When I finally managed to force my eyes open, I was fairly certain I was dead - and in the worst kind of purgatory known to mankind.
My surroundings were almost too intricately macabre and disturbed to put into words, even if they weren't constantly shifting and altering themselves. It was quite literally the stuff of nightmares - one moment I was atop a pile of festering, bloated corpses in various states of decay, miscellaneous fluids staining my boots as I initially panicked and tried to move, only to discover the carnage stretched as far as my eyes could see, nearly choking on the thick, inescapable stench of the cadavers. I stumbled, wading through the bodies almost blindly, my eyes watering as I attempted to ascertain some sense of direction - but the blood red, overcast sky gave me no indicators of whether this place had any end to it. As I attempted to look at the bodies, I realized that some were clothed in the armor of imperial legionnaires, while others were clothed in what appeared to be standard - issue armor. How is this possible? There can't be dead people in the afterlife, surely?
Then the next, a deafening crack assaulted my senses as the world flashed white, and I was teetering on a narrow precipice of deep grey stone, the next step I might have taken earlier now leading nowhere but into the inky, unwelcoming depths of the unknown. I sucked in a breath in surprise, limbs locking in fear as I tried my hardest to keep my balance. There was no place to go but down, but I was not in the mood for tempting fate, especially as I was painfully aware I had no earthly idea what had just happened to me. A strong wind began to pick up, to my consternation, tearing at my dress and pushing me back, something I did my utmost to resist. Eventually, it overpowered me, and I was thrown back, falling freely into the dark-
Another flash of - was it lightning? - and I fell backwards into shallow water, water that smelled only slightly more pleasant than the battlefield I started out in once I'd surfaced, spluttering and coughing as the foul liquid burned my nose and mouth. I now found myself in a moonlit marsh, having landed in one of the stagnant pools of water that dotted the landscape. It was eerily quiet for the most part, which made the odd noises I heard every now and then from far off all the more concerning. To make matters even less pleasant, I was now soaked to the the bone and shivering, the dead, my drenched cloak and clothing doing little to protect me from the lingering chill in the air.
After being put through these situations, I'd come to the rather stunning conclusion that I was too aware of every detail of my surroundings to be dead. But the alternative was almost worse.
Julianos preserve me, I'm in the Dreamstride, aren't I? I realized, staring up into the cloud-riddled, moonlit sky as a feeling of hopelessness began to set upon at my already weakened resolve, And there's no telling if I'm going to be able to get out of here. How did I end up here, in the first place? It... it wasn't the Torpor, was it?
"You know, Vaermina has been incredibly patient with you, considering the circumstances." I started, shocked to hear an unfamiliar voice coming from out of my line of sight. "Most people don't get as many chances as she has given you, nor the same amount of preference."
I turned quickly, mouth opened slightly as I took in the appearance of the stranger who had now joined me in this hellscape. A strange woman stood alone at the edge of the pool I'd fallen into, her very presence seeming to make the air itself thrum with powerful energy. As she stepped from the shadows and the weak moonlight highlighted her features, I gathered from the milky pallor of her skin, her slight, willowy frame, and the rich, dark mahogany curls of her waist-length hair that she had to be of Breton heritage. However, that didn't explain her peculiar eyes - her irises were a striking lilac hue, and felt as if they were holding me in place with their intensity and command. The stranger's bowed, albeit thin, lips were tinted ebony, making her a darker and more unconventional sort of beauty. Her facial features were strong and severe, for the most part, though her rounded, softer nose and lack of defined cheekbones made her appear likely younger than she was. She did not seem much older than her mid-twenties at a first glance, but the look in her eyes and the way she held herself indicated that she had seen much more of life than that.
It appeared she came from money, or made her own fortune, as she chose to dress quite lavishly. She was sporting a luxurious one-shouldered, asymmetrically hemmed dress, seemingly spun from light silk and the color of liquefied amethysts that shimmered softly in the weak light. The fabric bunched at her waist due to being pinned with a curious piece of silver jewelry shaped in a vaguely serpentine - possibly even draconian - likeness, and it was practically dripping with red garnets and milky lilac chalcedony. Around her neck was a similarly gem encrusted wide silver collar, with jewels of varying value inlaid into it in a swirling, abstract pattern that was reminiscent of those that had been on the robes the cultists had worn. So she's with them, I theorized, my eyes narrowing suspiciously as I regarded the mysterious woman in silence. Or is this Vaermina in the flesh? Surely she wouldn't choose a mortal form just to interact with me - one that wasn't one of my friends, anyway...
