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The Origins of Mundus


Started by Yatur gro-Ushul
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I was ready to post this story in its entirety a little while back. It's comprised of seven chapters, though it's currently undergoing a period of revision. For now though, this the first chapter. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thoughts? Opinions? Don't worry about distruping the flow, as I intend to release it all in an easy to read PDF once it's posted in its entirety. Thanks for reading.

I

Before all else was clear, there was a feeling of utter exhaustion. Blood began to flow once more to the mage’s primary organs and extremities, which prompted a severe sensation of pins and needles as his long dormant veins began to fill and they returned to their natural colour. He took excessive, heaping breaths; this was followed by atrocious hunger. His stomach churned out disgusting tones in search of sustenance. He should not have been alive, though at least his skin was no longer blotchy and pale and his hair would now begin to grow back. The mage attempted to open his eyes and was unsuccessful; his eyelids were crusted and seemed especially susceptible to the force of gravity. If he had not known better, he would have been afraid that he was still deceased, but corpses don’t feel hungry. He relished in the soft warmth of the candles that surrounded his body high up on the walls and as the mage gradually wrenched open his eyelids, he observed through the mist of blindness that they formed a perfect circle around the ancient table he laid upon.

It was the mage’s sinister surroundings which first caught his attention. He had awoken from his death within a cave with very little natural light to draw upon. The air was thin; it smelt moist, he could taste the damp. Besides the gentle drips of collected moisture and the flicker of candle embers, it was deathly quiet. It seemed as though the mage had been abandoned here, isolated in his apparent afterlife. He coughed horribly, as though he was drowning in a replenished supply of oxygen. His eyes rolled, he felt horrible. Still, he rallied the little strength he had to sit up and achingly dipped his bare feet onto the chilled stone floor. The mage thought back to the walking corpses he had encountered in his travels across the northern regions of the continent; they had moved as he did, though seemingly devoid of thought and free expression. He hoped he did not come into contact with a living person, lest he had developed a similar murderous instinct.

While his body was not yet strong enough to support his weight, he attempted to reach for light so that he might explore. Sadly, he found himself unable to reach the candles high up around him and was condemned to darkness anywhere but the table on which he had awoken. He fell to his knees and crawled with his hands outstretched; his elbows provided motion. It had taken him a long time to work up the courage to leave the light, but he convinced himself that he had no other choice. Were it not for the robes he was dressed in, he would surely have perished in the abominable cold. His spectacles misted up from his deep breaths; the condensation from his lungs seeped into the air and hung like small clouds, though there was not a single silver lining amongst them. He crawled and searched for an exit, or something to fill his aching stomach and grabbed at anything his hands could reach. For the most part, he simply took hold of large stones, or discarded pieces of wood, until he held onto something that resembled a human hand. He felt a surge of adrenaline as he touched it; his hand jolted backwards to safety and his heart raced in fear. His breaths were heavier and more frequent as all the evolutionary traits for survival began to kick in. He was frightened and alone.

A few moments passed and it seemed like the hand hadn’t reacted to his presence, and so the mage reached out for it again. It had fingers, and it was connected to an arm. There were legs, clothes, a head, hair and a ring on one finger. It was female. Rigor mortis had set in and he shuddered at the touch of her cold, still skin. She did not breath, or make a sound at all but the unforgettable stench of decomposition hadn’t yet begun. She hadn’t been dead long though there was nothing he could do at this point. He shook her body in relative desperation and although he knew this was no cure for death, he tried it anyway. He was willing to attempt anything to bring her back, to have at least someone else with him. To not be alone. Fearful of his dire circumstances, the smallest drops of tears formed beneath his eyes.

