X
Night has turned into dawn and dawn has turned into morning when I realized we completely disregarded the College schedule during our experiments! Immediately notifying Marcus of this, packing my belongings hurriedly, he nodded in response and quickly freed the two horrible captives from their respective containments, driving them out of the cells and onto the frightful ladder in the cold, damp, upwards stretching tunnel that connected this tenebrous place with the outside world. Both prisoners escaped into the golden sun rays rising up behind the towering peaks of the frozen stone mountains of this frigid land.
Meanwhile, Marcus had learned of another secret entrance to the Midden, located in the Hall of Countenance just beneath the staircase. In making a surprisingly quick escape, Marcus led the way so that we soon found ourselves indeed in those living quarters we knew so well and spent so much of our time in, memories of various proportions rushing back.
The way he told me about the College and the scholars, what it was like when he showed me around the place, how he frantically scribbled down notes in his dark, black book and how Shelivah and I caught some alone time more often than not, her tender fingers touching mine, the soft, dark skin gently stroking my cheeks, her lips connecting to my own. Immediately, I was filled with the utmost regret and crushing guilt, thinking of her terrible fate as a half-rotten corpse roaming the snowy, misty landscape.
With no way of turning back from the terrible things we've done, we focused on the task at hand which contained being in time for the morning lectures. We got ourselves ready and went to the great hall, stepping into the grand cyclopean space of the College, when we were greeted by a wave of chaos.
Mages and scholars were fleeing to either side, robed figures fumbling with books, maps and magical equipment, fervently discussing what happened. Apparently, kidnapping a seasoned destruction mage and teacher hasn't gone unnoticed since everyone on the premises was in prodigious unrest and, during the Magistrate's investigations, it turned out an adept illusionist had gone missing as well. An illusionist I, to my consternation, knew all too well. The prospect of not being able to tell of her fate only deepened my frustration.
The Archmage stood in the center of the great hall, silenced the commotion around him and proclaimed that no lessons would take place and that any mages, wizards or witches still in training, pertaining to those of adept rank or lower, weren't required to aid in the ensuing operations. All other mages, scholars and teachers, including himself, were to meet within the Archmage's quarters to form search parties and discuss strategies for clearing up of the recent events.
Me and Marcus were thusly not required to partake in the events the Magistrate would take care of and had, much to the relief for our tired bodies and mangled minds, the entire day off although the more experienced mages told us to stay on our guard since the kidnapper might still be around. Marcus couldn't contain a dreadful snicker going to our living quarters in a somewhat carefully delayed response to that remark, out of the scholar's hearing distance.
We went back to the Hall of Countenance where Marcus immediately grabbed his black book of unspoken terrors, resuming his frantic scribbling thereby documenting the knowledge gained during this night's lurid events, now contained within those dry pages. I, on the other hand, prepared myself to get a long, well-deserved couple hours of relaxing sleep. While dozing off I faintly noticed Marcus' distant whispers accompanied by his quill scratching on the surface of the tome's pages. But after a short while, I could stay awake no longer, my eyes, as if made from lead, involuntarily closing notwithstanding the precarious situation at the College, for they have been searching for us no doubt without knowing it. And even though I was appalled and disastrously shaken, my absolutely fatigued self was quickly drifting off into the soft realms of sound sleep. The last thing I fancied hearing Marcus saying in an ever more muffled voice before sleep's tender embrace was: "The poison, the right mixture...".
On the same day in the afternoon I awoke gently from a refreshingly dreamless sleep, turning my head around with curiosity whereby I listened closely for suspicious knocks or unhallowed steps but found not only the immediate area vacant. The only thing I heard were hastened footsteps in the distance, most likely from the aroused mages on their witch hunt for whomever kidnapped the two who were proclaimed missing. By surveying the room I noticed a severe lack of Marcus and his book. I breathed in deep in hopes of him leaving the College behind, never to return again, I, free at last to continue my life at the College in relative peace. The relief, however, proved to be short lived, much to my despair. I discovered a hastily written note on the bed next to me. It read:
"Am out getting crucial supplies for final experiment. Expect me in few days. - Marcus"
My dreams of freedom from the parasitic curse of necromancy had been shattered for the time being, but at least I could rest and collect myself for a few days. However the notion of him referring to what was to take place as the 'final experiment' greatly uplifted my spirits. The promise of ending this horrific correspondence was something I yearned for all too much. Had I known, though, what kind of experiment Marcus was planning on conducting, I'd've fled. Far, far away. Maybe taking the next ferry to Solstheim or perhaps travel southwest to the Sumerset Isles. Anywhere. Anywhere but in Skyrim. For I soon would bear witness to the creation and awakening of an odious adversary to the premise of life itself, mortal or divine.