"I do not doubt that you have many questions. I will endeavor to answer what I can," she continued, her voice smooth and thick as syrup, though it had a certain quality to it that made me feel I could not trust her. "My patron would have me attempt to help you acclimate to her greater plans as best I am able."
Oh, now they're trying subtlety? That's cute, I shot back internally, though I kept that thought to myself. "And who exactly are you?"
She laughed, the sound multi-toned and oddly musical. "I've been known by many names, dear. I suppose the one I prefer, and the one that might be most useful to you would be Rivanon Le Meur. It's really a shame, though. I did so hope that Mélisande would have at least mentioned me when she spoke with you!"
"She didn't - what?" I stuttered unintelligently. What's she bringing up my ancestor for? And how did she know-
"Although I suppose I should not fault the girl," the strange woman - Rivanon - continued, completely ignoring my outburst, "As her own mother - my daughter, of all people - did her best to see that all I had worked for to better the lives of my children, and my children's children, would be forgotten." Her tone grew bitter as she finished, a faraway look in her eyes.
"But... that means-"
"We are related, yes," she finished for me, a trace of a knowing smile on her face. "Before there was the sad excuse for a House known as the Abgrall family line, and before my own traitorous spawn married into the Leclairs, I made my own name - and the legacy from which my descendants would greatly benefit."
It was at this point I decided that, relative or not, I wasn't particularly fond of Rivanon Le Meur. Sure, House Abgrall barely had enough wealth to be considered a house, and was more a remnant of a past dynasty than a thriving political platform, but there was no need for her to be so callous about it. Oh, and the fact she appeared to be somewhat in control of where she appeared in the Dreamstride was pretty suspect, too.
"I have seen more in my years of life than what even the most talented, long-lived mer could dream of, and have lived to tell of it. I was not known by Le Meur at birth, but I made that name for myself, a name to be respected and feared, should any dare to get in my way, or that of my kin. Through my own might and work, I rose in standing and accumulated great power and knowledge, only with the slightest bit of assistance, becoming a sort of royal, even, to those who lived in Stormhaven. I came from nothing, a nonperson from the lowest, most destitute dregs of Wayrest, but I was not content to spend the rest of my life irrelevant and among filth."
"And, in that, I see a similarity between us, Helvia, my dear," she continued, her tone becoming much less authoritative and sharp. "You don't like the idea of dying unremembered, and I truly can empathize with that. You're a smart girl, and it seems that time has done little to dilute the raw magical prowess that runs in your veins that began with me, even despite the outside influence of Imperial blood. At your core, you're nearly as Breton as I am, and consequently I see you have almost as much potential as I had, perhaps just as much - if you were to work at it. And I can see in you the desire to make something of yourself. To accomplish something that allows you to make your mark on time, to never truly be effaced from Mundus for as long as our world has left.
"What I don't think you fully understand, however, is how my patron's involvement in our bloodline is what gave me - and by extension, you - our advantages in life. As unfortunate as it is, you don't get to be as influential as I am without some outside help - and the prince of nightmares stepped up to help me achieve my greatest dreams. She came to me one night, offering me the ability to make myself a place in the world, and I was glad to pay her price."
"And what exactly was this price?" I asked somewhat hesitantly, sure I would not like the answer I received.
"Hardly anything that set me back. As I am sure you have gathered by now, Vaermina thrives off of the memories and dreams of mortals. They are integral in the expansion of her realm, as well as its spreading over into Nirn. This has happened before, in the past, but never in a way that has benefited her. But I intend for that to change, as does she. The Forsworn, while barbaric and formerly associated with another prince, have been invaluable tools for bringing about the beginning of our merging of the two planes. Through their hatred of the Nords, they give us an easy way into an already politically unstable territory. Dawnstar was just the start - a test run, if you will, to measure the effectiveness of my patron's weaker acolytes. A test they quite obviously failed."
Gods help me - what sort of madness have I been ensnared in? Not only is Skyrim being torn apart by dragons and the ideals of its people, but now even daedra seek to rule it more directly. Sickening dread coiled tightly in my gut as she continued to speak.
"Though to be honest, she abandoned them quite some time ago, in favor of a different tactic - favoring individuals of great ability, and making them agents of her will. And when I pledged myself to the Lady, I pledged to her the lives of my descendants as well."
"You what?" My brother's descent into power-mad depravity is all because of a deal you made for your own personal gain? The Forsworn have been acting as mindless agents of Vaermina and have ruined the lives of many and ended more still, because of this? All this horrible, torturous shit I've been through over the past few months is because of you?? Up until then, I did not consider myself a violent person - but in that moment, all I could think of were the ways I wanted to utterly demolish this selfish, prideful Daedric puppet.
