, but he didn't wish to make a scene in the middle of the city. He was lucky to be able to have walked this far without being recognized.
"The hell I am, you bastard!" the woman yelled, and ordered her men to attack.
Fine, Ajeenum thought. Two can play at this game. And at once he whistled a signal to his assassin entourage (which always traveled with him in case of emergencies such as this) and they came down from the rooftops. Almost immediately the Nord was overwhelmed, the bulk of the attack having been focused on him, though the Breton simply Conjured his own minions -- two Shadows (a form of create that was discovered in one of the many Nether-realms which were not a part of Mundus, nor Aetherius, nor Oblivion) which dispatched one assassin assailing him but not the other two. The Nord fought hard but not long and within a few seconds he was dead, three assassins standing over him triumphantly, even though they had lost one of their colleagues. The Breton fought a decent battle, but in the end not even a master of Magic could overcome the four assassins that attacked him, though he managed to kill of two more of them before they killed him.
"Your men fight well, Imperial," the Argonian said to the woman. "Indeed you have left me with only five assassins out of the nine I brought with me. But indeed, it is to naught, for you have been defeated. Don't even try to fight back now." She would have probably attacked him anyway were she not so taken aback by how quickly her two associates had been defeated.
"Fine," she said. "Do what you will with me." She looked down and fell to her knees in shame and defeat.
"Tell me, child, why do you seek to assail and rob me, a simple commoner?"
She looked up to him, confusion and gratitude that he had not killed her, or at least not yet. She sighed. "I was once but a simple citizen of the Empire, born to a middle-class family. But I knew not how to manage and protect myself in the world. Inevitable poverty led to... exploitation, shall we say. Disgusted with the life I had come to lead, I snapped one night of Mid-Year, and killed my 'employer' in my rage. I was only twenty-one then, so I was still young and aimless, as I am now three years later. A year ago I found Roland and Gaisric here and we've been a bit successful since."
Ajeenum looked at her for a moment more. "Take my hand," he said, reaching out to her. "And I will show you a better life." She looked at him and hesitated, bringing her hand only halfway. Realizing she had nothing better to do with her life, and that she'd probably end up dead the way things were, she took his hand. "What is your name?" he asked.
"Amelia," she said. "Amelia Norben."
Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Three: The Thief
- The Imperial City, Cyrodiil
- 3 Rain's Hand, 5E 29
"Alright Kalyn, are you ready?" the Breton asked her apprentice.
The Dunmer took a shaky breath. "Yeah," she said. "I'm ready." She wasn't.
"Remember, just steal the Records and leave," the Master Thief said. "A very simple task. Just don't attract attention when you go in or out. And whatever you do, do not wake up the guard. The last thing we need are to have the Watch alerted to our presence."
Kalyn nodded again, barely hearing her Master, too caught up in her fear and anticipation. If she did this, she would officially be a Master Thief in the Thieves Guild. And all she had to do was steal some tax records, a classic task which even the lowest of thieves in the Guild had been able to accomplish. And she wasn't about to be outshined by a bunch of upstarts.
And so with grim determination Kalyn Vardeth strided down the alleyways of the Imperial City's Industrial District. At the far Northeast end she found what she was looking for -- an old garrison tower (built in 4E 107 by Emperor Calaxes Septime II as a lookout point for southern attacks; it had been built years ago inside the Arboretum. From it one could now see the Arcane University. Though just a mile or so away from the city -- perhaps less -- it was unreachable for those unwanted. In the Slums Rebellion of 4E 608 the Psijic Mystics under Morvayth Tamren had aided in overthrowing the tyrant King Hadarth Morelis, a Bosmer usurper of the Thalmor. In 609 they took the Arcane University, slaughtering the Mages there, and ever since it had served as their base on the Mainland, though Morvayth had been killed in 793 by Valyn Dralas, Head of the Synod. The Synod then moved their base of operations to the Adamantine Tower in High Rock, and the College of Whipers to Frostcrag Spire). Built in the old style of High Imperial Culture, the tower was still white and polished, sticking out like a sore thumb against the otherwise soot-covered, dirt coated buildings of Industrial.
