This is a Morrowind based Novella that was started three years ago, then stopped for...various reasons. A few quick details. The story is based in a Morrowind universe, yet the details may not be exactly true to Morrowind's rules - I state this when some of the inevitable howlers are seen, as I'm sure they will be!

A point on the premise of Magic in this story. I have long believed that Magic is more akin to software than many people would like to believe, and as we go deeper into the story, the more astute readers will pick up on it. And I have often pondered that if Magic resembles electronics and software, then countermeasures can and must logically follow...

It's said that a writer is just as good as his ability to ability to engage his audience to the point where they suspend their belief. Let's see if I can do that.

And so, without further ado, this introductory post ends. My next post comes with the first chapters of "Fountain of Youth".

PROLOGUE

Time, you are no enemy.

You are said to ravage the face and the laughing body of youth, but that is a lie – it is pitiless memory that is the scourge.

Memory, which is such a servant when remembering your deeds, is the cruelest of masters in its remembrance of lost beauty and health. In every waking moment it holds up the true mirror of your loss, in the pain of your joints at each move, in the sloth of your limbs to obey the demand of will, in the gaze of the world on your visage.

But with memory is also the will.


1. DARYEN

My Name is Daryen. I am a Mage. And, beyond that, there's nothing much I can tell you about myself, even if I wanted to. I can't boast of a Royal, a famous, a notorious, or even an ordinary lineage, for I have no parents or family to fall back on for either boast or bitterness. I can give you no memories of parental guidance that turned me into what I am today. No stern father, no quietly ambitious mother guiding my footsteps, or siblings to either help or hinder. No influential uncles or aunts to smooth my way or to importune to do so either.

As you've probably guessed by now, I am an orphan. A foundling, too. I don't know who my parents were, and now as I look back at my life I find that I have never cared to make any inquiries into that matter. And I still don't.

Some might be surprised at that, but those who really know me aren't, at all. The study of Magic is my life - and I have decided to specialise in an area where none other has sought to search. I believe this area is the true heart of Magic, and that he who conquers it will be lord of the Arcane Arts. Yes, that's right. I am ambitious. As you would probably be, too, if you were what I was: an orphan, growing up in the company mostly of Mages and apprentices, slightly taller than usual, but slim to the point of appearing even taller. Not a boy or a man to give much of a second glance to. Most boys in those situations withdraw into themselves, and secretly dream of one day acquiring power, fame, riches, and envy from the others whom they now envy. They grow up, see their limitations, and either drown their dreams in oblivion or their bodies in alcohol. Not me. I have never given up on my dreams.

And in the pursuit of my dreams I have shed the skin of sentimentality that it is quietly amusing to see still covering the most august of Mages. No dreams of meeting separated parents for me - no dreams of finding a princess to rescue whose love will make me greater than I am today. No, no - it is no external, unknowable magic that I yearn sentimentally for. It is only that magic which I, with the power of my own mind and will, can know and bend to the exact form that my will orders - that is the magic which I desire, that the art which I shall possess! And that is the difference between my researches and those of others. They only desire the how. But I shall possess the why. And, having possessed it, all the knowledge of how to create shall be mine.

In the past when my studies were winning me recognition, and even the occasional prize or so, I was foolish enough to think that ability alone would one day make me Archmage. Of course, that was when I was still in mind - if not exactly in body - a boy, and unaware of the politics that is ever present in the Mage's council, and the way in which those politics interact with the politics of other factions in this world of ours. This discovery led me to slowly understand that it is not just ability which makes the Archmage - you need the backing of the factions, and to do that you must start from a family and political background of importance. All those who have been Achmages in the past without this background have been compromise candidates, chosen because all the factions were deadlocked. And they were rarer than reason in Sheogorath's ramblings. They didn't last long, either. Without a faction of their own, they were placekeepers, kept there until a faction or a coalition grew strong enough to put its own standard bearer into power.

Because of my birth all I could hope for, at best, was to be a placekeeper. But I had not the slightest intention of hoping for a faction deadlock to earn a placekeeper Archmage footnote in the Mage's history. No. In spite ot my weak position, having no family background or faction strength, I was determined to get to the top of the heap by my own efforts alone - at it's to that end that I have been furiously and quietly researching my own special area of Magic. Which was why, early in my career, I ended a short spell as a Court Magician, transferred here, and now am a deceptively quiet researcher in the Mages Guild headquarters.

And it was in the middle of my researches that I received a summons from the Archmage. I was to report to him. At once.

I never enjoy Royal Courts: they are a constant reminder of the world I left behind. I enjoy formal dances even less, even though I am excused from dancing. Banquets and the entertainment there leave me cold. What a waste of time and effort, when I could be researching the more subtle effects of spells, or refining potions, or even perfecting the deep and subtle arts of enchantment!

But as with many things in life, I had no choice in this matter. Morckwin made this clear to me from the outset. As was his wont, he came straight to the point as soon as I had obeyed his summons and gone to his office.

“Daryen, you will be the Mage’s Guild Emissary to King Silath’s court.”