The next few days without Marcus appeared to be blissfully uneventful and, upon inquiries pertaining to his whereabouts and if I knew anything about his sudden disappearance, he evidently being a prime suspect in the matter when he left, I shrugged off the questions directed at me, explaining to those inquisitive that I knew not whence he went. And in truth, I didn't know WHERE he has gone, only THAT he vanished, so technically, I wasn't lying, although I did everything in my power to conceal even the remotest hints at any deeper cooperation with him for fear I might get persecuted. So I never disclosed any information relating to Marcus to my fellow mages and scholars. As long as I could be in any way linked to him, I had to keep everything firmly under lock and key. What dire misjudgement this was! How naïve of me to think this could have had a less execrable end. In trying to shield myself from any harm that might befall me on accounts of my involvement with this loathsome fiend of a man, I completely, utterly disregarded the possibility for absolution then.
Perhaps, had I spoken, had I just lifted the curtains, I could have stopped this repugnant creature known as Marcus. Acquittal is often attained by those who confess. Even more so if their misdeeds were at least in part involuntary. I had been pressured into submission but this very fact I could have maybe turned in my favor. Alas, this cogitation crossed me not when I sought to disconnect myself from the dreaded necromancer.
While I grimly waited for Marcus' eventual return, I tried using restoration magic on myself to gradually calm my body and mind, healing my soul slowly but surely. These techniques are widely unknown as I would later find out. For healers, more often than not, appear to focus on bodily injury rather than a chafed spirit. But my inner workings had been so excoriated that I resorted to learning and developing this underappreciated sub-school of restoration.
Much to my surprise it worked well enough so that one day prior to his advent I resolved to kill Marcus in cold blood. My sense of justice and righteousness now properly restored as a result of his absence.
After all the things he's done, I just could not let him live. The two of us, palpably gone mad in our pursuits, committed unspeakable iniquities and Marcus' own madness never seemed to fade. Not a faint glimmer of hope, conscience or even empathic life could be seen in his eyes. Not a hint of humanity left to his contorted anima. So for all that was good in the world, I needed to destroy this source of dæmoniac evil in our midst. I simply had to.
XI
On a murky, clouded, sunless loredas on the 11th of Sun's Dusk, 4E138, as the year was drawing to a close, the birds retreating into their nests in the invisible morning sun, I awoke to a strange dream from that night. Within said dream, I found myself situated in what I assumed to be a dimly lit cavern, cold and wet, an icy cave of great depth and mysteriousness. I fancied screams emitting from a tenebrous tunnel that lay just ahead.
Observing myself advancing into the shadowy mound in the transcendent cliff walls around me, I caught myself running through it at great speed, leaving tracks on the hard, coarse snow, bits of ice and frozen soil sent flying in my wake. A strange light loomed forebodingly ahead of me, an alien force preventing passage to reach the accursed radiance a few steps short before I witnessed as my face distorted in sheer horror upon attempted ingress.
Before my ability to conjure up a terrified scream I awoke, drenched in cold sweat on hot skin, my heart pounding in a frenzy, as fast as a steed could run. There was a knock on the door.
My hands shaking in fear, feverish drippings running from my face in a stream of repellent liquid, I carefully lifted the soaked blanket, my feet floating about as I prepared to stand upright again.
The bodily response to such nightmarish vistas hampered my efforts to approach the door, limping from terror as I was, but eventually I managed. In grabbing the doorknob, I turned it gently, moistening its metal with my clutching fingers. It slid open and to my relief I spied a courier through the slit giving me reason to open the door further to reveal the man's full appearance. He glanced at me inquisitively, confused in respect to my sleep-deprived and battered appearance. Hesitatingly the now somewhat nervous looking man handed me a bloodied note, addressed to me, relief turning into horror as soon as I asked who the sender was, the reply paralyzing me for a moment.
Marcus.
I thanked the courier, awarding him a greater than is customary amount of septims for his troubles at which he marvelled, and waved him goodbye. After all, I resolved, this might just have been the last ever goodbye I should give to anyone.
Carefully unfolding the small piece of paper, it read thusly:
"Meet me in the Midden Dark for the final experiment. Follow me one last time, as you have done so many times before. A new era is about to begin. - Marcus"
Breathing heavily, I lost grip of the small note causing it to slowly float to the floor, landing with a very faint noise, barely audible but to me, the only noise that existed at the moment, as I felt how time around me froze in that instant. The blood quickened, in- and exhaling with great difficulty, as I prepared myself for the arduous journey ahead by grabbing some provisions from my personal stash as well as my prized staff and my steel dagger, arming myself for a fight I was unsure of winning nevertheless with unprecedented determination to stop whatever madness Marcus was intent on bringing about us all.
