#sky render

Darkness. Numbness. Then pain. I thought myself dead before the pain. I could not move, but my back and legs felt as though they had been taken from me entirely. Then came a sensation. A touch, small and delicate. I felt it against my chest, then another. Warm and comforting. With this sensation came a light. Then came another pair of sensations against my chest. These ones more weary, less warm. Just as comforting at first, but then pain. More pain than before. The light became green, a swampy complexion. It fluttered then departed, taking the new found pain with it. Slowly, I regained feeling of body.

Chill night air, a light sea breeze tickling my mustache. Too tired and groggy to open my eyes, I drifted in and out of awareness. I recalled hands upon my cheeks. Heavy, rough, cold. I recalled a tugging at my robe, gripping at my shoulders and beneath my arms. Struggling to lift the dead weight I had became. I recalled the weight of the world below my feet. How each step felt as though it would be my last. I recalled a shuffling of my skullcap, and my instinctual bark to leave it be. I struggled to form even those words, and for a time, uttered no more. Speaking, though involuntarily, seemed to bring me closer to my senses. A torrent of memories. A great fall, but not a death. My life in summary, as it were.

"Attention. Attention please. My time is limited."

In the dark before me, it folded and weaved, bringing form to the events that had brought me here. I could do little more than watch, feel, and listen.

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the door. The boss of my shield dug into the wood audibly. Not quite splintering but parting in it's wake. So shoddy, no doubt built by a Nord. Gazing about the room, I cleared my throat and spoke. As usual, my best attempt at an educated Dunmer accent and tone. I hadn't used my real voice in years. So many years. Thirty, maybe thirty five. This one comes out shrill, high pitched. Irritating to some I am certain, but no more irritating to me than that of any other Nord. I cannot bare to hear the real thing. Hearing it in my head is bad enough. My curse is nigh inescapable.

"Would anyone be interested in accompanying me to the work site? Mercenary work. The usual."

The bar chatter continued uninterrupted. I had spoken plenty loud enough to hear over the chiming of tankards. I lifted my skullcap and dug a finger along the back of my ear to tend to an ever-growing itch. This thing chafes, but it is more essential than words can describe.

"Anyone?"

Few heads turned. All of them too busy with their drink I imagined. I knew some of these people. The same ones here drinking their lives away every night. They could at least have the dignity of wine at home like civilized folk. Mead is the drink of beasts. Ah wine. Lette did enjoy her wine. I was a man of mead back then, but she swore by wine. A regretful chain of thought. My fists clenched, face grimaced, as I fought back the memories. I turned from the crowd to hide my shame. Why is the mind so cruel?

Cruel, yes. The room washed into shadow, it churned around me like a sea then fell away as another thought came to mind.

"Cruel and utter destruction of House Telvanni's already waning goodstanding in unsanctioned lands." A ridiculous claim. They had likely spent years just waiting for the opportunity to pin a petty charge on me, and I eventually gave it to them atop that silvered platter. For so long I had thought myself the change. I spent the better part of my adulthood trying to prove my worth, that we were all equals. I succeeded for a time, but things were not to be. In the end, my mother had so sorely cursed me with the body of a Nord, and in doing so, sealed my fate. Their reaction was all the proof that I needed. I had "no right to climb so high." It merely made the fall all the worse. Fate brought me to that despicable cesspit of a town and to the one who I would love, Lette. Golden days. Thrown-stones to pelt her window until she would answer, the secret nights and yearning days. In time, she came to carry my child, if rumors were to be believed. I did not get a chance to find out. The guards came for me with blade and magic. There were no words, only the roar of my lightning. No sooner did they lay in the dirt than did a whole platoon of guards round the corner. Rather than worsen the situation, I complied. I was then escorted back to Port Telvannis with threat that if I should ever return, they would end all business with House Telvanni. A mistake. It goes to say, that I never saw her or the supposed child again.

The council stripped me of all rank and made fool of me. As a mere Nord, I was "lucky to have gotten so far as I did". They thought to humiliate me then cast me aside. Yet I surprised them as I wept and asked for death. Their satisfied expressions melted away, leaving wide eyes and nervous hands. None would lift hand against me. They thought it a trick, that the room would crackle with my splendor if one so much as lifted a finger toward me. I saw fear in them. A fear unlike I had ever seen. Those closest to me advised me to take the demotion with grace, that I could work my way back to Magister in a matter of weeks. I could still be the change. Again, I complied. The political and societal climate of our lands were shifting in those days. Every House was involved in the relief efforts in one way or another. When things are bad, people of course seek out promises of a better way. A better life, salvation, miracles, what have you. It was ripe for that sort of business. From that day onward, I was instructed to tend to these growing cults rather than be simple errand-boy and flower gatherer as my new rank would normally dictate. They would send me out into the wilderness, to towns that law and society had forgotten. I was to make friends, learn what I could, then investigate. Stamp out these falsehoods. There was work to be done and reputation to restore. It kept me from dwelling on what I had lost, to some degree. Those same allies ensured me, "Soon".

Then came Assut.

It started near Necrom, rumors of monsters in the night, disappearances, nightmares, cryptic symbols and artifacts. Familiar yes? I saw fear in them. Fear unlike I had seen since that day. They sent their most expendable. My name was of course high on that list. A Dunmer miracle maker calling himself Assut had taken a following.

Where he went, things grew weird. Very weird. His red eyes in the night, above their bed, out of the corner of their eye. People knew of him, knew where he would show up next, but little else. "The dreams brought me to him." In those places, one might find their words, scrawled across walls in Daedric lettering. Ink black as the halls they wander.