***

With time the mage began to feel strength in his body once more as hours passed in the darkness. He returned to the dank table where his short journey had begun and sought out the candle which had eluded him before. The joints in his knees clicked as he stood and paced slowly back to the table, his knuckles outstretched toward his prize. The wax was hot and it dripped onto his fingers; his skin hissed. With heavy, painful grunts of exasperation, weakness and starvation, the mage brought the candle through the dark to examine the body of his only companion. With each step, the soft glow of the candle arched upwards and around him. It was a joy for him to finally examine the cave’s geography outside of the small crevice where the table sat. His curiousity distracted him from the pain. The cave seemed unimaginably large; tunnels coiled in all directions. It seemed completely natural in composition and he found it impossible to judge just how far deep the cave descended, nor was there any indication that the surface was near.

Echoes wrapped around the mage’s footsteps as he plodded towards the corpse. He knelt by her body and raised the candle to her face. It had been drained of all life, though there was no blood and no sign of struggle. Her eyes were wide open and she stared into his abyss. Her face was scarred and mutilated, though still recognisable; he sobbed silently at the sight of her. This corpse had once meant a great deal to him. Sudden pangs of fear erupted in his stomach as he entertained the thought that he had been responsible for the death of his most significant other. He assumed they had been researching something of great potential together and whatever it was had cost him his wife.

***

Having prepared a breakfast of candle-roasted insects, the mage took the time while eating to study the cave further as the beetles crunched beneath his teeth and seeped down his throat. Along the walls were the notes the mage’s wife had etched into the stone, now illuminated by the candle light. It seemed as though she had resorted to the walls upon completing the leatherbound notebook the mage had found by her side. It was signed Evelona Woodcroft. Strangely, the mage could not see any evidence that he had been involved in the research and it was highly unlike him not to document everything. However, whilst the majority of Evelona’s note drew on the significance of the cave, others dealt with her frustration. It was within these pages that the mage discovered his own name: Mordyval Woodcroft. He became certain that he was responsible for what had occurred as he read further into Evelona’s notes and upon this realisation, his knees buckled and slammed to the ground with a wry thud; he brought his hands to his face in heartache. Fixated on the gravity of the situation he found himself in, Mordyval paced through the cave madly. He was incredibly disturbed by what he found amongst Evelona’s writing.

In the days before her notes abruptly ended, Evelona had been researching the forbidden magic of necromancy, though she referred to it as ‘reanimation’. Evelona’s last entry read: “Success.” Adjacent to where Mordyval had woken, there was a small machine which appeared to be magically infused with dark energy. Evelona’s notes indicated that this machine was essential in the ritual to bring a subject back to full health, though the chant to initiate the process had been muddied. It all seemed absurd. In all of Mordyval’s knowledge, necromancers had so far been content with simply bringing back the bones of their victims to use as skeleton warriors, yet many of the notes suggested Evelona had been seeking darker magic to bring a person back in full health, conscious and alive. He became incredibly concerned and disoriented by this news, then more so when he learned of the cost one must take to fulfill this wish: a living, willing participant was required and she would have to drain them of all life to feed the life of the subject. In this particular transaction, the subject was Mordyval and Evelona had given her life for him to live instead.

As Mordyval’s memory was jogged by Evelona’s notes, hideous thoughts intruded his mind as he believed that he should have been the one to die; he felt he deserved it. He knelt beside his beloved and caressed her auburn hair, his fingers felt comfortable on her face while he whispered to her with misty eyes. Perhaps, he thought, death was too simple a punishment for him. Mordyval clutched his wife’s body to his chest and thought back on how he had arrived at this dreadful situation.
This post was last modified: March 24th 2013, 06:02 PM by Yatur gro-Ushul
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Triskele
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This is very nicely written, I really enjoyed reading these pieces :D




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This is a pretty awesome story! The way it begins obscurely in a dark room under strange circumstances really draws the reader in. I was trying to guess what was going on in the early story; on the why and how. It didn't occur to me that he was deceased and raised with necromancy due to his very human nature to things like fear and loneliness.

But the way his revitalization was built up and revealed works well in this story! Looking forward to the next entry.


Character Profiles:
Endaros Ilmori - Buoyant Armiger
Sunrio - Aldmeri Justiciar

Taren Jucanis - Imperial Deserter (Used for The Black Shroud RP)
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Thankyou for taking the time to read the first chapter, Triskele and Horizon Seeker and for the positive comments!