Morckwin is aristocratically tall, not quite old enough to have an all white mane of hair, beard and eyebrows, but vain enough to dye them white. And with a self-confidence large enough so that he doesn't care at all that we know he does so. An intelligent man, healthy enough to make him still agile and abrupt in his movements as a much younger man, he has the confidence of breeding, rude health and high position. That same arrogant confidence makes him abrupt to the point of rudeness, as he demonstrated when he told me straightaway that I would be going back to a type of place I hated.

No matter how I tried to keep my face impassive, he knew at once how I felt. Or perhaps the very rigidity of my face had given me away. He smiled. It was not a very attractive sight: while he is handsome, a lifetime of hauteur had moulded his face into an appearance that does not inspire affection. Especially at times like this.

“Yes, young Sera Ambition – and don’t frown at me, I can feel it! A Mage is not just a spellcaster or an enchanter, as you know from your reading but are so lacking in practice. A Mage, and most especially a Councillor Mage, is also one who owes a duty to the Guild to advance our cause and smooth over any troubles that may arise between us and the –“

Morkwin’s lean, sharp face twisted in anger, and he made an abrupt, irritated gesture, flickering the flame of the candle on its desk, and causing the silver candlestick to sway. I switched my gaze to the calm summer peace of the garden seen through the window, while keeping Morkwin under view from the corner of my eye.

“ – rest of the world! And as even you with your nose in your books must know, the rest of the world seems to be exactly where we’re having our problems these days! “

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Archmage, but I don’t really think I’m -“

“Daryen, you will go far in the Guild and the world I am sending you into, if you would but do as nature intended, and use those two large ears of yours to listen twice as much as that one stubborn mouth you keep using at the most inappropriate times. And if it will make matters any better for you, I tell you plain that you were not my first choice. In fact, you were nobody’s first choice. I doubt if you have spoken a hundred words to any being in the year you have been studying at the Magehall, and as for diplomacy and tact a nine year old child who is a third your age would speak smoother. You could probably count all the influential persons you know at Court on the fingers of one hand and still have five to spare. And as for the social graces…well…you are more refined than a peasant fresh from the fields - yes, by about the thickness of a Kwama eggshell. “

I said nothing, but smiled and made an ironic bow.

“And, of course, for all your social ineptitude you do have a certain knack of keeping a sarcastic face and manner that will probably provoke someone someday to challenge you to a duel. Yet in spite of all that, circumstance has left us no choice but to send you. Well – this needs a full explanation. Take a seat. And try to listen, to the end, without any interjections, will you? Even if they strike you as masterpieces of dry wit. Now take a seat. And listen carefully!”

Both my body and my spirits sank – my body into the deep chair, my spirits into despair as I suspected I was not going to get out of this one, no matter what. Morkwin got up from his massive, carved desk as I sat down, pacing the room in quick, regular steps, as he declaimed to the walls, the floor, and occasionally at me from under his thick white eyebrows. His room was large enough to do so quite comfortably. I thought of my own cramped quarters, and sighed.

“The background, Sera Daryen! The Court of King Silath is one of great Importance to the Mage’s guild, as through its support we are able to legally and economically carry out our exploration of Valleron Island. Legally it lies within his suzerainty, and even though he has given us permission to explore, research and catalogue it we still need the assistance of his guards and transport. Hiring our own would be a heavy burden on our finances. And we cannot give up our research of Valleron, not now.”

Morkwin paused, both in his pacing and his explanation. He remained as a statue, so still that I thought he had finished speaking. I leaned forward and was about to interject, but he suddenly looked fiercely up at me. I looked into his eyes, and subsided back into my chair. Morkwin kept staring at me, then suddenly walked up to my chair and sat down in the one next to it.

Steepled fingers and a slow, quiet voice marked a change in his tone. His eyes, too, were grave as he looked into my own brown eyes.

“What I am going to tell you, Daryen, is something that you were not told because it was a subject that is too tempting, and dangerous, not just for our Mages, but for all the races of Morrowind. But first I want to ask you a question. What do you know about the Restricted Arts?”

The many years I had spent in keeping my face impassive stood me in good stead. My face remained stone because I had willed it so: both my heart and my mind, however, were racing. In the short time it took to reply to Morkwin, my mind had remembered, thought, and examined –

Does he know?

He cannot. I have hid my researches well. Less than one hour a day, and even then two days a week or less. I have taken the greatest precautions, and have done my experiments outside the building. None have seen me copy the forbidden books, one page at a time with my fixeye charm so that I needed only a glance at a page to remember it for the whole day. It has taken me ten months to copy the nine forbidden books, and in the following three months I have made only two experiments, both outside the Hall. And if he knew he would not be leading up to the subject in this way.

I must make him believe that I am doing nothing, and yet too great a disinterest would also betray me. What shall I do? Ah! I will pretend to be interested – very interested – in the Restricted Arts, and even hint that I would like to study them if the council would give me the authority – but at the same time I must show complete ignorance of their powers. In this way my interest will seem genuine if also na?ve, and when Morkwin rebukes me for my interest, and gives me chapter and verse on the evils of the Restricted Arts, I shall then pretend to be genuinely shocked and my vows to never pursue the arts will be more convincing!