"I realize now that the way I phrased that might not be the most... appealing, but it is the truth of the matter. I always intended for my kin to hold positions of power, both in service to Vaermina and on Nirn. And, through our superior bloodline and divine favor, we would act as conduits for her to reach out and affect the waking world in whatever way she desires, and, with time, make it so that there is little difference between both 'worlds', as it were. Unfortunately, my own child did not see eye to eye with me on this, and took matters into her own hands to try and destroy all my hard work."
"Luckily for us, she was not successful in demolishing my link to my descendants permanently," Rivanon added with a saccharine smile, and it took all my self restraint not to shiver in disgust. "And this, dear child, is where you and your brother come into play. As the leader of the Reachmen, he has been able to relatively adequately advance his political influence over Skyrim, and with it, Vaermina's influence has become much greater as well. And you, Helvia, were intended to spread her influence from Dawnstar to Winterhold, among other things."
She sighed. "But, of course, you had to continue to resist the not too subtle requests of my - our - patron, to the point of actively damaging our cause."
"Well, excuse me for not exactly being wooed by attempts on my life and the murder of a dear friend," I cut in sharply, having had just about enough of this woman's bullshit."How was any of that supposed to endear me to whatever entirely self-interested scheme you've got going?"
Rivanon's synthetic smile melted from her face at this, being swiftly replaced with a frigid scowl. "You didn't exactly give us a fair chance to begin with. Just think how much trouble you could've saved all of us if you'd just agreed to meet up with your brother back in Markarth, Helvia! And despite your slaughter of several of Ealdwine's agents, Vaermina still held back from punishing you as you ought to have been - at my behest - and even gave you a chance to prove your usefulness, only to have you destroy the very item she so generously compelled you to find!"
"I..." Rivanon stiffened angrily, seeming truly exasperated with me for a reason I did not feel was particularly justifiable. Letting out a deep sigh and seeming to regain her composure, she spoke once more. "Really, you seem to have the wrong idea about what our rule would entail. Perhaps I could possibly clear up your misgivings."
With a sweeping wave of her hand, she cut through the heavy, misty air a few feet away from us, and in her wake appeared a peaked doorway of sorts, seeming to lead from the foggy moor to some other fabricated reality. I sent a skeptical look her way, figuring she intended for us to go through it but unsure I trusted her enough to try. She gave me a flat look in response, a few moments passing by uncomfortably before she spoke again.
"Do you really think that I would do anything to harm you while attempting to make amends on my Lady's behalf?" She sighed, seeming only barely able to resist rolling her eyes, "Please, follow."
With that, she stepped through the portal she had created. I hesitated. I really wasn't in the mood to humor my likely racist and extremely patronizing ancestor, but I didn't appear to have much of a choice in the matter. Gritting my teeth, I followed.
Moving through the portal felt much like wading through a deep pond. I found it difficult to push across the odd gateway, and as I did so, the atmosphere became nothing short of freezing and I struggled to breathe. But as quickly as I had entered, I found myself on the other side of it - and now was privy to looking upon an entirely less nightmarish looking landscape than I had been previously. In fact, if not for the nature of my situation, I would almost call the scene I entered into pleasant.
Gently sloping hills replaced fetid marshland, long, scraggly patches of heath grasses reared their shaggy, seed laden heads defiantly above a softer, lush carpet of green. Wild growth dotted the landscape, consisting mostly of leafy, healthy looking shrubs - I could only identify the overgrown juniper bushes amongst the diverse plant life that now surrounded me - and, not too far from where I stood, a clear-water stream flowed past me, the smooth stones at the bottom just barely visible from where I stood. It appeared to be midmorning in this - well, wherever we were, and it looked like the weather would remain fair for the entirety of the day, as I looked into a cloudless sky. Moving my gaze closer to the horizon, I noticed there appeared to be a camp of sorts nearby. Against my better judgement, I decided to move towards it, my ancestor momentarily forgotten in my amazement at the change of scenery.
As I had gotten closer, the sounds of civilization reached my ears - the striking of the hammer on an anvil, the squawking, lowing and braying of various domesticated animals, the amused chatter and laughter of children. The settlement of sorts I had come across seemed relatively crude, even more rudimentary than most Nordic settlements, but in a way, it felt more homey than any place I had ever visited before. The domed, tanned animal skin lined structures that doubtless served as the homes and storerooms of the camp's inhabitants seemed sturdy, and they had decorated much of their camp with peculiar but visually appealing symbols, ones that were placed so artfully I wondered if they were symbols at all, and not just artistic expression.
