Meeting of the Powerful - Origins - Chapter 2: Adella Caelius

• Posted by Morthevin May 9, 2014 - 822 views

  Fredas, 16th of Second Seed, 4E 202

  I've just arrived in Riften, and it's rather cold. A priest of Mara is expecting me here, but the Temple seems empty. I'll just let myself in. I'm sure he won't mind. Forgiveness is in his nature... I hope.

  I'd placed my belongings on a bench, and went of exploring Riften. Naturally, the first place I went was the inn. It's called the Bee and the Barb, as I understand it, and inside, I found the priest. He was preaching to the intoxicated and mercenaries, and none of them seemed to be listening. This was to be expected.

  An Argonian approached him, and they broke into conversation. I'm couldn't make out their speech over the laughter and the slamming of tankards. After some strange vow, the priest approached me and spoke in a kindly voice, “Ah. You must be the new priestess. The one from Cyrodiil?”

  I stood dazed, and not paying attention before shaking my head and replying, “Yes. I'm Adella.”

  “And?”

  “What?”

  “Anything you want to tell me about yourself?”

  “Not really, no...”

  “Well, then. Let's get back to the Temple, and I'll show you to your quarters.”

  And then, as he said, we returned to the Temple. He led me to a small room, lit with a few candles, and leaving some dark patches in the corners. He gestured to a bed, and a small table beside it. “That is where you will be sleeping, and that is where you'll be keeping your belongings. There's a wardrobe over there for you to store any clothing, and food shall be provided by the Temple. Life here is very simplistic, and that's the beauty of it. As this is a place of love, no weapons are to be handled within the confines of the building, and there are to be no outbreaks of violence. There is no set curfew, but you must be tired, and I recommend getting some sleep now. I'll have a task for you in the morning.”

  And with this, he left me to my room, to my belongings, and to myself. I'm not at all hungry, so I'll just get to sleep.

  Loredas, 17th of Second Seed, 4E 202

  Skyrim mornings are not the most pleasant to wake to. Despite the cold, however, it feels somewhat refreshing. I shuffled into the next room, and was greeted by Maramal, and some other priests. They sat around a table, chatting away. One priestess, a Breton with brown hair and matching eyes, actually noticed me, and beckoned for me to sit beside her. I sat. It was Maramal now speaking, uninterrupted, “Adella, we have a new task for you. It shouldn't be anything you can't handle.”

  I remained silent. He spoke once more, “We need you to go to Dragon's Bridge, and unite a lost couple. It is Mara's will that these two be joined in matrimony, and we require you to bring them together. Travel there via Solitude. We hope to hear from you soon.”

  I left Riften immediately, and have decided to travel to Solitude in a cart. Unfortunately, the carriages in Skyrim will only take passengers to Hold Capitals, and not any of the smaller settlements.

  Morndas, 19th of Second Seed, 4E 202

  Solitude is the Imperial capital in Skyrim, and their main hub in this war that I've been hearing so much of. On the way there, sleep was a rare luxury, as most of the time, the carriage was rolling over abrupt rocks sticking out of the ground, or the seats were just so very uncomfortable.

  Solitude was nice, but I doubt that there's anything much for me there, so I simply left for Dragon's Bridge to carry out my duty to Mara. On the way, I came to a mountain, with a statue standing high and mighty upon the summit. I deduced that the couple probably wasn't leaving Skyrim any time soon, so I decided to take a quick look. The doors were open, but something wasn't right about that. They looked forced open. Forced open by powerful magic.

  Despite my mission, curiosity got the better of me. As I stepped down the dark corridors, I saw that they were littered with the corpses of Stormcloak and Imperial alike. This sent a chill down my spine.

  There was a thick air of darkness, and everything here seemed unnatural. It was the voice telling to me to turn around and go back that bothered me the most, though. This place reeked of death and stank of evil, compelling every part of my body to abandon this pointless expedition, and return the the serenity of a life without everything that this place was. Yet, I walked on.

  Every door was open, and it was all suspicious, like somebody was waiting to jump out at me.

  Eventually, I came to a long chamber, with a torn carpet paving the narrow way to the steps, and then to the pedestal at the top. I heard footsteps, and now, blocking it from view, stood a Breton, with orange hair plastered to the back of his neck. Hanging from his chin, a beard that swayed as he moved. He wore a robe with the mark of the necromancer upon it. He remained still, and watched me, like a sabre cat eyes its prey. He smiled a sick smile, then spoke with a cold voice, comparable to a hiss, “I see you've stumbled upon... my laboratory of sorts.”

  I remained silent. He took this as an opportunity to speak once more, “Not one for words, woman?”

  Following his ingenious statement, he gathered cold magic in palm, the storm swelling in his hand as he focused it into a torrent of snow. He loosed it upon me, and I dived. I then summoned lightning to my hand, concentrated it, and channelled it through my fingers, unleashing a stream of stormy power upon my foe. It struck, and he screamed in agony, his flesh burning under the sheer power of my attack. My magicka pool ran dry, and with it, the stream stopped. His cry ended, and in its place, a soft growl. He was angry. The necromancer drew ice to his hand and flung it towards me, the power manifesting in the form of spikes. The tips of the spears glowed in the candlelight.

  I raised a protective ward, and the spikes shattered on impact. The necromancer's flesh was slightly red as a result of my previous attack. I hurled more lightning at him, this time in the form of quick bolts, which he sidestepped with ease. He raised him arms, and the air turned cold around me, and black figures emerged, with horrible red eyes. They had no legs, and were constantly held in a dark embrace. They looked like they were once soldiers, and had weapons of steel, some fashioned in an Imperial design.

  I moved backwards cautiously, striking the emerging undead with lightning as they approached, swords ready to draw blood. Their horrible red eyes peered into my own as I backed, careful not to hit the wall.

  I retreated to a chamber, and continued to defend from the oncoming torrent of shades. They were unrelenting in their attack, not faltering, and with each fallen spirits, another appeared down the hall from which they were approaching. I then gathered lightning in my hand, focused, and unleashed it through my fingers in a stream. The shades dropped as they were hit, and when they were far enough, I closed and sealed the doors.

  As I ran back the way I came, shadows materialised in certain areas, forming more undead. The exit was in view, light bleeding through the gap in the half-closed door. I sped my pace, hope swelling in my heart. Then, through the door, stepped a man, large in stature, and with blond, flowing hair. A tightly cropped beard hung from his chin. He donned a set of ornately carved armour, with symbols of the Nordic design carved into it. From his waist, hung a simple blade that seemed to glow and crackle as he moved. He had eyes of the deepest brown.

  He beckoned for me to step behind him, and when I did, he sprang forward. He jumped into the shades, cutting two of them down with a single swing of his sword. He turned, and struck down another, ignoring the two that went down in flames. Without thinking, he spun, and cleaved downwards at the last, igniting it.

  He stepped up to me, and smiled.