When Kalyn reached the door, she looked all around her, sweat beading on her forehead. No one would be able to hear anything insied or out of the tower over the noise of Industrial -- gears turning, smoke puffing, hammers beating against various objects, of which weapons were most common (Industrial had begun as a factory in the center of the Arboretum which was used to mass-produce weapons and arms for the armies of Tamriel). She wondered if her master was watching her, as she usually did, or if she was off on some duty of her own. She sighed shakily in fear and nercousness, and slowly, meticulously began to work on the lock.
It took only three minutes for Kalyn to break the lock -- a surprisingly simple on considering it was meant to protect an Imperial Guard Tower -- and she wearily opened the door. She slipped in, making the opening as small as possible in order to attract as little attention as possible from the slumbering guards. She was able to sneak past the guards on all of the four lower floors until at last she reached the fifth and final floor -- the chambers of General Luthor Morgan. He had taxed heavily the citizens of Industrial, and the Thieves Guild wanted that money to be given back -- a classic task for any member of the Guild. She crept cautiously to the General's nightstand, beside which he slept, with a young lady (no older than 17) next to him. She was almost certain that she was a prostitute, which Luthor had a reputation of courting quite often.
At any rate, she opened the top drawer of the stand. Nothing. The second; nothing. And the third; nothing, yet again. "Damn! she hissed quietly, and then thought. It's supposed to be here! Unless... yes that's it!
She pried at the bottom of the third drawer until finally -- FWAAP! it came off, nearly hitting her in the face. She had known it was a false bottom. And there she saw the documents. And a key, which no doubt opened the chest next to the stand. As she was about to put everything back, she felt a blade against her neck. "Don't move," a voice said. "And I won't have to kill you."
Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Four: The Mage
- Isle of Artaeum
- 21 Rain's Hand, 5E 29
Lyrian Vormus walked down the halls of the Tower of the Elders, one of the many magnificent spires found in the main city of Artaeum. The island was small, and did not provide much space and what little area wasn't dominated by towers and buildings was watched by guards in the trees, Masters of Illusion who made themselves invisible to any intruders, should they have the nerve to tread upon the isle, and should the Psijics allow them to do so.
He had just reported to his Master, Kaedus Gelron, who had been an apprentice of the legendary Mystic Kenilor-Sae, famed for the exploit of rising from the dead unaltered and discovering the secret to immortality as well as defeating Lorkhan's invasion of Tamriel during the First Century of the Fourth Era. Lyrian, along with his colleague with whom he completed most of his assignments and training exercises, had been sent to the mainland not too long ago to act as advisors to King Tevelilor II, Lord of the Aldmeri Dominion. They had given perfectly prudent and rehearsed council to the King, that he should do the obvious and act in a defensive role; Valenwood had a garrison army twice the size of any other land in Tamirel, and the Summerset Isle was an island, difficult to assault without heavy losses as the Altmer had spent the past Millennium building up their navy for that purpose. However, he had grown paranoid and hateful in the years since the conquests of Areldir Aloriel, and as such had banished the Psijics from ever again entering his court.
As may be guessed, the Council of Artaeum (which had been formed as its current incarnation in 4E 613) hadn't been too happy, and so neither was Kaedus. He had called Lyrian to his chambers early this morning and given him "constructive criticism" as he had said. He had listened patiently for six hours as he taught him various things on the history of Psijic diplomacy with Artaeum's neighbors and the importance of sustaining it. He had dismissed him at noon and ordered him to bring his colleague, Hador Varden, before him so that he could talk with him about this situation.
After ten minutes or so he reached his destination, the Center for Magical Protocol and Execution, where all Psijics came to practice their skills. It had been built by Gamil Zaikar, the current Lord of Artaeum, almost 300 years ago, and was one of the largest buildings in the city. He searched carefully, slipping past and in between the bustling throng of Mystics, and Mages visiting. At last, at the far back he found him practicing the arts of Destruction against the dummies that were set up for such purposes. "Hador!" he called to him.
He turned to look at him. "Lyrian?"
"Kaedus wants to speak with us about what happened last week." he said plainly.
Hador narrowed his eyes and stared for a moment. He finally decided he wasn't joking (he often pulled these things on him) and went with him, without another word.
Part One: Enter the Mystic: Chapter Five: The Tower of the Elders
To say the least, Lyrian and Hador did not expect what they found in the tower.
The Tower of the Elders was filled with an ominous darkness. It was as if nothing was there, and yet something was. And that something weighed on the Lyrian and Hador like a thousand tons. They looked at each other, both percieving that something was seriosuly wrong. They began to run to the Council Cahmbers to enquire on what was happening.
They finally reached the Council Chambers and Hador flung the huge doors wide open. Inside the Council was not meeting and conversing on the issues of the day, as they normally were. Instead they all faced a man in the center of the room. He was clad in a robe of the most brilliant aquamarine. Underneath the hood were piercing red eyes, but not like the Dunmer's. The background coloring was not white, but black, and his face had strange black markings on it which went down to the rest of his body.
It was silent for only a moment more after their arrival when the man in the center turned to look at them. "Alas!" he cried in a demonic, yet strangely cheerful tone. "The ones we have so long awaited, here at last! Please, have a seat. Oh wait, that's right, I've destroyed them..." And so he had. In fact, the entire room was in ruin, most likely a result of combat. "Well, I have tried to show you proper hospitality, and I expect you to return the favor. Your Psijic Masters have failed to do so. Will you not bid me welcome?" He stared at them when they did not respond. They at last realized that he actually expected a response.
"How's this for a welcome!" Daelin Ranus lunged at the man, only to be struck down to the ground brutally with the man's fist. He put his boot, one made of shiny metal, on his throat and crushed Daelin's windpipe without looking down. With a wave of his hand, the body was thrown against Daelin's apprentice Maedhros.
"Anyone else wish to volunteer?" the man asked earnestly. "No? Ah, well."
"Who are you?!" Lyrian exclaimed, tears in his eyes. He hadn't particularly liked Daelin, but he didn't deserve to die like that.
"Me?" the man seemed surprised. "Have you truly not told them of me?" His question was directed at the Elders.
"We like to forget you and hat which you caused to happen," Kaedus said. "Lyrian, Hador. This is Morvayth Tamren, the Rogue Psijic who killed Kenilor-Sae in 4E 707 and usurped control over the Psijic Order. We rid the Order of his filth 30 years later, but we were not able to kill him before he escaped into Oblivion. This is the first time he's been seen in 393 years."
"Indeed. I spent those 393 years perfecting my magic, and preparing for a time when Tamriel was at its weakest. But between the Luco and Gratorius Dynasties, there has been relative unification, strength, and Order in Tamriel. Until Areldir Aloriel died." He looked at Hador. "Do you know who Areldir Aloriel is, boy?" Morvayth looked at him intently.
"The last Emperor of Tamriel. He died 3 years ago," Hador stated simply.
"Yes, yes, we all know that," he said. "But who is he?" When Hador didn't answer, Morvayth sighed. "You didn't tell him, did you?"
Kaedus narrowed his eyes. "Don't you dare."
"It is what I came here to do." he said. "Listen, boy, who are you?"
"I am Hador Varden, Mystic of Artaeum," he said.
"No. You are Carandial Aloriel. And you are the Son of the Emperor."
And with that, Morvayth Tamren disappeared from the chambers in a flash of black-red light.
Part Two: Followers: Chapter One: Morvayth Tamren
8 hours later
Lyrian had spent the past 8 hours with his master aiding the residents of Artaeum in recovering from the attack. While they had been occupied in the Elder's Tower, Morvayth had summoned countless Daedra into the city, a feat thought impossible to all scholars and mages.
"How did he do it?" Lyrian asked Kaedus -- referring to the Summoning -- as they were tending to a Psijic who had lost his arms to a Dremora Lord.
Keadus only stared at the patient as he tended to him. "Morvayth Tamren was bright young man," he said. "At least when I met him. He caught on to the concepts of the Old Ways quicker than almost any pupil has in history. You and him, you share that trait you know." He sighed. "But alas, Morvayth was not content to just learn the construction properties of magic; he wanted to expand his knowledge to all schools and fields.
"We let him do so, under the condition that he keep it purely academic -- he was forbidden from practicing any lethal spells on the test animals we allowed him. He would sometimes summon his own Deadra and Undead to practice on. It was then that many of the Council members became wary of him, as well as the Elders. At this time I was only an Apprentice. I trained under Saerin Maldis, a wonderful woman and a great mentor; she was one of the highest ranking members of the Council. She warned me to stay away from him, but we had been friends since childhood. Like the fool I was I ignored her, and I actually began to help Morvayth in his studies. I gave the subjects protection while he attacked them with elemental attacks.