With all the courage I could muster and unheard of resolve, I donned my robe, yielding both my staff and dagger, venturing forth one last time into these abhorrent depths of madness. As my red, liquid life force fled from the arteries and veins and blood vessels it was contained in, I swiftly took to using the shortcut beneath the stairs in the Hall of Countenance, hastily opening up the hatch, descending the ladder leading to the Midden in rapid fashion, careful to not lose any time for I knew that each second wasted was one more second in which doubts could deter me from my quest. One more second this blight was allowed continued existence on a plane he shall not dwell anymore, for he despises it with unrelenting hatred I was certain.
I made my way through the Midden's cyclopean vaults and corridors, this time more carefully treading, even though in haste, as to not slip again, arriving at the central chamber, our hub we used to conduct our hideous experiments in. But everything was in striking disorder as soon as I observed the chaotic scenery laid out before me.
For one, the altar was completely missing from the room, only scratch marks on the floor telling of its existence, whereby its transportation seemed to knock over various candles strewn about, now leaking their hot wax into the tiniest fractals of the anthracite brickwork beneath my feet. Its absence caused a gaping hole in the center of operations Marcus heretofore so meticulously created. The alchemy lab was completely devoid of ingredients on the other hand, save for some few leftover dried herbs and trampled-on flowers, with broken apparatus on the ground beside it. Every remaining vial and retort shattered to sharp pieces of glass reflecting the leftover light from some of the still burning candles casting bent shadows on the moist walls through the humid air and the greenish mist that had returned in absence of most of the waxen light sources. This lab wasn't any longer in working order I concluded.
The enchanting table beside it was missing as well, nowhere to be found, all resources hitherto acquired seemingly vanished to some, as I inferred, darker place that ran even deeper than this. The quaint library he established with utmost care prior I found also in complete and utter disrepair, broken and robbed of the most tenebrious of tomes, books, scrolls and scriptures, with partly tattered volumes lying about, hither and thither pages soaked with whatever opaque fluid protruded from the stones. In this instant, one of the feebly restored bookshelves gave in with an echoing wooden moan before creakingly crashing in on itself. I spotted heat marks and singed surfaces everywhere around the yawning emptiness that used to be our base of hidden, dark operations.
And lastly, the two makeshift cages, now curiously vacant as opposed to be inhabited by two corpses, have fallen in on themselves, too. Just what had this raving madman done? What ghastly, final experiment did he prepare for in his raging insanity? Not stalling for much longer, I soon discovered the partly hidden entrance to the abysses of the Midden Dark. As determined as I was, such was the anxiety that crept up my spine, gnawing at the back of my mind.
Even now I find it hard to remember what exactly happened, as my mind lapses and reels at the unspeakableness of it all.
After my descent into the damp cavernous Midden Dark, I inadvertently had a familiar, yet alien feel towards this cold, dank place. I shifted through the icy vapours and stampeded across the hard, coarse snow when I caught myself asking this one question: Have I been here before?
Shrugging off my importuning premonition I pressed forward with fragile courage, bent on sending this evil to the planes of Oblivion. Soon I was traversing a frozen bridge of snow and stone, overhung by an astral radiance protruding magically from the ceiling somewhere, headed towards a dark tunnel whence I could discern queer chantings from in a language I didn't recognize.
Just as I figured out that the voice I fancied hearing in the distance to be Marcus' it suddenly dawned on me with supernatural clarity: My dream! This is where I was! The Midden Dark! I involuntarily asked myself what horror lay behind this black void of madness in these murkiest of depths of the College that took to frightening me so in my sleep. What abominable fate was lying in wait for me to stumble upon in the shadows, beyond all worldly adversities, a thing so absurdly terrible as to melt my brain in fear?
Notwithstanding these questions I proceeded, more quickly now, charging with growing impatience and pressure. I resolved I had nothing to lose so I might as well barge in, crashing whatever hideousness would unfold down there. I ran for a while, panting and sweating in exhaustion, when the strange light from my dream came into view at the end of the mound I so bravely set foot in. I stopped, catching my breath all the while listening in worry to these ghostly whispers and incantations I don't dare recite here, for there was a prehensile caliginosity to the sentences uttered.
