The necromancer still could not believe that Molag Bal had not accepted his sacrifice of the human known as Theodyne Robillard. He had prepared the ceremony properly. He had followed each step to the letter. Was Molag Bal displeased with him? He did not know. Nine days had passed since the rejected offering and he had still not disposed of the body yet. In fact, he did not plan to. Why should he? A strong body such as this would surely come in useful should he ever be in combat. If nothing else another specimen to experiment on. He traveled only at night but how could he not carrying around a body strapped to the back of his horse. Surely it would raise questions and then his dark secret would be uncovered. And it was not yet time for anyone to know his true self.
The necromancer, or more commonly known to the people of his homeland of Cyrodiil, Henry, was sure to have his revenge. All his life he had been ridiculed. Even as a child the other children would mock him and call him names. He could hear them teasing now, "Homely Henry" they would call him. It was not his fault his father had been murdered and his mother left to raise him on a waitress's salary. Most times they could not even get buy on the tips she earned and she was reduced to stealing food from the bar in which she worked. Eventually she was caught and thrown in jail leaving Henry to be homeless. And hence the name "Homely Henry". But he would have the last laugh.
As he grew he learned the ins and outs of his city. He learned how to navigate the sewers, he learned the hidden paths beyond the city walls. And eventually fell into a group of necromancers by chance when he was out foraging for food in the woods outside the city. It was a hot summer night, so hot the humid air almost choked him. He could still feel the sticky sweat on his skin. At the age of 12 he was more seasoned than most men having to fight and steal just to survive for the past 6 years. He happened across a camp fire with five mages, two women, two men, and an male Argonian. They were standing in a circle looking towards the stars and chanting in a language he could not understand, and he understood most. He watched from the bushes and eventually determined they were praying. "But why out in the woods in the middle of the night?" he thought to himself. He tried to creep closer to better hear them and stepped on a twig snapping it beneath his weight.
They had heard him.
"Come out now!" The Argonian hissed.
Scared, but even mroe scared of the thought of them coming to get him, he stepped into the small clearing. They began arguing amongst themselves about whether or not he was "The One" that they had asked to be sent to them. They finally agreed that he must be and they took him into their fold. He never again craved for food or drink. He always had a warm bed when it was cold. And he always had shelter from the elements of the weather.
They taught him everything they knew. They told him that he was "The Chosen One" sent to them by The Daedric Prince Molag Bal, Stealer of Souls. And they had taught him well. He looked behind him at the lifeless body of Theodyne strapped to the back of his horse and smiled to himself. "I shall have the last laugh." he whispered to himself.
Finally he had arrived home. To most it was nothing more than a cave, but for the past thirteen years, it was home. He untied Theodyne's body and began dragging him across the ground. He was far too heavy to carry, even without his armor. Which he decided to keep as well. He had no use for the armor and weapons, but he figured he could at least sell them for some coin. He drug Theodyne into the cave and laid his body at the foot of his bedroll. After retrieving the armor and weapons, he decided it was time for a well deserved meal and began to cook himself a hearty feast of deer meat and boiled mudcrab.
Back in Coldharbour, Theodyne had no concept of time. There was no sun or moon, he could have been there for years for all he knew. But he did not have the time to worry about how long he had been trapped. He only had time to do what was necessary to escape this wretched place. The stranger, who he had come to know as Marcus, had been tutoring Theodyne endlessly around the clock. He had started with the simple things by first creating a fire and teaching him how to manipulate the flame. And then teaching him how to create fire in the palms of his hands. He could create fire, ice, he could even shoot bolts of lightening from his fingertips. But after learning all there was to learn from Marcus on basic magic, it came time for him to learn the dark arts of Necromancy. Even the thought of using such a magic shamed Theodyne. He knew in his heart and mind that to do so was to dishonor his fallen brethren before him. But he also knew that he must escape this place. And if Necromancy was his only way out, then he would push forward and strengthen his resolve and do what must be done.
"Give me your hand." said Marcus.
Theodyne stretched out his hand to him. Marcus grabbed him by the wrist and with a dagger sliced open Theodyne's palm. Theyodne tried to pull back his arm but Marcus would not let go. Marcus then grasped the dagger by the blade and squeezed hard until his own blood began to drip down the blade. Marcus grabbed Theodyne's hand wound to wound. And in an instant it felt as though thousands of bolts of lightening were shooting through his body. His vision blurred and he was overcome with a white light so bright he could not see. And then visions began to pass through his mind. He could not make out at first what they were of but moments later he realized, Marcus was passing on all of his knowledge of magic to him. Necromancy, Destruction, Conjuration, everything he knew he was passing on to Theodyne.
"What...What just....happened?" he gasped.
"You now know everything that is needed to complete the task before you Theodyne." he said as a shot a fireball to the ground. Marcus gazed at Theodyne. "Now hold your hand over the fire and drip your blood to the ground." he instructed.
Hesitant but willing to do what was necessary, he held his hand over the fire palm down and watched as his blood dripped into the fire. The fire began to swirl high into the air and the flames began to turn a deep purple.
"Now, think of what it is you wish to have returned to you and you will see the way."
He closed his eyes and his mind was blank. He did not know how to picture a soul. He had never thought of what one might look like. So he imagined himself, walking in the land of his fathers before him. Then he opened his eyes and saw the purple fire rise ten feet into the air. The flame began shifting and swirling until it resembled a sort of round door way. On the other side he could see men in chains walking towards a large stone castle. But there was no one leading them. And then he saw himself. Bound in iron chains, his hair dirty and unkempt. His wrists and ankles bleeding from the shackles that were too small for his body. He turned to take one last look at Marcus but he was gone. No trace of him in sight. He then turned towards the fiery door and stepped through.
Once on the other side, the fire collapsed upon itself until it was nothing more than a small cloud of smoke which quickly dissipated into the air. He turned and saw himself again. It was strange to him to see himself, let alone see himself so beaten. It had almost seemed as if the Theodyne he was looking at had given up. He ran as fast as he could and then halted. He saw a guard. Only one guard. Why would only one man guard so many? It mattered not, he knew what he had to do and if only one man stood between him and his soul, it would only serve to make things that much easier. The guard was walking down the line beating and screaming at each prisoner he passed. Theodyne crept quietly as he approached him from behind. He noticed the sword around the guard's waist and made a grab for it. After taking the sword he raised his hand to strike the guard down, but as the guard turned, he froze. His eyes as wide as two suns, he slowly lowered his arm. The guard was his father.
"Put it down son." His father said to him sweetly. "It is okay now. It is over. You have succeeded." he said with a smile.
Theodyne's eyes filled with tears. Not because he was happy to be with his father. But because he knew that this was not his father, even though he looked to be. It couldn't be his father.
The guard stretched open his arms, "Come my son, embrace me as you used to. I have long awaited this moment in which I could see you and hold you again."
Theodyne approached slowly step by step, quietly sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks. As the Guard wrapped his arms around him, Theodyne plunged the sword into the guard's belly while letting out a cry. Theodyne took two steps back and fell to his knees and began sobbing like a child. It was the first time he cried as such since he buried his family years ago. The guard hobbled backwards grasping at the sword in his stomach and looked at Theodyne.
"Why my son? Why?" he choked.
"You are not my father." he sobbed.
As the guard collapsed lifeless on the ground, he turned to dust and was carried off with the wind, leaving behind a small sword in the dirt. Young Theodyne stood and walked to himself shackled in chains. He grabbed the chains in which bound his soul and within seconds the chains began to melt within his fiery grasp. As the chains melted and broke free, Theodyne was again overcome with bright flashes, so bright he was forced to shut his eyes. And when he opened them again, he could not see. But he could smell. It was the foul odor of fungus that filled his nostrils. And the taste of hot stale air that filled his lungs. He could not see, but he at least kenw where he was. He was in a cave.....