Then I saw the people. Dressed in furs and spun grass fibers and their skin as pale as mine, I knew these could only be one people group of Tamriel - the Forsworn. But here, they were not preparing to wage war. They hadn't even done much for defenses, aside from pits and stakes placed outside their camp to discourage wild beasts, or a raid from a rival clan. I watched, and saw a hunter, his exposed back glistening with sweat, hauling an enormous hart back to his clanmates, the cadaver draped over one shoulder as he wearily - yet steadily - returned home. A young woman with auburn hair and shining hazel eyes held an armful of clay and deposited it on an already fired slab, her forearms and hands stained a rust color as she began to knead the pliable mud, her expression one of placid concentration. Three children chased each other around the many buildings, two girls and one boy, whooping and hollering as they egged each other on with taunts and boasts. Barely even aware what I was viewing wasn't real, I looked on with perplexed unease. Why had Rivanon wanted me to see this?
"This was the Reach. Before the uprising, before the invasion of the Nords," my ancestor announced suddenly, and I whirled to face her, momentarily frightened.
Her countenance was solemn as she continued, "As primitive as their ways were, this land was theirs. The Reach belongs to them - it was never sold, or traded, or willingly seceded. But, as you know, it was taken from them, and quite brutally. I don't think you fully comprehend how much the Reachmen suffered."
The scene changed - and oh, did it change. The village was aflame now, and the sky was black. Swelling fires consumed the wooden frames of the Reachmen's domiciles hungrily, blackening the lush grass and filling the air with thick, foul smoke. Sounds of terror and fighting reached my ears, and suddenly, almost all at once, I caught flashes of the ensuing fight. The hunter, partially blinded and badly gored, barely standing as a closed-helmed Nord kicked him over, not even resisting as he collapsed into the dirt. The potter, caught unawares and defenseless. Used and then discarded, dying with eyes wide open, now a murky, horrified shade of brown. Children no longer screaming in excitement but terror, running for their lives. A girl falls, hit by a stray arrow. She does not get up.
And then, the fires faded, leaving nothing but corpses and a decaying settlement. I was left to witness the aftermath. The crippled Reachman was sentenced to Cidhna, not by court but by the authority of septims, likely to spend the rest of what was assuredly a short existence working himself to death. A young boy stranded alone in the streets of Markarth, once familiar land now being occupied by angry strangers who cared not for him. Penniless, sleeping in the doorways of shops and homes in bad weather until he was chased away by harsh words and stones. I was in the camp once more, to witness a woman, hair shot through with grey, grieving over the familiar corpse of the potter, her frail frame shaking with emotion. After a time, she stood, and I saw in her eyes the same deep seated, furious grief that I now realized the hunter and the boy also carried.
Rivanon was beside me once more, lips pursed and her expression grave. "I-" my voice broke as I struggled to put my tumultuous thoughts into words, "Why did you show me this? What is the purpose of this sick nightmare?"
"The unfortunate thing is, these are memories, Helvia. Forsworn memories. When one lives through these sorts of things, their subconsciousness's have no need to create horrors for them to experience."
"This actually happened?"
The weight of the realization that what I had seen had taken place was almost crushing. I was so quick to vilify the Reachmen, I didn't even consider that there might be something that drove them to this kind of violent desperation.
"Indeed. And up until recently, the Jarl of Markarth was more than content to pay mercs for the heads of Warlords and for wiped out settlements, and the numbers in Cidhna Mine swelled with Forsworn and other unaffiliated but much despised races alike. It took being trod on and pushed to the brink of extinction for the Reachmen to lash out, and it came almost too late."
The Nords practically attempted to genocide another people group? This is beyond disgusting. I felt sick, but tried not to let it show, as I didn't want to show any weakness in front of my ancestor. While I did feel what she'd told me was the truth, or at least, part of it, I also didn't trust that she was acting in their best interests. At all. "And why did you pick them to champion your cause, then? What on earth would Vaermina gain from their loyalty?"
"I thought that was obvious," Rivanon shrugged. "They were desperate. They had nothing to lose but their lives, and many would gladly give those up if the chance to free their relatives and loved ones arose. We gave them the edge they needed to take Markarth, and now Falkreath. They gave us the platform we needed to begin our great work through our alliance, and in return, their home is theirs once more."
"But at what price?" I shot back, certain the sorceress' motives to help the Reachmen were anything but benign. "Is it really even theirs if you're just going to use it to merge this plane with reality?"