"He will return" or "Do you know of Him?" seemed to be common phrases.

I met him that very day, in the depths of one of those tombs. Eyes burning like coals. A vampire or part of the illusion, I knew not. He got into my head. He knew my name, he knew everything about me. My every thought, my every intention. He twisted the memories that pain me and used them to taunt me. The fight was long, but he survived. He always did. I would travel to a new locale, only to find the same things, and at the end of the day, Assut. I took it personal, in ways. I feel as though he is one of the only reasons I am still here. A goal. His skillset came to be something of an obsession of mine. I strove to understand some of his powers and sought to counteract them. I fashioned a skullcap of Dwemer metal and enchanted it. As I learned more, I poured more of myself into it. By our sixth or seventh exchange, the skullcap gave me some degree of immunity to his tricks. Yet, as I gave years to my craft, he gave to his. He would make abomination of men and women alike. Affixing Dwemer appendages and sacks to their withering forms. His flock, ever growing, ever more terrifying to behold. Assut himself wore many a burn from my magics, his body scarred from head to toe. The "third eye" atop his head grew ever more advanced with each encounter. In our first meeting, he wore a blindfold and headband, then black face paint, then a knifewound presumably by his own hand, and most recently, some sort of Dwemer metal appendage in the center of his forehead. I would hire locals at each site, pit them against his monstrosities like stones thrown against a window to garner his answer.

His face faded, leaving only his eyes. I found myself wholebodied again, a growing chattering behind me. Here again. I turned back toward the bickering crowds and began.

"You will of course be compensated. I could put in good word with the House as well if that interests you."

A few Dunmer heads turned at mention of the House. Though still no takers. Nodding to those I knew, I made my way toward the center of the establishment. Speaking again.

"Regardless, I need assistance. Are any of you willing?"

An elderly Nord emerged from the crowd at the counter. He stood, weak-kneed, giving a wavering stare, arms crossed, a mug barely in his grasp.  A slurred "Ay", barely audible among the patron's chatter. Sorely drunk, he smacked his dry lips and stared on.

"Sit down, oaf. No Nords. Not this time. I want the job done. No pissing about with mead on my clock. This is important."

My head instinctively tilted skywards with the words. The pompous way was not always my way. It came to me... naturally over the years.

The man slammed his tankard onto the counter. I can't say I didn't expect such an outcome. It always happens. Wobbling, he staggered out of the crowd, shoving people out of his path.

"Watch ye mouth, wizard." He paused, squinting his eyes. "A Nord wizard, ay. Ain't that a sight."

A deep chuckle, his trembling hand smacking the back of a Dunmer seated beside him, forcing drink to spew from his mouth. Friends or acquaintances of this poor man, arms outstretched, attempted to block him. Pointless attempts to save him from making a further fool of himself. As if on cue. It always happens like this. Pointing a shakey finger across the room, he snarled. Lifting a fist. He took another awkward step in my direction. I lifted my right hand, finger tips glowing a brilliant violet.

"Sit down, have another drink. Gods know you want to."

At my final word he dug for a weapon along his waistband, prompting me to act. The once dark room now fully lit. The arcing caught him in the upper chest, my hand rose, lifting him gently. Fingers outstretched, the current swelled and fell as necessary. With the flash of light, the crowd erupted into gasps and awe. Chairs and tankards fell to the floor as guests backed against the wall. Taking shelter from my brilliance. He tried to speak but his muscles fired against him. His shirt crackled and sizzled at the point of impact. Just a moment longer, just enough to make a point. I dropped the spell, letting him fall to a knee. His allies knelt and comforted him, shaking their heads in embarrassment or perhaps in worry. They dared not look at me. I took a satchel from my belt and tossed it onto an empty spot on the counter.

"Get the man a room and drink. I do apologize for the disturbance, friend."

This was not the first and would likely not be the last of such disturbances. The barkeep knew this just as well as I. I had spent the last five years on this dreadful shore. I had been in here nearly every month seeking assistance. The help rarely survives the first week and word has a way of getting around fast. On the far end of the room, two motioning arms emerged from the crowd. A Dunmer woman, dressed as a mercenary of sorts. Iron armor, mohawk, a dim-witted looking lass. Across from her, a Dunmer man. A lowly Telvanni hireling from the look of him. I thought the mention of rank might have caught his attention.

"Sanbosm Tedalen, Telvanni. Do excuse the complexion. You seem capable sorts. Far more so than those other ruffians. Do you do mercenary work, by chance?"

As I spoke I looked at one and then the other. It seemed I had found some company for the evening. I gave them a few hours to get ready then met them at the Sky Render dock. We flew southeast, along the coast and then a little ways into the gulf of Vardenfell. Throughout the flight, my companions held tight, obviously unaccustomed to such travel.

That day soon passed and another rose. Across the waves, Red Mountain stood motionless and barren. Pillars of smoke still churning high above the clifftops. By the next morning we had arrived. An excavation site. Towers of brass, forgotten and rediscovered. I had already been here. The previous week. Through many a winding tunnel we went. Silent halls slowly overtaken by a growing murmur. We came upon a dark corridor. My companions of the last week fell here. Their bodies were gone. Dragged back into the depths I supposed. Scraps of metal, splatter of blood and distant chanting brought us deeper and deeper by the hour. My new companions wearily trudged behind me, unsure of what I had gotten them into, though I knew. At once the chanting stopped and we found ourselves surrounded by shuffling of robes and hushed voices. I lent the room some of my light and gripped tight my hammer as my companions made themselves just as ready for what would surely come. All around us, barely legible in the dim candlelight lay the words: