I walk through the Pits of Peryite, escorted by two of my brothers. I know what I have done to deserve this. I shamed the Kyn by fleeing in battle against mortals. Mere mortals! Master Dagon has sentenced me to the greatest punishment known to Daedra. Even now I tremble at the thought of this. I loathe my cowardice, my shame. I barely make it into the Forge of Souls, hesitating in my fear until my brothers beat me into compliance with their flails.

The infernal fortress is full of slaves, prisoners and fellow punished, lined up in queues. My brothers leave, their duty taken up by the Forge's guards. They are loathesome things, machine-daedra made out of ebony, their faces carved into an expression which is a combination of agony and rage. One scamp attempts to run, but he is caught. He is crushed to the edge of his life in the palm of one of the machines, and forced back into the queue.

I see now what is at the end of the line. We are slowly walking into a great smelter, the size of one of the Deadland's towers. The machine-daedra push the victims into the molten metal, producing a chorus of screams rivalled only by the sounds of the torture-palaces of Coldharbour. The Xivali in front of me points to workshops on the other end of the Forge of Souls, crafting Daedric weapons and armour from the soul-smelted ebony. He laughs, saying "Nice of them to show you what's going to happen to you." I envy such bravery in the face of inevitable torment. One craftsman finishes what appears from this distance to be a suit of armour, only for it to start walking on it's own. I realize that these animunculi are created from the metal here, powered by the tortured souls infused in them.

I have reached the end of the line. Below me stands the fires of my doom. I jump in, screaming. All is pain. I see only darkness now. I feel only flames.

The burning subsides, but I still feel agony. I am beaten, deformed, molded. Then nothing.

The lack of sensation finally ends. I feel a tingling feeling, then a tight grip, by soft skin. I hear a voice, one of an elderly mortal. "Now, class, this is your basic Bound Weapon. Essential for any spellsword interested in the art of
Conjuration. Today, I'll teach you how to summon your own."