"You don't seem to understand that the Forsworn are well on their their way to becoming favored acolytes of Vaermina. They have already taken back the land that was theirs, and then some, thanks to gaining her interest. All we asked of them were that they share their memories and their aspirations, as a foundation from which my patron could enmesh her influence into the plane of Nirn. And they will continue to benefit from this arrangement."
"Wait, hold on a moment. Vaermina's ownership of dreams is what's allowing her to have an effect on the world?" I asked, eyes widening. So is that why she sought to besiege Dawnstar? Was her intent to use me once I'd gotten there to then take the northern provinces of Skyrim? The thought was unsettling.
"In a sense," Rivanon shrugged off my question with an infuriatingly vague reply, continuing, "But, when she has all of Tamriel in her grip, the Reachmen will be richly rewarded for their services and sacrifice - as would you, if you actually behaved."
I bristled at the way she said that, and was about to shoot back something that wasn't particularly kind when she made the remnants of the Forsworn camp dissolve, the landscape distorting curiously.
"Would you care to know how?"
Obviously, that was a rhetorical question, as the scene was already changing. I noted that I was still in the same environment, but now, the ruins of the camp were nowhere to be seen. In its place, there were signs of construction, great wooden frames rising from the ground, fragile skeletons of what was to soon exist as what appeared to be Nordic laborers - and even a few Dwemer constructs? - laid stone after stone for their foundations and walls. A few buildings had already been finished. There was what looked like a barracks, where it appeared the majority of the Reachmen had taken up residence until the rest of the city was built. An ominous looking temple loomed further up in the hills, the columns inlaid with purple granite and carved into Vaermina's likeness. The most prominent building, however, was the almost garish, nearly geometrically impossible castle that sat in the dead center of the settlement turned capital.
It glowered imperiously above the workers and their overseers, carved from blocks of native limestone that glimmered oddly under the now-deep purple, heavily clouded. Elegantly scrolled columns served as the main supports for the exterior of the great building, and various reliefs were carved into the stone bordering the roof, many of them depicting a mixture of grisly ritualistic scenes and the more graceful, fluid insignia of the Prince. Its sharply angled roof and spires were crowned with dark shale, and it towered imperiously over the rest of the barely-begun construction. The arched double doors of the structure were made from thick cast iron, unsurprisingly embossed with another artistic interpretation of Vaermina's likeness. This one differed from the carvings in the temple in the sense that they seemed even less humanoid, instead taking the figure of a wraith, hollowed-out, hungry eyes with glittering, blackened garnets fused into them, the look altogether more unsettling than I had expected.
As I walked closer to the entrance, knowing this was where I was expected to go, I noticed a figure dressed in bleached bone armor standing by the door, a mask made from an elk's skull sitting on their brow and obscuring most of their features. However, it didn't conceal the piercing stare of their deep blue eyes, and for some reason I felt their look was familiar, despite the fact I'd never seen armor of this kind in my life, nor did I think I had any reason to recognize its wearer. They nodded to me in greeting, and it was then it hit me who they reminded me of - but only barely. Ealdwine? Who have you become, brother? If you're really here, I... I... The skull-clad man grabbed an iron ring embedded in one metal door and drew it open as I stood there, embroiled in my own conflicting thoughts, his arm muscles rippling with the effort.
I stared in awe at the interior of the grand building that had just been exposed to me, momentarily forgetting about the fact I had possibly come face to face with my brother, my jaw dropping despite my previous attempts not to appear impressed with what was obviously nothing more than fiction.
It was difficult to know where to start when it came to taking in the architecturally stunning main room of the castle, which, for some bizarre reason, featured the throne room within their main hall. The floors were a soft off-white marble shot through with honeyed strands of gold-brown, and the great wooden beams that held the structure aloft were carved with yet more intricately detailed scenes and painted a variety of vivid colors, each appearing to tell a different story. Heavy brass chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the candle sconces lit with a flame that glowed an odd purplish color. Oddly enough, the room's lighting appeared not to be overly affected by the strange color of the fires. At the end of the hall, an empty but extremely ornate throne sat in the center, hewn from basalt and draped in luxurious purple silks and encrusted with gems of many types, shapes, and quality. Various adeptly woven tapestries adorned the walls, many of which seemed to feature the elk-skulled man, and some that -
Dear gods, is that me? I moved to get a closer look, and noticed to my dismay that they did, in fact, depict someone of my likeness. But I was dressed oddly, seeming to be wearing robes made of midnight and looking out over several bowing personages with a cold, near-featureless face. It was then I realized these people were mostly Nords, and that the ground was greyed by ash.