“There are Three: The art of Flesh Creation, The Art of Soul Duplication, and The Art of Memory Creation. I understand that they are not to be researched, but I have always been puzzled by why they have been called the ‘Restricted Arts’ when everyone knows, for all intents and purposes, they are not restricted, but banned! I wonder…are you proposing that I study them with a special dispensation from the Council? If so, I would be delighted –“

“ENOUGH!”

It’s Working –

“I see that in spite of all your research, Sera, you have not discovered the true nature of the restricted arts. Well, that is to be expected – they were deliberately designed that way, to disguise the real truth. We have debated long over whether to reveal this truth to you, and decided that you are fit to be trusted with it.”

Morkwin paused –

“ – and yet this great secret is too heavy to be entrusted to anyone lightly, no matter how trustworthy he seems. If you wish to accept it, you will have to wear the sentient soulstones to forge your oath. Do you accept, Daryen?”

SENTIENT SOULSTONE!

Ah, NOW I see. THAT is why he wears earrings, a circlet crown with a central inset stone, and rings on both his hands – so that the soulstones will hear, see and touch all that he does, and record and remember it on examination! For a Mage to give up all his privacy to a Council – it MUST be a council – this must be a powerful, powerful secret indeed.

I nearly said “I accept” before suddenly remembering –

Ah, That was a Trap! At my level I am not supposed to know about Sentient Soulstones – If I had agreed just now I would have been discovered! And I nearly, nearly fell for it…

Clever, Morkwin. Very clever. And Subtle. What exactly is your Game? Whatever it is, I shall play your game, Morkwin, and I shall play it better!

My eyes were wide with simulated wonder and wariness. “What are Sentient Soulstones, Archmage? I know they can’t be good, at least!”

In Retrospect, I wished I had never said that. But I was ambitious, and knew far more than I should have, and yet far too little for the choices I had to make.

Fate chooses man, not the other way around. This I know now is true. And the first move in the game I find myself in began when Morkwin leaned over and offered a deep, devious bargain.

I am sure Sheogorath must have laughed, then.

Well, it's not everyday I say this but your quite the writer! And it's not everyday that you see a 1st Person fanfic either which is a good change, too. But anyway, as for your writing, very descriptive concerning the characters, well, what characters we have seen so far anyway. Daryen definitely seems the different type of protagonist, he might even turn into the antagonist, only you know I guess. When you read something different like this, it's easy to tell that your a good writer with a knack of good storytelling and description. Keep it up is all I can say. I'll keep reading

Pat, my humble thanks. I've seen your criticisms on other stories, and I know you know how to criticize...which means that you are, even if you don't say so, a writer yourself. Stay tuned! More Characters to come....and I know at least one of the short storyteller's (and Hollywood serial writer's)box of tricks - how to end every episode with a cliffhanger!

Doing that will also - hopefully - blind my audience to my many imperfections in the craft of the writer.

2. JOURNEY’S START.

Now that I think back I smile to consider how eager and na?ve I was then.

It seemed so possible, when Morkwin had laid out his proposal. Complicated, slightly risky, yes, but totally possible. Why did I not know then that Fate has its own script, that we are cast into roles without our permission or even knowledge.

During the Summer of that year when flowers made a painter’s palette of the Hall Garden, and while I was waiting for my letters of accreditation to be prepared and accepted by the Court of King Silath, Morkwin and I had many long walks there while he explained, softly, the true reasons why the Restricted Arts were …actually, forbidden. The Summer's breezes of sweet fresh breath, with the intoxicating promise of innocence and rebirth. The green of the grass on each side of the stone footpath. And the words of Morkwin, quiet, sharp, and full of wisdom, and his eyes ever on me, full of wariness.

“…and so you must see that rejuvenating youth is not just a simple matter of making the flesh look and even appear young again, as so many Mages, Necromancers and Alchemists foolishly thought - and will continue to think – so long as they do not know the deep secret of ‘The Fourth from Three’. No, to be truly young again, is more like –“

Here Morkwin paused, and his eyes rested on a butterfly. Shimmering and opalescent, its wings made a visual poem of a tender beauty in the air as it danced on the soft breeze. Strange how I had never noticed before, how much like a woman’s eyelashes the dark border on the edge of its wings looked….it landed on a tiger orchid, even as Morkwin continued –

“ –like, say, the transformation of a caterpillar into a butterfly. There you see not only the flesh, but also its essence, its soul, change. As change it must. To move from an asixual being with only the goal of the accumulation of flesh written in its primitive soul, into a being of flight and sixuality, it must transform not only its flesh but its very essence, its soul. “

“And this is why to rejuvenate a person it is not enough to re-create the youthful flesh. No: for rejuvenation to take place there must be a match between the body, its memories, and the soul that animates the body and that which is the product of the memory. Think, if you will, of an old man’s mind, wandering in its past and seeing the present world but through a dim haze. We have known, from researches of the past, that even the temporary creation of a younger body to house the aged mind creates a dissonance between flesh and soul that results in the rapid decay of that body, so that what was the bloom of youth in the morning becomes a decayed corpse by nightfall. “

“Or – it becomes so fragile, that it is as easily crushed –“

Morkwin’s hand shot out, fast as an adder, and the butterfly suddenly found its wings pinioned in his hand. He held the wings delicately between his two fingers and thumb, without touching the fragile body at all. Yet the butterfly struggled in a panic, and its struggles first fractured, then ripped, the fragile wings. Morwin opened his hand, and the damaged butterfly flew off on broken wings, at first making some progress, but then after a while dropping to the earth unable to fly.