"About four years after this began, there came a day where he was particularly frustrated. He had been communicating with a Dremora, trying to learn more of its customs. In his rage he attacked it, and it retaliated. There was nothing I could do -- the Dremora wounded him nearly to the point of death. But as it turned on me he cast a spell I had never before seen. One that sucked the memories and very soul from an enemy. This was not soul trapping; this was something more... evil. More cruel. He made the Dremora a part of himself. For once I was actually frightened of my old friend."
"I'm guessing he survived somehow." Lyrian said.
Kaedus nodded. "Indeed. The life of the Dremora had healed him, and made him more powerful than ever. He taught me the spell, and showed me a book of his. It was bound with the skins of various animals and beings from all the realms of Oblivion and from Nirn. The book was a collection of notes he had taken, and spells he had created. Most of them were harmless but there was a specific chapter. On the Sapping of Mortal and Immortal Life, Powers, Memories, and Souls I believe it was entitled. It was in this chapter that the spell he had practiced was contained. He promised that these spells were purely academic and that he had only used it because of emergency -- though I see now that he had purposely angered the Dremora to test the spell -- but begged me not to tell Gamil Zaikar, his Master.
"I agreed only out of fear. But I knew that this practice was not just "academic". And right I was. I watched as Morvayth's profane magicks twisted him. He became obsessed with obtaining power, by whatever means possible. In 4E 707, after nine years of training him, Kenilor-Sae confronted him when I hinted at his practices. Kenilor banished him from Artaeum that day, though the exact date escapes me. Infuriated, Morvayth attacked High Master Kenilor-Sae. In his old age, the Master was no match for the corrupt sorcery of Morvayth. He fell on the steps of his Palace, and Morvayth usurped his position. Any who opposed him were killed. And so began the rule of a tyrant.
"About thirty years into his reign, I had finally ascended to the Council. However, my words still carried no major weight as Morvayth had effectively ousted the Council and made their voice and opinion pointless. It was only after four months of this that I spoke openly against Morvayth. A debate of the future of our relationship with Tamriel and more specifically, the Imperial Empire." Kaedus stopped, recalling the moment.
It had been the 29th of Mid-Year, 4E 707 when the Council met with Grandmaster Morvayth Tamren on the future of the Psijic Order's relationship with Tamriel. Saerin Maldis has summoned Morvayth to the Council Chambers, and though he was required to attend he did not wish to. The Grandmaster pushed the doors open, walking in to the Council Chambers hastily, obviously irritated that had been pulled away from what he had been doing before. He plopped himself down in the Grandmaster's Throne at the center of the chambers and glared at Saerin Maldis, now High Master of the Council. "Well?" he yelled suddenly after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "What is it you want, Saerin? Speak your mind now, or I will take my leave."
She glared back at him for a moment more. "My Lord," she spoke the words slowly, and she scorned that she had to call him by that title. "A matter of the utmost importance has come to the attention of the Council."
"And what would that be?" he asked.
"Our deteriorating relationship with the people of Tamriel."
He stared at her for a moment, shocked for some reason.
"Surely you know what I speak of, Morvayth," she said, becoming more aggrivated by the second.
"Yes," he said at last, though hesitantly, and that was all he said.
"And what do you intend to do about this, Grandmaster?" Saerin said.
"Why, pray tell, should I do anything at all?"
"Lord," Saerin said. "We have aided the people of Tamriel and served as Mages, Consorts, Healers, and Diviners for thousands of years, ever since the days of Vanus Galerion. Why, then, would we stop now?"
Morvayth stared at the ceiling of the chambers, carefully contemplating his next words. "As you may remember, Saerin," He spoke slowly. "Only a hundred years ago did we aid the people of Tamriel in overthrowing King Jerall Kerevis, usurper to the throne of Cyrodiil, and King of Skyrim. That was the Great Insurrection, though it has been given many other names. We gave them the right to chose their next King or Queen, and so they did. Do you recall who the new regent was?"
King Meris Vorketh," Saerin answered.
"Indeed. And when King Meris came to power, the first thing he did was to massacre our forces there, and steal from them Immortality. Now he rules as a tyrant. Kenilor-Sae would do nothing to stop him, and he was a fool for that. But I," he said. "shall bring an end to his reign. Long live the Psijic Order!"
The entire room rose in cheer, and began to chant "Long live the Psijic Order!" And Saerin Maldis could only watch in shock as the Enemy usurped complete control over the Isle of Artaeum.
