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Veteran Member - Level 11
The Dovahkiin stood over a shriveled
old Imperial man, known by the people of Whiterun as The Cynic. The Cynic lay bedridden from age, and the
wrongs of the past were etched upon his face.
He glanced at the Dovahkiin, but he stared past him, eyes brimming with
grief and horror, as if reliving a tragic event from his past.
“Hello,” the Dovahkiin greeted The
Cynic, and snapped back to reality with a jump, “I was told to see you for some
The Cynic’s eyes bore into the
Dovahkiin, measuring every last feature of his face. He then opened his mouth as if to speak, but
only a wheeze escaped. The Cynic broke
into a coughing fit, and it took him minutes to regain his breath. He opened his mouth again, and this time managed
“You seek work?” The Dovahkiin nodded. “You seek adventure? And, of course, you seek riches. I can give them all to you, and more.” At this, The Cynic began coughing again, but
he quickly recovered and continued.
“You see, I used to be an adventurer
like you. Then, the curse came, and
stole the very life from my body.”
At this statement, The Cynic started
his tale, and the Dovahkiin took a seat to listen.
“Back when I was young, I served as
a Companion. I was considered one of
their finest warriors, and the most dangerous tasks were reserved for me. One day, word arrived of a necromancer terrorizing
a small village, and although we dealt with necromancers often, this one had
built quite a reputation, so I was sent along with two of my allies: Baltorr, a
Nord, and Dr’zago, a Khajiit. They were
both close friends, and I personally chose them for the mission. We set out from Whiterun on horseback and
quickly arrived at the village. However,
we arrived too late, and all we found were the skeletons of villagers. The necromancer had killed them all, the men,
women, and children, and had left us to clean up the mess.
“We decided that these people
deserved at least a burial, so we dug a large hole and buried all of the
corpses. As we were placing the last bit
of dirt on the mound, we heard a commotion behind us, and we turned to see a
Nord man stumbling down a hill into the town.
At first glance, he appeared to be no older than thirty, but as he
approached, he appeared older and older.
By the time he collapsed at our feet, he looked no younger than seventy.
“We helped the man to his feet, and
he began spouting his story. He told us
that the necromancer had captured many of the villagers and brought them to his
lair inside the nearby hill. The man
said that he had escaped before he could find out what the necromancer was
doing with the prisoners, but as he escaped he was hit by a curse. As the man was telling his tale, he was
quickly aging, and when he finished he appeared to be on the verge of
death. We comforted the man with the
promise that we would kill the necromancer and rescue the prisoners, and he died
with a smile on his face.
“With our newfound knowledge, we
headed to the necromancer’s lair on foot, to ensure that we would not be
detected. The journey was short, and but
by the time we reached the mouth of the cave, the sun had set. We stood around the cave entrance, disgusted
by the obvious displays of necromancy adorning the walls: skulls, chunks of
rotting flesh, black soulgems, and more that I do not care to speak of. Out of decency, we crushed the soulgems,
releasing the souls from their entrapments.
After that, we all lit torches and took our first steps into the
cave. With each passing step, the stench
of decay grew stronger, until I was forced to cast a helpful spell I learned
from a spellsword that blocked our sense of smell. The going was a little easier from then on,
but the cave was hot and we were all drenched in sweat. Finally, we reached an opening and stepped
into an antechamber.
“The walls of the antechamber were
decorated with crude etchings that demonstrated many perverse spells and
rituals. We pressed on to a stone door
at the end of the antechamber, and slowly opened the door. Beyond the doors there was a room that, at
first glance, would appear to be a part of a cave. However, the walls were smoothed and the
stalactites seemed unnaturally sharp. In
the center of the room stood a robed man, floating in midair above a large pile
of corpses, and a strange aura was flowing from the corpses to the man. It was clear that this was the necromancer,
performing one of the rituals inscribed on the outer walls. My instinct was to hide, but Baltorr was a
much more straightforward warrior, and he immediately charged into the room
screaming for vengeance. The necromancer
turned and cast a spell that hit Baltorr square in the chest. For a moment it appeared to do nothing, but
then Baltorr began to slow, then collapse.
Wrinkles formed all over his skin, and his muscles deteriorated. His hair turned gray, then white, and then
fell off altogether. His skin dissolved
into dust, and by the time his bones hit the floor, they too
disintegrated. The whole time this
happened, a purple aura was flowing towards the necromancer, empowering him. Taken aback by our friend’s demise, we had
both stood there dumbly as this took place, but now that it was over, we both
charged directly at the necromancer. The
necromancer gave a mere flick of the wrist, and we were suddenly floating a few
feet off the ground, unable to move forward.
“’You thought you could come in here
and stop me,’ the necromancer laughed.
‘Instead, I will use you to finish this ritual and earn me
immortality!’ With those words, he
motioned backwards with his hand and Dr’zago floated forwards. With him immobilized, the necromancer cast
the same spell into his chest. He
dropped Dr’zago and turned to me. He
extended his arm to cast his death spell, but he underestimated the willpower
of Dr’zago. Screaming, he jumped into
the spell’s path.
“’You will not take another
Companion!’ Dr’zago screamed. However,
he only partially blocked the spell, and an aura of its power continued on its
path. I felt a cold sensation, and could
feel myself aging.
“’Fool!’ the necromancer yelled,
‘You only slowed the death of your friend.
As long as I am alive, your lives will channel into me.’
“’You underestimate me again,’
Dr’zago hissed, ‘you think I am merely a warrior. I have a brother in the College of
Winterhold, and he has been training me in magic. J’zargo sent me a scroll. I have it now!’
“The necromancer’s eyes widened in
fear, and Dr’zago pulled out a Scroll of Flame.
Dr’zago activated the scroll, but instead of a burst of flame, Dr’zago
exploded in a fiery orb of gore and lava.
The lava hit the necromancer square on the chest, but his enchanted
robes turned this killing blow into merely a knockout shot. He collapsed, but I could feel his grip on me
leave. However, I looked down, and saw
what you see now: an old, decrepit man.
I would have killed the necromancer there, but Dr’zago’s explosion
created a crater that I could not cross in my old age. I limped from the cave and was rescued on the
road back to Whiterun.”
At these words, the Cynic’s voice
quivered, and he nearly fainted from the tragic memories. “You see, this story happened just last
week. The necromancer is still in the
cave, and I fear he is close to attaining immortality. Please, Dovahkiin, go to the cave and end the
necromancer’s life, if not for vengeance for the people he has killed, then for
my enchanted sword that I will give to you in return for this important task.”
The Cynic stared pleadingly into the
eyes of the Dovahkiin, who returned the stare.
Moments passed as the Dovahkiin sat deep in thought. Finally, he stood up.
“Have you made a decision, great
warrior?” the Cynic pleaded.
The Dovahkiin merely turned to him
and shouted these words: “Fus Ro Dah!”
The Cynic was caught in the blast of
unrelenting force, and his aged neck could not withstand the pressure of the
collision with his bed. His neck
snapped, and he died quickly but painfully.
The Dovahkiin then proceeded to loot
every item in the Cynic’s house, then turned to the Cynic and stripped him of
all his clothes. He started teabagging
the corpse, but quickly grew bored and left the scene of the crime without a