II


Amongst Mordyval’s most fondest memories was the last time he and his wife sat down for dinner. His latest book was due to be published soon and he was in an excitable mood. As he looked back at this day, everything seemed to glow. The stone walls of his home seemed as though they were made of amber; the food was fit for a king and he felt like one, too. It was perfect. Honey roasted meat, slathered in creamy, homemade gravy; the finest wine that could be bought in Wayrest and a scrumptious sweetroll. The two Bretonians loved their food. Here, he had everything he could want. His adoring wife, an admirable house and the pride of a respected father. Amidst the clink of knives and forks as they hit the expensive ceramic plates and the gushing of wine, Mordyval queried his wife about their son’s studies.

“How about our son?”
“Your father’s been caring for him,” Evelona said, “he wants to be an archivist, like you. But Malyvern has other plans for him. Tell me, what d’you think of him taking a seat on the mage’s council someday?”
“Well if it’ll get them off my back, sure. I rather like the idea. You've been dealing with them yourself recently, haven’t you?”
“Just handling some dirty work for your father while you've been out writing about tribes. Regarding that, how about letting your wife be the first to read your new book this time?”
“Don’t be changing the subject, what’s he got you doing?” said Mordyval, “I don’t want you getting killed for the council.”
“It was nothing I couldn't handle, just a bunch of necromancers holed up in some cave.”
“Well I’m glad you’re alright. My expedition to the Orsimer camp went well, thanks for asking.”
“You never tell me anything about what you get up to, so why should I bother?”

Evelona peered over over at the manuscript tucked away in Mordyval’s bag, the title read The Origins of Mundus. She had asked to read it with both a tone of genuine curiousity and slight resentment that he had not allowed her to before.

“Well the good news is that this invisibility spell works wonders,” said Mordyval, “an army of transparent orcs really is frightening. Wasn’t a complete success though. I’m thinking I’ll change the title of the study to ‘the dastardly effect of sleep deprivation in orcs’. Instead of an invisible orc army, I’ve devised a suitable manner in which to dispose of an encampment of them very easily. I’m sure the traders will be interested in ways to clean up their routes.”

Mordyval had had a lot of fun with this latest expedition. True, he came back alone and by the skin of his teeth but as the cheese melted on his tongue, it almost seemed like those men hadn’t lost their lives so brutally and he chose to assume they were also with their wives, who were definitely not grieving the loss of their husbands.
“It seems that if an orc is invisible for a long period of time, the inability to sleep due to their eyelids being see-through caused considerable stress,” Mordyval said with his mouth full, ”imagine lying down after a hard days work of murdering peasants and eating cows or whatever those orcs do with their days, and then you close your eyes and nothing happens.”
“All those men you brought with you came back though, didn’t they?” said Evelona.
“Ah sure, they’re all safe.”
“You must be tired, do you know what’s good for that?”
“Eggs?” said Mordyval.
“That’s right, and we’d have some if you hadn’t taken all of our hens.”

Mordyval smiled and the two continued to eat in silence. What the mage didn’t tell his wife was that in reality, he had barely escaped the orc stronghold with his life.

***


Mordyval had spent the better part of a week hiring mercenaries to accompany him for an expedition into the Orsimer encampment. On the tails of his previous expedition, where a few men had died, he had attracted a large amount of controversy surrounding the validity of his studies and sought to prove the worth of his experiments. He was allowed to continue primarily because his research gave the traders of Wayrest a deep insight into the psychology behind the tribes of people whom often plagued them. The information he acquired was valuable in detailing what these people desired and Mordyval felt he was indirectly responsible for the surge in trade Wayrest had recently experienced.

Gaining access to an orc stronghold wasn’t an everyday occurrence and there were rumours abound that the expedition was simply a waste of time and that the dangers outweighed the gains; they might simply be killed at the gates. Some of the men had heard from friends of friends that many had died trying and used this unsuccessfully to barter with Mordyval to part with more of his gold. Still, they travelled for weeks until they arrived outside the gates of the Katyiayak stronghold with a bag of hens in tow to secure their entrance.