It wasn't too late to turn back, I thought. I was still able to leave, free to go, to make a living elsewhere. Undisturbed from these cogitations I told myself what I'm here for - to settle the matter with this necromancer, ensuring either his demise or my own. Bracing myself for whatever lay beyond the weird white void that materialized itself to block my vision, I stepped through in grueling anticipation.
I stopped at once in utter disbelief after having transcended the opalescent mist. Before my eyes revealed itself a gargantuan chamber of prodigiously sized cavernous terrain, bathed in a dark, damp, putrid luminosity, the source of which being Marcus himself. Every attempt of me trying to convey this weird anti-colour to you would be in vain, an indescribable not-light spilling from his body. It appeared that Marcus had relocated the altar, the lectern, the enchanting table and his book being placed on the lectern to the center of this humongous space.
The black tome of his lay opened on the lectern, Marcus himself being situated standing on the partly dilapidated altar no doubt damaged by crude means of transportation. Beside him, to either side, floated the lifeless bodies, now mere dead flesh, of the red-clad mage and Shelivah's corpse, both of which once belonged to their souls. Marcus held in his hands two items of grievous portent. In his right, a wooden staff fashioned from a dark tree, stained with dried blood, on its tip was mounted the dubious black soul gem of terrifying power. In his left, he held a vial of opaque, steaming black liquid, thick with a variety of contents within, I presumed.
What unsettled me the most, however, was the fact that his appearance worsened into a twisted husk of the man he used to be. Evidently he had had discarded his College robe in favour of a black hooded garb that was already stained with foulness and decay, his eyes bulging and bloodshot, deep eye sockets of purple hue accentuating the almost comically famished face, even more pallid than I had previously witnessed.
He looked ravenous and sick, battered and broken far beyond repair. I had to despatch him at once and burn his godforsaken remnants afterwards. It was the only way.
I slowly approached him, step by step, when he noticed me and a contorted grin formed on his destable face, ripping his lips open to pour out quaint streams of what I assumed to be blood into his coarse, unkempt beard, coagulating at the air around it. Lifting his voice he, in a slurred and somewhat hard to decipher speech, relayed to me his plan on ascending to immortality, appointing me as his witness, praising my hitherto infallible servitude and invaluable help in his pursuits.
He went on to say he discovered a way to prolong his life indefinitely, far beyond what his twisted soul gem could achieve of its own, a ritual whereby his body would remain intact forever, giving him all the time in the world to research what must be uncovered in order to bring back the dead from all planes of existence. The key, he explained, was the vial with thick fluid he held, stating that its alchemical components were infused with restorational and necromantic properties. At last, he rambled on in his absent minded monologue, he would need two empty vessels for the soul transfusion during his ascension.
I didn't know what all this meant but I was convinced that I had to stop this raving madman from bringing never ending peril to this world. As for what transpired thusly I'll do my best to recall what happened, for it is a hazy memory, as if from a fever dream, a delirious mirage elaborately crafted to fool me.
I charged towards him, dagger in hand, the tip prepared to drive into his foul meat, ready to end his life before he made himself live forever, completely ignorant to the fact that he, at any time, could have launched a deathly Soul Siphon at me, potentially trapping me or even damning my existence to the dreaded soul cairn. Quick to advance, I observed how he ingested whatever vile liquid he prepared for himself, jumping now more than running over the frigid ground, sending small bits of debris flying in all directions as I went. Almost in reach, his staff began to emit a sinister black radiance, as if it was the opposite of light, casting gruesome shadows in its wake. It was this unlight which upset me the most, eating up the entire cavern, tinting it in impenetrable darkness.
I ran ever faster, my lungs already burning in exhaustion by my employment of such heavy breathing, my robe damp with cold sweat when my muscles grew weak and squeamish. In gathering my last bits of strength among the growing abyss that swallowed my surroundings, I raised my dagger with murderous intent. I jumped, time seemingly frozen, my feet floating in the air, my outstretched arm holding the dagger, its gleaming point very close to connecting with Marcus' heart.
But before the steel blade was able to penetrate his flesh and rend his skin, the tainted gloom transformed into a purple hue and an inexplicable force, a shockwave of evil energy and malicious power, threw me back, threw me crashing into the lectern causing his book to fall down onto the stained ice. In shoving my eyelids open with some difficulty post impact, catching a glimpse as to what this ritual contained by looking at his open book that lay right beside me, I gathered my consciousness again, realizing what Marcus was intent of doing.