I watched as it stumbled across the grass to my foot. Stumbled, even as Morwin’s voice spoke on.

“- as this. You see? I used only the lightest force, and yet by the very fragility of its wings, and the nature of the butterfly, it inevitably is ruined when held. Human hands and butterfly wings just don’t mix. The same with an aged mind and a youthful body. The constant flow of information between mind and body must be in harmony, or one or the other must be destroyed. This fact put off many who wanted to invent the ‘potion of rejuvenation’ and instead, they went for the next best thing, to create a strong and healthy body with the mind old and cunning. Divayth Fyr, the Telvanni, went along this route…and we know what he created as his ‘daughters’ as well…“

“Yet in the year (-----) all this was changed – apparently - by Visleith Valleron. “

Valleron?

So the Isle did have not only inhabitants, but also a… Lord’s family? And ‘Visleith’ is a strange name – it has echoes of both male and female.

“We know that the Valleron family is ancient, and that they have been lords of Valleron Isle for as far back as we have records. In the year (------) the title passed to Lady Visleith Valleron, who astonished the society of her day by living to be two hundred and fifty-five before she disappeared…and…”

Female. And now I remember a reference to ‘Visleith the Eternal’ in one of the Forbidden Books. So it was her then. This is interesting, very interesting indeed.

“…and astonished all, who knew her then, by the appearance of youth that she maintained, up to the very moment she vanished. After she vanished there was a period of confusion, for the law was not clear on what the status of the island was. The then Duke Silath seized the island ‘in trust’ for the Vallerons, and ever since the fiction has been maintained, although all know that in practice the island is just a part of the vast estates of the now Kingdom of Silath. The Island was never economically much valuable, even during the Valleron Days: it useful only as a post for a lighthouse, and since the Ballocktyne Canol was dug even that became obsolete. Thus very few have been there, and even King Silath did not care to post a single guard on it during the first few years of his reign. Until the Valleron pearls discovery.”

I decided it was time for a sample of dry wit.

“Pearls? So it’s become economically valuable again? But what’s this got to do with us, unless we need pearls to make a new potion?”

Morkwin’s smile and retort was brief, but bit like a whip.

“Not jewellery, but necromancy, perhaps. We don’t fully know. All we know is that apparently some fishermen discovered some strange stones strung in a necklace, and as they looked like pearls he called them that. It seems that when his wife put them on, she discovered that she was growing younger – that she looked exactly what she looked like at sixteen– and that amazed, and pleased him to no end, the fisherman. But in the very next week he was troubled.”

“It seems that with her rejuvenation had also come a partial loss of memory, and not only that – she seemed to be remembering many fragmentary memories of the lives of totally different people or even other species, as she remembered some images that could only be from a Khajit, an Argonian, and even Orcs.”

“He was so worried by this ‘black magic’ that he took off her necklace and smashed and ground the ‘pearls’ into powder: yet the shining powder was so beautiful that he did not throw it away, but kept it in a bowl. Some of this powder somehow got mixed into his ale, and by coincidence he drank it just after he had been out on a stormy day and had accidentally sustained a very nasty wound on his thigh. He was amazed to discover that it healed at once after he drank the ale. He gave it to his son, who had lost his eyesight in a fall from the mainmast a year before, and his son could see again. He tried it on his father, who had lost a leg, and was astounded to see the leg grow again in front of his eyes.”

“Naturally, as he started selling his ‘miracle healing power’ the stories and rumours grew, and a secret like that couldn’t be kept for long by a newly rich fisherman. Now all the Great Houses know. And so does every Guild and it seems every damned adventurer in the whole of Tamriel the story about these ‘pearls’ that are the ‘fountain of youth’! And so all are scheming, either openly or in secret, to get their hands on Valleron and start digging the whole island up! “

“ Of course, this was just what King Silath didn’t want. So to kill many birds with one stone, he comes to us and tells us to research the island, with his legal backing and financial support. We’ve just begun doing it. And already various factions representing various Guilds have put their oar in. We had to remove the last two Searchmasters of our Guild on Valleron when it was found out that they had financial and political connections with the other great Houses and Guilds! Now Silath doesn’t trust us as much as before, and is said to be thinking of revoking our permit. And just when you thought things couldn’t get any more complicated, along comes a – “

Morkwin suddenly turned, and smiled wryly at me –

“ –a ‘descendant’ of Visleith Valleron, who has formally filed a request in Imperial Court to have her lands given back to her again! And it seems she has all the papers, the seals, and the tokens, to prove it too, and what’s more she is backed by House Hlaalu and House Telvanni as well! “

“Convenient. How convenient.” I spoke with a slight sneer in my voice, echoing his thoughts. He glances quickly at me, and frowns. A grudging smile, brief as a snake's tonguekiss, and then his lecture continues.

“Precisely, Daryen! And it was at this time that our last Emissary, Khar-Eng, was discovered to have been corrupted by the Fighters Guild, who wanted that potion to create a class of invincible fast healing warriors. Now he’s been expelled and our next four proposals for the post of Emissary have been rejected by Silath, who claimed they were too close to this house or that house, this Guild or that! And that’s where you come in."