A ragged band of mercenaries had been gathered; five in total lead by a Redguard named Tauruk and all of them had been recruited from taverns. Some were battle-hardened, others not so much. They did not seem particularly loyal, though each of them had been enticed by the sums of money Mordyval offered them. However, Mordyval and his contingent were quickly refused entry without the good word of other Orsimer and were threatened with death if they did not turn back.
“This is pointless,” said Tauruk, “if they won’t let us in, then we will have travelled all this time for nothing.”
“It’s a terrible idea,” said another, ”making orcs invisible? I’m not sure this is worth it.”
“Pipe down,“ Mordyval said, “you won’t ever have to worry about eating again if we can do this.”

Mordyval began to shout over the stronghold gates and announced his name as though they should have heard of him. However, their offering of chickens was humbly ignored, until Tauruk stepped forward and asked the others to be quiet. He calmly explained what they planned to do and how it might benefit the Katyiayak in defeating their enemies. A few anxious moments passed and then, like magic, the stronghold gates opened and the chieftain appeared before them.

“Make one move out of line,” said the chieftain. He didn't need to continue, his intentions were clear. Mordyval gave the others a smug grin as he had achieved what they thought impossible.

***

On the eve of Mordyval’s last day spent at the Katyiayak stronghold after his week long study, the Orsimer responded well to the mage’s gift. The Katyiayak chieftain gladly announced to his stronghold that they would no longer be pushed around by the others and thanked their honoured guests; they ate a feast in celebration. Mordyval and his guards were pleased that his plan had gone better than any of them had expected and they slept well that night. Strangely, Mordyval hadn’t quite figured out how to make the Orsimer visible again; his spell had been far too potent, though his subjects did not seem to mind at all until the screams bellowed out from all around the camp.

Mordyval investigated the horrible sound as his guards were ripped apart limb by limb. First, the orcs tore their hands from their arms to disarm them, then their feet so that they could not escape. The mage cowered in a corner of the stronghold, as Tauruk was seemingly lifted into the air by nothing and reduced to a pulp of skin and bones. Something had gone terribly wrong. Mordyval shouted apologies to the stronghold’s chief and begged for his life, though he was too unbearably scared and the words would not come out; he hid within a wicker basket filled with the remains of the chickens he had brought. It was simply a stroke of great luck on Mordyval’s part that the orcs began to turn on each other. Their bloodbath was violent, loud and horrible, though the only sign that it had occurred was the blood scattered along the ground, which was seemingly unaffected by his spell. He couldn’t wait to write about it, it was all so fascinating. The clash of steel against steel, the howls of pain. These were very significant results.

After the last war cries died out and Mordyval was the last soul remaining in the camp, he fled home to be with his wife. Soon he would round up others and venture to the Ushul stronghold to revise his experiment. First, he thought, he might visit his mistress.
This post was last modified: March 24th 2013, 06:09 PM by Yatur gro-Ushul
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III


In time, the beetles and grubs that rested on the cave’s walls were not enough to fill the mage’s aching stomach and he spent a day searching for an escape from Evelona’s cave. The prospect of natural light alone was motivation enough and soon, he had mapped out the cave’s entire interior. Mordyval was conscious of the fact that he would have to return frequently to renew the spell which kept his wife suspended in ice. At last, he took his first steps outside; the sunlight very nearly blinded him as it stretched throughout the canopy of trees in front of him. It was impossible for him to judge how long it had been since he last saw the sun, though it could have been months.

Mordyval sought out all the things he would require to complete his work. Other than berries and vegetables, he also brought plants with him to improve the quality of oxygen inside the cave and chickens from a nearby farm. He would need to create some kind of mechanism to sustain the plants without sunlight and figured that developing a hobby in botany would keep his mind busy. An unfortunate side effect of his renewed life was that he had begun to decay and required living things to draw life from. He theorised that the chickens might provide him with his living, willing subject to bring Evelona back to life, save for the willing aspect which he would find a way around somehow. In subsequent trips, the mage sent out letters of recruitment for Redguard mercenaries to do his bidding with the remaining gold he found on Evelona’s corpse whilst he worked.