By the gods! He was about to choose the path of unlife! Worse still, his methods and tools used would warp this unlife into something unnameable, far beyond to what lengths other necromancers go to. I lifted my gaze, paralyzing me in shock as it came to rest on Marcus. The unlight retracted from the rest of the cavern and flowed into his body, the soul gem glowing menacingly in the pure shadow of the ritual. His soul, held by the gem and alternating between it and the two floating bodies, at last released to conjoin with the solid black mists and the vapoury dark essences.
Shortly after, a palpable fear gripped my heart as I watched his eyes spring back to life, his body twisting and warping at the same time, his flesh bending, bones creaking, his blood running black from his orifices and pores, the torso crashing and cracking in madness and his face, horribly disfigured, eyes melting, skin drying, his whole body being sapped of the last vestiges of mortal life by a force more sinister than even Sithis knows.
A hideous abomination! A horror of unspeakable voids! A black, oozing, screeching lich was born, a being of the darkest recesses of the otherworldly planes beyond the veil I cannot stand my ground against. As if in delirious fever, I fervently pushed my broken body and mind past their respective limits and in a last effort to hamper this monstrosities' unholy ambitions I grabbed that damnable final page of this forbidden ritual and ripped it from the book in an act of resolute defiance. With newfound strength and quick blood running through my veins I lifted myself up from all fours two stand on my feet again, fleeing from these catacombs of terror.
My flight was accompanied by ghastly howls and deathly screeches as my heart raced, my consciousness about to fail me just as I reached the entrance to the upper Midden, a creeping darkness following my every step. Dazed and reeling, I was about to give in to my utter exhaustion, sort of catching my breath ascending the ladder, the tenebrous force seeping from the walls in the quarry around me.
With hasty motions and squeamish walking, I stumbled around the Midden, passing by the central chamber that was so hideously destroyed, making my way to the exit as fast as I possibly could. Chased by impossible things I managed to enter the Hall of Countenance yet again but knew there was no time for any rest. I fled the College premises, running over a couple of mages and witches in the process, thereby crashing into the College's gate with the last bit of my strength, shoving it open with humongous difficulty and descending down the slippery, gust-stricken path of the frozen bridge, at the end of which I was finally brought down to my knees.
My mind lapsed and I had trouble in keeping my consciousness afloat to at least make it to the inn or some other enclosed space when I made the mistake of turning around. In bewilderment I beheld a scenery of primordial damnation. In looking up at the College, I spied a black pillar of this heinous unlight form in its courtyard.
From it protruded myriads of tentacle-like appendages appearing to be made from pure, solid night, several meters in length, gripping and throwing and flailing around all those who so curiously followed me on the way out of the building with preternatural might and unrelenting force. Emerging from the pillar of unlight was the figure that used to be Marcus, now obfuscated by grim vapours and black mists.
He held up his staff with the brooding gem in his detestable countenance before uttering a phrase in an alien language I will not disclose.
After which a prehensile, antediluvian entity rose, clad in darkness and shrouded by astral dusts, looming menacingly about the horizon as my vision went dark and I was embraced by merciful oblivion.
I awoke in the Inn located in Winterhold, the innkeeper telling me I had been found lifeless in the snow right after whatever terror emerged from the College grounds. They told me it faded right after wreaking havoc on the courtyard, nowhere to be seen since. They asked me if I was okay and, upon my positive reply, remarked that for the bed and breakfast I had nothing to pay. That same day, I set out in returning to my homestead, staying as far away from Winterhold, and the blasted ground that was the College, as possible.
Now I am here, so many years later. I've never returned to that place, living my life elsewhere. Dear gods, I request absolution from my terrible crimes, even more so now that I've failed in averting the doom this evil will surely bring about. I've never forgotten about Marcus, but I haven't seen him since. The only thing I retain of his possessions to this very day is that last and final page I now hold in my hands. I've also never forgotten about that day, this catastrophic event. And never did I forget about Shelivah, whose fate I am responsible for.
Over the years, people have turned this story into legend, and legend faded into the mists of time. Today, nobody is talking about it anymore. I pray to the Divines the page may never be found, for the book has been, lacking this page. It has now become known amongst practitioners of the black arts as the "Black Book of Unlight", never to be made whole lest more sinister powers from the darkest depths of the Aurbis and beyond will present themselves.
There is talk of dragons now, of vampire clans threatening to destroy peace, werewolves running about, hunting in the woods. The world has gone mad, I say, but let me tell you this:
There are darker things than Daedra in this world, bleaker things than death and in their madness, they shall never unfold to their true power. A might more ancient than the endless void itself, lying in wait to turn the tide and bring exitus to Mundus.
It shall never be known, it shall never be read; the last page of the Black Book of Unlight.
Replies