As if I'd ever do something like that, I thought forcefully and with disdain, trying to discount everything that I was seeing.
But, could you? Another thought countered. You do recall the manner in which you dealt with the Forsworn sent to retrieve you. When pushed to your limits, are you really in control anymore?
That was something I could not answer.
My stomach churned with unease as I continued down the vast hallway. I started when I suddenly heard footsteps behind me, and turned to see that the elk-skulled man was following me silently. While he moved like one would expect a normal person to, I felt threatened by his very presence, though I decided to not let it show, nor further think about what his identity might be. If he was Ealdwine, I wasn't prepared to face him. I didn't trust myself not to lose it if I did.
I turned around again, and now, the throne was not empty.
Rivanon sat diagonally in its seat, one leg crossed elegantly over the other as she regarded me and my unwanted follower lazily, seeming slightly cross despite the aura of confidence she still radiated.
"This, child, is the future I want. The future you should want. Your descendants, your brother's descendants, rulers of a great nation, in the service of a great and powerful daedra. The compensation of a people long oppressed, and justice brought to their oppressors. And, from there, we can set about unifying all of Nirn under our goddess, bringing about peace the likes of which the world has never seen," the woman said, something glinting in her eyes as she stood, walking towards me. "Even if you do not fully believe in the cause, know that I only want what is best for those of my blood. Helvia, this is where you belong. You wanted to make a difference in the world? It's more than possible, if you will allow my lady and I to guide you."
She reached out and gently laid a hand on my shoulder, an almost motherly gesture. It was then I noticed she smelled faintly of nightshades and honeysuckle, the scent sweet and almost dizzying.
"If you let me, I will help you make your name known to every corner of Nirn. The very earth beneath your feet will tremble as you pass, and you will live long beyond the lifespan common to our kind. With the advent of our lady, those who serve her will worry little about age. Together, we can shape this world for her. For us."
My mind now feeling oddly dull, I merely stood there, beginning to wonder what I was doing, resisting so vehemently. Why was I fighting this? What was it all worth, if I couldn't escape it? Far better to accept my place. To allow myself to be helped by someone infinitely more experienced and wiser than I. It wasn't like I had anything more to lose.
"I..."
"I understand you have your reservations, but in due time, my dear, I believe I can make all right with you and my patron," Rivanon urged, now gripping my shoulders. I swayed, a sudden wave of fatigue threatening to overwhelm me. I was so, so very tired of this. It would be easier...
"Get off me!" I yelled, yanking one shoulder from her grip with radiant fury burning through me. My hand balled into a fist, unthinkingly, I brought it up into the side of her face, channeling my rage into that strike.
Rivanon Le Meur reeled, screeching, now having relinquished her hold on me as she held a hand to her previously near-flawless face, her dark eyes darkening further with hatred.
"Nice try, but I'll be damned if I let you win that cheaply," I spat, putting distance between myself and my treacherous ancestor. "And you're even more senile than I thought if you believe you can sway me with promises of power. Unlike you, I want the strength I have to be my own. And I sure won't help you achieve what you consider a 'unified peace' - did you honestly think I was stupid enough to fall for that, after everything? Even under pain of death, I wouldn't accept your 'boon', Le Meur.
"I see," Rivanon replied, her voice as cold and sharp as a knife. She removed her hand from the side of her face, and it'd be a lie to say that it didn't bring me some small satisfaction to see a rather ugly, dark bruise forming on the right side of her cheek.
"It's a shame, really," she crooned, her countenance twisted ever so slightly by barely checked vexation, "I was hoping that you could be made to see reason, or at least kept safe until my benefactor's will was put into action. But you're a rather impetuous sort, it seems. And children like you are the kinds that ought to face the consequences of their rash, disrespectful actions."
The room dimmed almost imperceptibly as she spoke, the atmosphere around her seeming to grow heavier and her shadow more substantial. Thinking nothing of it, I prepared to draw on my own power, just as a wisp of something dark curled around my leg. A freezing, nerve-frying pain I'd never felt before ensued as it suddenly stabbed deep into my thigh. It sliced through skin and flesh like a bread knife through hot butter, in one side and out the other nearly before I even felt it. A cry ripped itself from me in response, the injured leg threatening to give out on me as the pain finally registered. What kind of magic is that? I've never seen it before, much less have any idea as to how to counter it. Sparks came to life in my palms and the air around me crackled with the crisp smell of ozone as I prepared to fire back with a blast of electricity.