Evelona would not have been able to research dark magic within the city walls, or she would surely be cast out or sentenced to death and the mage continued her secrecy while he studied in the cave. It proved useful however, in that the mercenaries Mordyval had called for would have no trouble entering the cave as they might do within the walls of Wayrest and would also be far less willing to turn the mage over the guards there. Evelona’s frozen corpse was a gruesome introduction to Mordyval’s experiments for the trio of redguards who heeded the mage’s call. Obsessive calculations were scrawled across the stone walls of the cave, which would simply appear to be the work of an insane mage were you not in the possession of the machine Evelona had developed, as Mordyval was. A chicken clucked and prodded around Mordyval’s feet as he moved about the room. The mage had already begun to decipher the notes and had been writing them into his own notebook; he was halfway through when the mercenaries he hired arrived.

“Aha. Look at this,” said the mage, as the mercenaries approached.
“I assume you are Mordyval Woodcroft?” the first of the mercenaries said, who introduced himself as Hhal’ik, “took us awhile to find you down here. What are we looking at?”
“A chicken, surely you’ve seen one before,” Mordyval said, “I want one of you fine men to murder this chicken for me and I will pay you for this. That’s what you do, right?”
They had arrived as soon as they could, as per Mordyval’s request, though were perhaps not as concerned by his relative insanity as they should have been. Hhal’ik reached down to his calf and procured a gleaming, silver dagger from its hidden holster and moved toward the chicken.
“Yes, yes,” Mordyval said as the chicken’s throat was cut and it ceased to cluck, “and now we bring it back to life. It’s very simple, I’ll show you.”
This statement conjured up every available eyebrow in the room, though Mordyval seemed more than prepared to experiment on the magical machine his wife had developed. It had been damaged in the process which brought him back to the world of the living, though he was confident in the rough leather that held it together.
“Magicum aurelias positae residtuym,” said Mordyval; he almost played into the role of a mage too much. The machine began to shake violently and his notes lifted into the air as matter itself was transmogrified. The torches dimmed and the hairs on his arms stood up. After a brief flash and a small fizzle from the machine, the chicken stood alive and well.

“Except for the legs,” said Hhal’ik, “unless you wanted it to have bones for feet, of course.”
“Ah yes, right,” said Mordyval, “perhaps my dear wife had prepared this machine to be used on flesh rather than feather.” “I will need a fleshy body to experiment on. Bring me back a dead orc or something, I’m sure there’s a battlefield you can find one on, they’re always fighting.”
“Mr. Woodcroft,” Hhal’ik said, “I’m afraid you won’t hear from us again unless you have the payment you promised in your letter.”
“Oh, right,” said Mordyval, “take five of these coins for now and you get the rest when I get my fleshy orc body. Yes?” Mordyval was visibly annoyed and confused by the results and the mercenaries took their chance to leave the mage alone with his half-chicken. They had dropped by Mordyval’s cave on the way to their real work, where they would be paid considerably more than five coins to complete.

***


The moment the three redguards were out of earshot they took the opportunity to discuss what they had just seen. Treri, the youngest of the trio of mercenaries first glanced at the others and then said what had been on all their minds.
“He’s not all there, that one. Five coins? I couldn’t even buy breakfast with that.”
“You’re right,” said Eril, Hhal’ik’s younger brother, “but I saw his coin purse. He’ll pay up, whether or not he decides to.”
“I actually have a better plan. You saw that machine he used. Worth quite a bit, I imagine. We could even bring back Tauruk with it.”
“You mean half of Tauruk, right?”
“He’d still be twice the man you are.”
“Damn shame what happened to him,” said Hhal’ik, “he was a fine soldier.”
“Did you ever find out?” Eril said.
“Not the details, no, but he was in an orc stronghold for some reason.”
“Right, even better. Let’s show these orcs that they shouldn’t mess with the Bloodied Daggers. Who’s our contact?”
“Riionden said the Orc’s name was Nillk. Target’s a chieftain, but it’s good pay.”