Ah. I see it all, now.

“You are an orphan, adopted by the Mage’s guild since birth. You yourself belong to no House, and you Foster Parents, now dead too, were oddities in our Guild since they, too, were so stubbornly independent that they refused to belong to any House, which was why Darthone your Foster Father never received the rank in the Guild that reflected his vast learning. You are not known to have any close friends or business or social relationships with any persons in the Great Houses or any Guilds except the Mages. Indeed, even in the Mages Guild you have a considerable reputation as a loner. Your studies are wide – the full range of magika, and you have even studied law as well! “

“All this meant that when your name was suggest to the court of King Silath as a Mages Guild Searchmaster and Emissary, he did not object. Neither did the court. Yet know this, Daryen. As soon as you arrive there you will be tempted and offered bribes and inducements by all the factions to ‘bend’ the research their way, and to give them the secrets you unearth. And we cannot be completely sure of the members of the Mages Guild Excavation Team, either”

“This is why all of us involved in the Council inisist you wear the Sentient Stones. You will see that even I wear a set. All that you see, hear and touch will be reported back to us, at intervals that you will not know about. But you will not have a receiving stone, so while we can see what you do and say and see, you cannot do the same to us. “

“Succeed, and your swift promotion is assured. Fail, and know this – you have no protectors apart from us. We can set every man’s hand against you. For the last and final time – I shall not ask you again – do you agree? Think, Daryen. This is the point of no return.”

I glanced again at the crippled butterfly crawling near my foot. Gently, I lifted my foot, and brought it down on the ruined beauty of the insect. Better this way, rather than be slowly eaten alive by something, I thought. And I spoke with a smile in my voice.

“I agree.”

And making sentient stones is a game more than one can play at, I silently thought

It's so good to see you Foxy. :hugs: And your writing skills are as good as ever. You have drawn me in once again and I long for more.

3. THE OPENED HEART

King Silath's castle is unlike any other castle in its construction, and like all others in its purpose and ego. Men build for shelter, merchants build for profit, soldiers build for protection, actors build for display, and Kings build for all these reasons.

The foundations began as a seaport fort. The port town of Seehove was rich enough to be worth both fighting for and protecting, so the original fort was built right on the edge of the sea as a lookout tower armed with crossbows in the turrets, so that it could see and repel seaborne attacks, and as a citadel of retreat in case of an attack from land. Silath's great grandfather had begun a construction program that grew more and more ambitious as time went on, so that today the original fort is just one corner of the vast castle that is both the source of Silath's power and the place where he displays his wealth for all who come to gawk, wonder, and envy. The entire common green and northern suburbs of the town have been swallowed up by this monstrous monument to the Vanity of the Silath family. The gentle wooded hill where two generations of Seehove boys and maidens went picnicking...Silath's father built the main castle on top of it - four stories, too, when others were content with just three - and the trees of that wood are now the main beams and flooring of that castle. With the height of the hill also under him Silath can look down from his chambers on the top floor to the town two hundred feet below.

I suppose men who know they haven't really reached the heights build as high as they can.

And this means that even the Great Hall of the Castle, on the ground floor of course, is still a hundred and fifty feet above the rest of the town. If you wandered out into the exquisitely designed forecourt you could still gaze down at the town from above, and you could do the same too from behind the overly large imported glass windows. But I hadn't come here to look at the town. I had come here to a party to look at the guests. Look at them, not talk to them - small talk is for small men.

And to look for one guest in particular.

The light of a thousand candles, together with the moonlight flowing in through the myriad glass windows of the cupola soaring above the Great Hall, make the ballroom look almost as light as day. Imperial and High Elf, Breton and Nord, all dressed in their best. All on their best behaviour. All determined to best the opposition. A thousand smiles, all of them ? I suppose ? false. And of the guests, which of them are moonlighting for factions other than their own?

Ah, what a cynical mind I have.

Which of course is a necessity for this job.

"Are you enjoying this dance not, Sera?" The voice is a woman's, and from behind.

Without turning my head, I know that it is a Breton woman speaking. The accent, the grammatical construction of the negative at the end of sentence, could only be from a Breton. I also know that she is not of a high social ranking ? this is normal, as few high ? ranking Bretons have been invited here. The voice is soft, yet a little husky at the edges. No doubt someone who could not find a partner for a dance, and is now trying to inveigle me to dance. But if I had cared for women, I would not have become the type of Mage I was.

And I had other things to do far more important than to hold a conversation with a Breton Wallflower. I was intensely searching the crowd to find out the claimant of the Valleron title: she was said to be wearing a dress of cornflower blue, but I could not find any one. In addition I was thinking ? hard ? over what King Silath had cryptically hinted the previous evening when I had seen him at the credential presentation ceremony.

"Ah yes, the Mages Guild Emissary who is without bias. Welcome to my Kingdom, and know that I shall favour the Guild as equally they favour our joint enterprise!"

A hint? Was the King trying to tell me that he was having some doubts about the fidelity of the Mages Guild to the Valleron Research? I must meet the King's representative on Valleron to see if he is the one feeding these doubts. Indeed, he's supposed to be here at the moment ? what's his name, ah, ah, Godewynn!! Where is the man?

"A brown study for our Mage in Brown, and he wishes to appear the strong, silent type methinks?but then, so do most Mages who lack Brawn!"

Ah She wishes to make wit at my expense ? well, a few well ?chosen sarcastic words should crush her!

"Forgive my slow response, Breton Lady. But I dared not presume to address her Ladyship so familiarly, as I am sure without even looking at her wondrous beauty she is so beautiful that she will lack for neither a partner to carry her in dance or parry her at words!"

There that should do it ?

"Would you dance by yourself with your own words as your partner, Mage? Such is, I believe, the result of long solititude in Mage's studies!"

- That was a surprise. She does have a wit - but I just don't have the time to properly duel her. No. I'll just be rude, and that should make her go away.

"I would as lief study this crowd in solititude, Madam!"

"Ah yes, a solitary Mage type. Far removed from human society for long, no doubt. We apologise for having no Ivory Tower here, but perhaps the King will graciously allow one to be built just for you!"

"My business is my own, Madam, and those who know of Bowers only should not jest of Towers!"

A Mocking laugh.

"Alas, my Mage seems to believe that women should be near flowers, look like flowers, and no doubt have a head filled with flowers as well?but things have changed in the world whilst you were in your cave, with cobwebs a-building on your head?"

"I pray thee, Madame, desist AT ONCE!"

Foolish. FOOLISH. I should NOT have lost my temper! Now I bet she will -

"Such a temper - and in a Mage, too. Should we expect fireballs next? I must warn the master of ceremonies that the Mages Guild has arranged to have a wondrous display of fireworks for this evening's entertainment!"

"I would rather you arranged to entertain another, Madam!"

Why can't she leave me alone?

"Entertainment is not my object, Sera, for I came to enlighten those who are in the dark".

"Then pray derange somebody else, Madame Breton, and leave us Ignorant Imperials alone!"

"Ah, but Ignorance is bliss for those who seek far for what is near ? and it would be rude to refuse one who would lead the ignorant one out of his cocoon!"

I ground my teeth. Things were not going as I expected. But I REFUSED to turn around and look at her. The nerve! To think she could bandy words with me, Daryen, the Mages Guild Emissary! And as if I cared for the wiles of women...!

"Your Pardon, My High Lady, for my rudeness. I admit I am rude, and ignorant to boot. I shall now apologise for my rudeness by not troubling you with my speech again!"

There. That should do it. No matter what she said now, I would simply maintain a freezing silence and after five or six attempts at wit she would make what she thought to be a cutting remark, and move off in a flurry with some hauteur. I smiled to myself. Women! All their thoughts were as the froth on an ocean, even if they presumed to have an education. I grimaced. I would have to inquire into this 'Valleron heir' and that would entail talking to her?I mentally groaned. I hope she isn't as annoying as this one?

Ah yes, she speaks again. Let her! I shall not respond?what? POETRY?


"Mage Daryen, the Pompous Bookworm
At this Ball, tried to have scorn
On a poor Breton Girl
And with his words hurl
Her face from his sight ?
Ah, perhaps it was the Night!
For in his pride he did not see
That though he scanned the ballroom, free,
Searching for the impostor who claimed
That her blood from the Vallerons came
He was afflicted with the Mages disease
And saw all except what should be ease -
For She was not in the Ball, at all!
Ah, Pride goeth before a fall
And ? to humble you, my Mage so tall
I shall tell you that the one you seek
Is not lost ? no, no fate so bleak ?
For she is the one you scorn to speak
Turn around, and see that she's no freak!"

My blood froze.

A BRETON? The Heir to the Aristocratic Vallerons of Imperial Fame, a BRETON? Impossible!

All dignity momentarily forgotten, I turned around swiftly. But even as I turned, my mind was making a thousand explanations to apologise for my rudeness, and to subtly and cunningly follow on from there into finding out about her...after all, she is but a woman, and women are ever suspectible to flattery and a show of humility?

And then I saw her, and Dibella must have smiled.

For all the years I had sneered and scorned women. For all my condescension towards them. For all the times I had made them the butt of my wit. For all the smugness in my soul that told itself ten thousand times before that women were dangers to other men, but not to me.

It was not the face of my dreams: I do not dream of women, and no dream could have prepared me anyway for the sardonically yet sweetly smiling face I saw in front of me. The whole room seemed to blur, with only her standing out in focus: a mouth with a perfect cupid's bow, thin eyebrows arched above eyes wide , laughing yet ironic as well, a face sculpted by nature to be a masterpiece of harmony in its smooth lines and curves, and skin of a smoothness and luster that would put the finest silks to shame. Hair drawn back in a simple, yet supremely elegant style and fastened with two ruby hairpins that highlight the honey blonde glory of her head. Two smiling lips showing perfect teeth in a mouth generously wide and hinting of mischief. All this on top of a smooth yet full body that had its arms bare in a cornflower blue gown, which flared out in a long skirt that hinted at long and smooth legs underneath.

Why?why did this have to happen?