"About eight months after that Council, Saerin and I led a rebellion. In short, we killed Morvayth's supporters and guards, but Morvayth himself escaped through a portal before his chambers were reached. My master, Saerin took control temporarily, as I did 200 years later. In that time we killed Meris Vorketh, and his nephew Janus Atraenus took back the throne -- Janus was actually a Dunmer with an Imperial name, and he lived until Aulus Gratorius led his Rebellion in 4E 1001. Now, of course, Gamil Zaikar leads us as the Fifth Grandmaster of the Psijic Order of the Isle of Artaeum." Kaedus dismissed the now-healed mage, the sixth one since they had begun their conversation.
"Who shall lead us after Gamil steps down? It shall be soon, no doubt -- he was already over 1,000 years old when he first took control, and that was over 100 years ago!" said Lyrian.
"Ah, that is true, I think," Kaedus replied. "Your friend Hador is a wonderful mage."
Lyrian furrowed his brows at that, wondering not only where that comment had come from, but what the mage was getting at. At last he decided to respond, figuring he would soon find out. "That he is," Lyrian laughed. "The best in his class!"
"Yes, I do seem to recall that," Kaedus said, watching Hador heal a fatally wounded Warrior. He lapsed into silence for a moment. "He fits the bill perfectly, you know. Strong, intelligent. Strong-willed, stubborn, and creative too. Just like the Old Masters. That is, those before Morvayth."
So that was what he had been getting at. "You really think he may be the next Grandmaster?"
"Only time will tell, my boy. Only time will tell."
Part Two: Followers: Chapter Two: The Journey to Alinor
Hador sat in the candlelight of his study, writing a report on the art of Visceromancy and its usage in the lore and history of Tamriel. Taking page 49 and placing it on top of the other 48 pages of parchment, he began work on page 50. As it may be recalled, Viscermancy was once sanctioned and practiced by other the Elven ancestors, the Aldmer. In fact, many of the late Kings of the Summerset Isle, including Alinor himself, were masters of this forbidden art. And yet, after the foundation of the Aldmeri Dominion, this art was banned from open practice. Many will say that this was because the people believed it was cruel and barbaric, as it certainly was in most forms (refer to my first report, "The Practice of Visceromancy" for more details on this) while others that it was simply a matter of moving forward from the old ways of the Altmer and Bosmer. However, I propose that it is a mixture of the two; that the government wanted to push the people into a new age of science, magicks, and discovery, but also that they wanted to seem the virtuous leaders that the nations yearned for. But one may also remember that the government did on many occasions practice this art, subsequently attempting to cover it up, and after the Lord of Falinesti (an Altmer from Lillandril) was caught practicing the art, the government had him impeached and beheaded for his crime. The intended effect was to efficiently erradicate the art from the government with fear of death. Unfortunately, this did not last long and soon the Aldmeri Dominion would again legalize the practice of Visceromancy...
Taking this page and setting it atop the others, he put the lid back on the inwell and slipped his quill into the hole on the side. Standing from his chair, he walked over to the window overlooking the grand city of Artaeum. How I long to leave this dreary place, he thought. Perhaps the Council will at last grant me an assignment.... His thoughts were interrupted when there was a knock on his door. He took a quick look at the plain wooden entrance, "Its open."
"I've no need to come in, sir," said a Nord voice. A letter was slipped under the door, a makeshift one of folded parchment with an ornate seal upon the fold. When at last the footfall of the courier could no longer be heard, Hador reluctantly stepped away from the window. Bending down, he picked up the envelope and took it to his desk, the rickety chair creaking as he sat down. Taking a knife from his robe, he cut the top of the letter tentatively. Opening it up, he read fromt he flowing script.
The Council has requested to meet you in their chambers at 1:00 this afternoon. Do not be late, for I am certain you undoubtedly like what they have to say.
He looked up at the sun; it was just past noon. He still had some time. Turning back to his report, he began to write the last few pages.
"Where is your apprentice, Kaedus? We have not the patience nor the time for such delay." The commanding voice of Gamil Zikar rang through the Council Chambers.
"He'll be here," Kaedus assured him. Gamil only looked at Kaedus for a moment, then back back up to to the sundial positioned one of the only windows in the room. Five whole minutes passed, and Gamil began to tap his fingers along the left arm of his beautiful red velvet chair.