Hhal'ik had been apprehensive to work with the Altmer prince, Riionden for a second time; while he promised great pay for his work, the targets were huge. It would be a week before the three mercenaries of the Bloodied Dagger met with their contact, though they were excited about the prospect of bagging two jobs in one. Mordyval required a dead orc and they were tasked with assassinating the chieftain to be of the Ushul stronghold, Jolihn, who was said to be a powerful warrior, though unsympathetic to the Aldmeri political goals with calls for war. There was a great amount of gold to be made and should Mordyval not pay up, they would just take his machine. Their plan seemed foolproof and they prepared to soak up the envy of all the Bloodied Dagger’s members.

“Great,” Treri said, “breakfast is on me.”
This post was last modified: March 25th 2013, 05:54 AM by Yatur gro-Ushul
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I like how shady intentions and mysterious activities unravel over the course of the writing. It creates quite a compelling story!

I also like how the new mercenaries have a connection to the past mercenary, but they're unaware of their new employer's hand in his death. It's like things go in full circle!


Character Profiles:
Endaros Ilmori - Buoyant Armiger
Sunrio - Aldmeri Justiciar

Taren Jucanis - Imperial Deserter (Used for The Black Shroud RP)
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Thank you Horizon, for continuing to read my work and offering your thoughts here and to the others in the library. You are an asset to the writers here at TESOF. I still sense that these chapters could be improved with time; I'm never completely happy with them and tend to continue editing even after I've posted. Hopefully when it is released as a PDF, I'll have finally worked it out to a standard I'm happy with.

IV


Jolihn, the great orc chieftain of the Ushul stronghold lay dead at the feet of the Bloodied Daggers, their work was complete and it was time for them to collect their prize. Nillk had held up his end of the bargain in allowing the three redguards entry into the stronghold. In return, his brother was defeated and he was free to claim the title of Chieftain himself. To add insult to injury, Jolihn’s pregnant wife was to be taken to the Altmer prince Riionden; both she and her unborn child would be set to work in the mines until their deaths.

Jolihn had been chief for but a few hours and only minutes before, the stronghold had been celebrating his victory over his father in single combat. With Nillk as chieftain, the calls for war against Riionden and the Altmer would end. The hearts of the three Bloodied Dagger mercenaries raced with excitement as they peered inside the bag of gold Nillk had handed to them. Jolihn's body was wrapped up and the redguards prepared to take his corpse to Mordyval.

***


A week had passed since the redguard mercenaries had last visited Mordyval’s cave. It was clear the mage had not washed, or slept much in that time and was stood in almost precisely the same spot as before. The orc body they had acquired was carried through and placed onto the table next to Mordyval’s machine. There were many more chickens dotted about the cave, though either Mordyval had assumed the mercenaries had failed, or he had simply grown too attached to the feathery animals. It was, after all, all he had for company. The skeleton chicken seemed happy enough and appeared to have become the alpha male of the pack. Mordyval used this result to deduce that the machine was capable of keeping its subjects alive indefinitely - certainly a powerful tool, though incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. Luckily, the mage considered himself to own the right hands, despite the looks of relative fear in the eyes of the battle-hardened mercenaries.

“Took us five days to drag this body to you, Mordyval,” said Hhal’ik, “I hope your payment is worth it this time.”
“Well that’s hardly my fault, is it?” said Mordyval, “surely you could have found a closer battlefield?”
“Well, this particular orc is a chieftain,” Treri said, “or was.” The redguards gave each other a sly look of approval of their earlier kill.
“Right, well, let’s not dally any further. I have made some excellent footwork on my research and I believe I simply need to alter the phrase used for conjuration.”