I let the energy fly, only for a shroud of inky blackness to rise up from the floor and swallow it, the spell disappearing entirely. What the-
"You really haven't any idea what you're up against, do you?" Rivanon laughed, an unfriendly light glimmering in her eyes. "You're about to see the unfathomable powers that were once offered to you in action, dear."
Shadows flooded towards me like water running across the marble floors, shooting out more quickly and fluidly than I could track them. I tried to move out of the way, but they followed, and jutted up suddenly in wicked, viscous spikes. Agony fractured my vision as something freezing yet blistering plunged into my abdomen and the left side of my collarbone, and my feet left the floor as the spikes grew even greater in height. Shortly after, they retracted, sending me crashing into the stone below. A weak, wet gasp left me as I collided with the hard floor, spots dancing dizzyingly in my vision.
The shadows receded as Rivanon walked over to me, and I struggled to lift myself up with my uninjured arm to meet her gaze with a defiant scowl. Blood dripped from a gash in my lip that had opened upon impact with the floor, trickling uncomfortably down my chin.
"Do you not see that there is no way you can win this? Did that elf's death teach you nothing? My patron is unstoppable, and you were a fool to wrong us!" She cried, her expression one of murderous contempt.
This is it. This is how I die, isn't it? A traitorous part of me wondered as I looked into the depths of her flat, unforgiving eyes. But I can't! Not now! Not while there's so much at stake! But what could I do? I was clearly outclassed and underprepared, and I knew I couldn't take much more of this - honestly, I wasn't even sure I could stand up.
And that's when it hit me.
The Dreamstride is static. That's how Rivanon managed to manipulate it so easily. Perhaps... Perhaps I have a prayer of altering it myself. I recalled how, when I had been shown Mel's memories, she seemed to note I had a knack for disrupting and destroying dream sequences. It's possible these were nothing alike, but I had to at least try.
"That's rich, considering none of this is even real, nor will it ever be," I asserted, baring my teeth in a pained grin as I pushed myself to my feet, barely managing to keep myself from toppling over as the holes in my flesh stung and wept more and more of my blood. I noted the floor was unevenly slick beneath me, though I cast the likely cause of it from my mind.
Rivanon laughed, her fingers twitching at her side briefly as she watched me patronizingly. Part of the void she seemed to generate sprung to her hand and coated it, swirling somewhat hypnotically while not appearing to harm her in the slightest. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"
"I guess not," I replied evenly, "Because I don't think I have to remain in this hellscape any longer if I don't want to, because, after all, what is the Dreamstride if not vivid dreaming?"
"As far as I'm concerned, I'm done here." I announced, pouring magicka and the raw strength of conviction into my words, beseeching any divine being to give my half-mad plan some substance.
The craziest part of all this? It worked.
I practically forgot to breathe as the constructed scene around me melted away, the castle, my 'brother', and even the hilly landscape collapsing into black, featureless sludge, sucking at my boots as I looked up into a featureless, colorless sky.
Unfortunately, Rivanon was still there. And she looked pissed.
"What in Oblivion did you do, you miserable cretin?" She cried furiously, now actually floating in the limbo that was our current setting. "No matter. I'll tend to this matter after I end your worthless life."
That was when I became aware of a barely visible silver light flickering into existence just to my right. I felt an unbelievably strong urge to approach it, and, while I was initially wary, the stunned and near fearful look that appeared on Rivanon's face when she too saw it was enough to tell me all I needed to know.
A way out.
"How did..."
What is this treachery? I thought you were going to deal with the girl, champion! Vaermina's voice sent spasms of nausea through me as I suddenly sensed Their presence. They were close, and I needed to make a break for it before They arrived.
Making the most horrible sound I'm certain I've ever made in my life, I forced myself to sprint, my vision bouncing and bile rising in my throat as I fought against the growing urge to surrender to the agony of my existence. I'm not dying here. I won't give either of them the satisfaction! I told myself emphatically, the light growing closer and closer.
"You're not going anywhere!"
I felt a surge of energy from behind me, and suddenly, spidery, pitch black shadows sprang up and ripped at my boots, cutting into the fabric and trying to hold me back. I pulled my feet out of my shoes and doubled my speed, noting how near I was to my escape. It was a portal of sorts, and beyond it, I could see snow. If it led anywhere out of here, anywhere at all, it was good enough.
Just as the atmosphere shifted and a horrendous, stunning buzz began to assail my mind, I reached it. A roar of pure, eldritch fury jarred my nerves and made my skin itch, the feeling so awful that, had I the strength to, I would likely have attempted to tear it off. Unable to even think, not even sure which way was up, down, or anywhere, I fell into the light - and out of the nightmare that was the Dreamstride.