Love? It cannot be! My ambition is to be Arch-Mage, has always been since I was a child, and that ambition has neither time nor inclination for marriage or even a transitory love! I tell myself this, yet every fibre of my body is screaming that I am in love. I don't need this. Not here. And especially not now! All this my self speaks, while mocking heart and raging blood counter every thought with ten of their own?no, no, I am in trouble. In trouble, indeed.

She sees me flabbergasted, and makes a small, mocking bow.

"Venera Valleron, at your service, Sera Daryen. And I believe you're looking for me."

I have fallen flat on my face intellectually, socially and emotionally. Out of the corner of my eye I can see all the soldiers and aristocrats and other guests in my vicinity politely making conversation, pretending not to see and hear what's going on, while inwardly screaming with laughter. And, of course, she is well aware of that, too. That and the fact I'm so awestruck by her beauty that I still cannot speak.

Dibella's Revenge? Bah. Dibella AND Sheogorath. Both of them must be laughing themselves sick by now.

Just read Chapter 2 but I don't have time for Ch. 3 tonight, damn my social life!

Anyway, still really good writing. I also like it alot because necromancy and magicka is something that's always interested me in TES and more specifically Morrowind, but I never really explored it so this seems like it should get alot more interesting too. A good read, keep it up

Many thanks, Pat. And also thanks to the many other viewers who have looked through this novella, and have not posted. Do feel free to add your comments as well. All comments welcome, and guaranteed to be pondered!

As you can see from how this story is developing, this is not just your usual slash-and-cast TES based story with duels, dungeons, dragons, danger and dark prophecies! I have written that too - but this time I'm trying to write something different. I suspect this will be more to the taste of the older members of these forums.

I'm trying to write a story of magical and political intrigue, necromancy, and a love story at the same time - and to guard that recipe from slipping into a formula of hackneyed potboiling, I am trying to inject wit and style as necessary into the action.

And once again, a quick apology to those on this forum who might feel annoyed at how fast and loose I've played with the Lore of the official TES. Yes, I know, I've committed grievous solecisms against the lore already and will probably commit some more as I write. In my defence I plead that the universe of Morrowind I build this story on is in an alternate reality...and with that cliche I end this post.

Reader, it is your judgment that matters. Thank you for reading so far.

4. "SHALL WE GAME, SERA?"

Valleron is an isle of contrasts. It is near the mainland and on a clear day from the highest point in it, the abandoned lighthouse that is built near the crumbling and equally abandoned old Valleron Mansion, one can see the docks that lie near Valleron castle. Glance down and one can almost see the whole island, with the exception of the many coves and inlets to the south that are hidden by the only other hill of any size on Valleron. All the other gently rolling elevations on the isle do not merit the title of hills. It seems so placid, and yet it is not. Because it stands directly in the path of the sea and rain and there are no other islands or high elevations to break the force of the wind, it is a storm ravaged island, inhabited by no man. Until now, that is.

The trouble with Valleron has always been that there is no rain, or almost no rain, on the island at all, and the jagged rocks that surround the island make it almost impossible to establish any kind of harbour there at all. With little vegetation, no minerals to speak of, and no large harbour to support a fishing and clam diving industry, it is a place where the only regular income was provided by the lighthouse that warned ships at night away from the treacherous Valleron rocks. No wonder none of the Aristocratic families had cared enough about the island to fight over it.

Indeed, the Valleron Family had their income from many large estates on the mainland, and originally the Valleron Mansion itself was not on this island. But the declining fortunes of the Valleron Family, due to their having consistently backed the wrong political side and financing disastrous expeditions, made them either leave or sell their vast estates on the Mainland, and finally left them with only the Mansion on the Island that they had built in far more prosperous times. It was said that they retired from social life as well, and only came to the Mainland a few times a year to collect the lighthouse fees and buy supplies which they would then ship to their island in the type of boat that only they knew how to build ? the shallow bottomed and extremely fast Valleron catamarans.

The Vallerons, then, were always assumed to have been poor Aristocrats. I smiled at the thought. People always forgot that where there was a will and an intelligence, there was a way, and the Vallerons always were famous for both.

It was clear, now, that they had turned to smuggling. The Rocky shores of Valleron hid a secret ? due to some strange flaw in their geologic formation in the past, there were streaks and layers of soft, porous rock mixed into the sharp stones, and over time the tides hard worn them down and dissolved them, so the entire island was a network of natural caves. Mudcrabs has sought these caves for shelter, and dug them deeper to escape from the slaughterfish: this exposed more of the rock to the tide, thus creating a cycle where the tide extended the caves, allowing the slaughterfish to probe deeper into the recesses in the shore, the Mudcrabs dug new holes further away, and the tide dissolved more rock. In fact, the entire island must be a vast interconnected honeycomb of caves. The Vallerons when they had been driven by penury to their last remaing estate on the island must have soon discovered that ? and turned it to their advantage.

First they had made a mechanism so ingenious that I can only shake my head in awe. They had somehow discovered how to make magical, semi-sentient stones charged with magical energy that continuously broadcast a summon creature spell, and set the stones in the middle of a multitude of traps designed to kill both mudcrabs and slaugherfish. Within a very short time they must have killed all the dangerous beasts on the island, and then from the sale of the vast amount of meat from the animals - and whatever they got from the stomachs of those animals ? they must have got the capital to start their smuggling and slaving business, while slavery was still legal?