Jolihn’s body was rested on the table in the middle of the room, somewhat cosy for a corpse.
Although Mordyval recognised the tattoos on the orc’s body denoting his position as Chieftain of the Ushul stronghold, Jolihn had not been chief at the time he visited following his expedition to the Katyiayak, although the mage had no clear idea of how much time had passed since then. Still, the mercenaries had held up their side of the deal and he now had his fleshy body to experiment on. The mage flung his hands into the air theatrically, as though lightning shot from his fingertips and the ground almost thundered as he shouted the magical phrase. The air felt noticeably colder and the torches that lit the room went out. A soft light began to emanate from the orc; a chicken collapsed to its death as its life force was drained. With a small fizzle from the machine, a rumbling from the ground and a loud bang, Jolihn’s eyes opened.

“A success,” said Mordyval, noting the lack of skeleton parts, “indeed, all that was needed was a body of flesh and an alteration to the chant. Oh those worthless chickens, you were only good for company.”

The mercenaries had now witnessed the true power of the machine and with the correct phrase in which to make it work. They took this moment to draw for their swords with the intention of taking it for themselves. Sadly however, they were interrupted by the war cry of an orc chieftain who had laid eyes on his murderer’s faces.

Fear struck the hearts of the redguards as the orc leaped from the table with immense strength despite his death; his rotted skin shredded to the ground as he fired a quick and decisive fist into Hhal’ik’s face. There was a sharp crack as his skull was smashed inwards and his body fell to the ground. The thump of steel and leather meandered throughout the cave as he hit the floor with a thump.

Mordyval hastily sped through his notes to decipher what had gone wrong while the remaining two mercenaries moved into position. Now armed with Hhal’ik’s blade, the orc chieftain slashed and gutted Eril. The chieftain’s blade first plunged into the unfortunate man’s stomach, then it was twisted as the force of the orc’s two hands brought it upwards; he sliced the mercenary almost in half up to his neck and his intestines gushed to the floor in a bloody mess. Jolihn was covered in blade and arrow wounds from their attack on his home, though his muscles did not waver.

Treri managed to lay multiple blows and pierced the orc’s skin, although this seemed to only anger the orc further, who placed both hands upon the mercenary’s shoulders and tore them apart from his body decisively. Jolihn then calmly flung the severed arms to the floor and the body of the last mercenary fell; the entire room of the cave was covered in the severed pieces of the Bloodied Daggers.

Finally, Mordyval looked up from his notes as the murderous orc moved towards him. The mage conjured up a ball of fire and fired it squarely at Jolihn’s head, which in turn engulfed him in flames. Jolihn’s face melted slowly as his war cry diminished.
“Ah, this won’t do. It’s all over my notes,” Mordyval thought to himself.

The scattered bodies of the three mercenaries and Jolihn littered the floor around him. The chickens gave the mage a gentle cluck. Mordyval skimmed through his notes further, for he was sure he had discovered a second use for Evelona’s machine along the way. Still, he was excited by the success of his experiment. He simply needed to figure out a way to bring Evelona back without a murderous intention. As the mage shifted through his literature, he came across his last published work, 'The Origins of Mundus', which had caused him so much anguish. He thought back on how his father and the mage’s council had reacted to it and felt a deep shame for the damage he had caused.
This post was last modified: March 28th 2013, 08:07 AM by Yatur gro-Ushul
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Post #55156
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Dunmer
A gory ending to the Bloodied Daggers and the orc chieftan! It's pretty graphic, but that along with the story theme makes it interesting and with purpose. It's uncensored and gritty violence that works well with this story.

Contrasting Mordyval with part 1, he definitely appears more unhinged and obssessed now. Of course before his death he was rather callous, but there's a neat change from a frightened man in the dark to a selfish sorcerer practicing sinister arts. It has that "descent into madness" theme which is pretty cool!


Character Profiles:
Endaros Ilmori - Buoyant Armiger
Sunrio - Aldmeri Justiciar

Taren Jucanis - Imperial Deserter (Used for The Black Shroud RP)
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Post #60995
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Very cool story and excitingly anticipating the rest. The part where Jolihn twists the blade and slices the mercenary almost in half is truly kick ass, and you have a knack for explanitory details. Truly a good piece, keep up the good work!


Tyrvan Southpaw - a Nordic Skaal hunter
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