At last the Grandmaster lost all patience. "Since your apprentice has failed to show up, I find it only logical to move on to the meeting at hand, wouldn't you--"
He was cut off by the creaking of the large, ornate doors at the entrance to the chambers. Through them stepped a winded Hador Varden, closing the doors quickly and bowing before the Council of Nineteen. "My lords," he spoke quietly.
"Come here, boy," Grandmaster Zikar called the apprentice forward. "I would like you to explain to me, my boy, why you are nearly 9 minutes late."
Hador gazed at his master for a moment before calling forth the courage to speak. "Most honorable Grandmaster," he began. "I received a letter from my master not 10 minutes ago. I did not realize that it was past the midday hour..."
"So the courier was late?" Kaedus asked his apprentice softly. Hador nodded solemnly. The old master placed his hand on his brows, sighing. With his other hand he gestured towards a chair next to him. He walked obediently over to a black upholstered chair (upholstery was a recent accomplishment in Tamrielic history) and took his seat slowly. "Now, then," Kaedus looked towards Gamil. "Shall we begin?"
The Old Master took a single look at the Council members before turning to Hador. "First of all, boy," he began. "Have you ever heard the name Morvan Kelzar?" He waited for Hador's response; the apprentice nodded quickly. "Then would you care to tell me what you have heard?"
Hador cleared his throat. "Morvan Ke--" He was interrupted by Gamil telling him to speak up. He cleared his throat once again. "Morvan Kelzar was the founder of the Kingdom of Bretony, in 4E 03. He brought Skyrim into his kingdom in 4E 20, and Hammerfell in 4E 29." He paused, trying to recall the rest. "As I do recall, he died in 4E 70 at the age of 95. He left the Empire of Bretony to his son, Tallen Kelzar, though he disappeared shortly before his coronation. The Empire was later usurped by Emperor Pelagius IV in the Second Century."
When Hador spoke no longer, Gamil shifted to the right, laying his right arm on the respective armrest, and spoke casually. "Quite an expansive knowledge you have there, Hador. You correct in all but one thing: Morvan Kelzar did not die in the seventieth year of the Fourth Era; no, he still lives. In fact," he pauses and looks around the room. "He's right here in these chambers." His eyes locked on Kaedus. The Master looked back wearily. "Master Kaedus, despite the brightness of your student, he seems to be unable to make the connection. Would you care to... shall we say, enlighten him -- and anyone else who hasn't figured it out yet."
Kaedus sighed. "One-thousand years ago, I came to Artaeum, when Celarus was in control. For twenty years I studied the deepest mysteries of the Old Way, and eventually used it to extend my life. There are almost no drawbacks to this, save one: that those who make use of it shall leave behind their identity and every accomplishment in their lives, and their family disinherited as well. I realized that even if my son wanted to be Emperor, he would regret it later on in life, and I certainly wanted to become a new man. And so the consequences of the the technique qere a moot point in my eyes. I left behind my days as Morvan Kelzar, took on immortality, and became Kaedus Gelron, Psijic of the Isle of Artaeum."
"Okay," Hador said, obliviosly unimpressed. "With all due respect, Grandmaster, what does this have to do with me?"
Gamil Zikar smiled. "I would not bring up a question of this sort without good reason, I can assure you of that. However, as for what it has to do with you and this meeting, that will take a bit longer to explain." He paused for a long moment, thinking of how he was to explain the purpose of this meeting to the young apprentice. At last he spoke slowly, "When the Cyrodilic Empire discovered that the King of their rival realm had 'died' and his heir vanished, they immediately marched in and conquered Kaedus's former empire. When Emperor Atrebbus Mede sat in the halls of Daggerfall, he was visited by a Breton Witch. She told him of Morvan's existance and of his status as an up-start Mystic. She spoke a prophecy of a young man who would step out of his Kaedus's shadow and completely end non-Elven hold over Tamriel, founding the first united Elven kingdom to control all of Tamriel. Atrebbus was determined to end Kaedus's life. And so he employed his ablest assassins and agents to gather information of Artaeum and eventually kill Morvan Kelzar. When he died, his obsession with ending your Master's life did not die with him. We thought that Emperor Areldir had erradicated the last of these assassins from the Empire, but we were recently infiltrated by one of these agents, whose name is not important. However, he told us of the Inotii Vorkatos, the guise these murderous men and women had assumed, and their base in Alinor."