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So, what do you think of the way I've decided to take this? I'm really trying here, and this took a ridiculous amount of time to draft, write, and edit. Even now, I'm not 10000% happy with it, but hey, that's what I get for getting behind on this and having to put out Phantasm in place of this. With vacation and college hitting me back to back, it's been difficult to write consistently, but I put every spare second into my free time into trying to ensure this chapter wasn't just an exposition dump. Seriously, I only played Borderlands multiplayer once this month. You have no idea how hard that was, ahaha.
But considering everything that's happened, I've had to come back to this on and off after a few days of nonstop work/traveling, which always throws me off, so there might be some things I've missed. I'd be very appreciative if something odd sticks out to you guys if you'd point it out! Alas, I have no beta reader, so my sleep-deprived and caffeine rotted brain is the only 'quality check' my chapters get before I put them out.
That aside, what did you guys think of Rivanon? Does she have the potential to serve as an interesting but unlikable antagonist? Do you think she was too cliched? Any opinion on her you have I'd love to hear.
I'm gonna attempt to have the next chapter out according to schedule, and if I can, will put out another chapter of Phantasm with Chapter 36 of Mage, for those of you who are also reading it. It all depends on what happens with my schedule, but gods willing, I'll make it work.
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QUESTIONS:
Question (From FanfictionsaPlenty for Helvia): Can I just freaking hug you? Like you need to be wrapped in a blanket burrito and be fed good food and you just need to relax and sleep. Like boi.
Answer (By Helvia): That... sounds amazing. Except the sleep part. I uh, think I can do without that for a while. Or forever.
Question (From shadowplayz2003 for Markarth Guard): Where and when did you take an arrow to the knee also could you please tell the story in the guise of an old man like"Back in naam"
Answer (By Markarth Guard): 'Fraid I've never quite heard of this "Naam" you speak of, but I was out in the most godsforsaken parts of the Reach when some of those Forsworn freaks attacked my patrol, while I was not much older than you are now. One of their damn archers got me right in the back of the knee, but I was lucky, compared to the rest of my company. I was the only one who survived. You kids and your Nordic Rebellion ain't got any idea how easy you had it. (AA: I tried, but when it's more a request than a question it's hard to not make the meme forced. Whoops)
Question (From Axerienna for Mélisande): First, you're so awesome, can you be my Sensei? Second, any chance we get to see you in vacations here in Skyrim? ;)
Answer (By Mél): Why, thank you! I'm flattered you've such a high opinion of me, and I could always use more acolytes! And, as for my involvement in the events unfolding in that rather chilly province... while it isn't my favorite climate, especially around winter time, I do believe that there are a few things that need doing sooner rather than later. Some of which may or may not be relevant to what you read. Just a heads-up -
Question (From Axerienna to Nightbrook): You're dreamy. (Thoughts: And I wouldn't mind taking your armor off :3)
Answer (By Nightbrook): He offers no verbal response, though his face is bright red, and his gaze is purposefully averted.
Question (From Axerienna to Nocturnal): *Whispers* I give you my soul if you make Nightbrook dance sexy for me.
Answer (By Nocturnal): I might consider it.
Question (From Axerienna to AA): You're amazing ^^ Have you though of writing Mél's story or is there one in development?
Answer (By AA): Oh goodness, that's a long story. I've been planning to write Mél a fanfic since two years ago, when she first showed up in chapter 18, but life's consistently gotten in the way. After some deliberation, I've decided I'll start her fic after I finish Mage. Which, with the consistency I'm now uploading chapters for it, might hopefully be finished within the year, or at least before next spring. Hopefully.
Question (From Malgeres to Helvia): Do the people you've killed haunt you in any way, since you've killed a few by now? And I don't mean actual ghostly haunting, more emotional nonsense.
Answer (By Helvia): Honestly? I try not to think about it too much. If I keep myself busy enough, I don't have time to think about it. But if I must voice how I feel about the matter, I wish the killing wasn't necessary, but in a fight to preserve my own life and those of my friends, there's no time to regret ending the lives of those who want us dead. It was me or them, them or us.
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If anyone has any more questions for anyone in Mage, feel free to ask them! If they've appeared in Mage at all, regardless of how long they were a part of the story, they're open to ask questions!
Well, as always, please do leave a vote and/or comment if you enjoyed the chapter, and see you next time! Good adventuring, dear readers!
-AA