And they must have used the slaves for not one, but at least five or even seven generations, to hide the caves from the world and build rock walls with secret doors between one cave and the others, for during all the time we had been excavating and looking around from the one cave the fisherman had discovered his 'Valleron Pearls' from ? for over four months, now ? we had only discovered seven cave systems. Each system was superbly engineered. Each had numbered and signposted tunnels, like a road system underground, lightstones, rest rooms, slave pens, and well tended plant rooms to both grow herbs and to keep the air fresh without need for ventilation systems. And from partial plans outlining the systems we had discovered, we could easily guess that there must be at least a hundred more, but to discover the single or double door connecting one cave system from another took days and weeks of patient examination of the walls. That took precious time and effort, which was hard to spare, for the caves were a treasure house of secrets and treasure which many generations of Vallerons had made from their nefarious smuggling and slaving. The treasures themselves were amazing, but in comparison to the secrets they were but mere baubles.

The embittered Vallerons, shunned by the rest of society for their 'poverty' must have decided to turn to the path of power through intelligence, and studied long and hard the Mage's and Alchemist's arts. The spells they used were both more powerful and used far less Magika energy than the ones the Mages Guild and their potions packed the power of a strong bottle of potion into a volume of liquid that could easily fit into a skooma-sized bottle. Not to mention their enchantments, which were both more subtle and more powerful than even the most experienced Mages could make. Poring through all these spells and anolyzing all these potions, I pondered over the irony of this reversal of fortune. If only the Valleron ancestors had one-half of their descendant's astuteness and cunning during their heyday, they would not have been forced to social exile on this island?but it seems adversity brings out a surprising strength and resilience in the most unlikely people.

Now I see why everyone wants a piece of the action. The Mages, the Alchemists and the Treasure Hunters all lust after Valleron's bounty, the Soldiers are drooling over a ready-made Island Fortress honeycombed with tunnels and caves, and the rest of the world wants to ally itself with one faction or another to gain either intellectual, social or economic benefit. Or all three.

And as the news of this spreads it will be like a bleeding carcass in slaughterfish-infested waters.

Even now, only the top layers of society know, and look at all the plots and counter-plots and counter-counter plots that have been hatched since then!

What will happen when the Bards sing songs of it, when every copy of the 'Courier' has an article on the latest developments on the Island, when every traveling merchant and flea-bag pedlar goes around hawking 'Genuine Valleron Treasure Ware and Magic Items?' No wonder both the Mages Guild and King Silath are impatient to finish the excavations quickly. Every day that goes by I feel the pressure from them both, and now I see why Morkwin was smiling as he waved me goodbye at the dock.

Bastard. What a job!

Venera?

Oh, curses on that woman! I cannot get her out of my head for more than ten minutes at a time, no matter how important the subject. I will not think of her. I will NOT. And I WILL cure my mind of this wild infatuation with the woman. I cannot ? I WILL not ? be a love-slave of any woman!

I have far, far more important things to worry about. I have to worry about Godewynn and the King. Is Godewynn naturally impatient and suspicious, or is he just trying to eject each Mages Guild Emissary until he gets one he can control? Since Godewynn was the one who exposed the connections between the last Emissary and the Fighters Guild, King Silath will hear no ill of him. I have to tread warily there.

And the sentient stones which report to the Mages Council. I have devised ways of manipulating what they see, hear, and feel, but no man or Mage is perfect. If I slip once, I am lost. The Guild will have me quietly assassinated ? they cannot afford the scandal. But definitely they will choose assassination.

I have to continually keep checking the security of the Island and the work site. And the loyalty of the guards. If any attempt to breach the island is made, it will first come through a bribed guard or guards. With Bretons, Argonians, Dunmer, and other races represented, this in itself should be a full time job. Not to mention keeping the peace between them and the Guards posted by King Silath.

In the middle of all this is the demanding schedule of excavation, exploration, cataloguing, and reporting. Followed by sessions of the inheritance court to find out what truth, if anything, lies in Venera's claim. What game is she playing? If she is a puppet of the Great Houses, how did she get the proofs which she has produced? Are they forgeries? If she truly is the long ? lost heir of the Vallerons, why has she not used her knowledge of the Valleron treasures to enrich herself? And why did Visleith Valleron disappear, all these long years ago?and how was her great age, youthful appearance and beauty tied up with the discovery of the 'Valleron Pearls' ?

And how did she manage to breed descendants that intermarried with Bretons? To produce Venera?who combines the regal stature of the Imperials, and the delicate features of the Bretons?

Oh Venera. Venera,Venera, Venera! Somehow she always finds a way to pop back up into my mind and business. It is bad enough I have to see her twice a week in the court's sessions, but worse is that, as one of the court's investigators, I have to see her face to face across a table while she smilingly answers my questions.

Well did I remember the first of those sessions. I had walked into the office, expecting her to come accompanied by Telvanni and Hlaalu speakers in Law and Lore, as indeed was her right. Instead she walked in all alone as bold as brass, and sat down opposite me looking at me smiling and doe-eyed. And she had spoken.

"Shall we game, Sera?"

And just how do I play any game when my heart was lost to you before the first move, Venera Valleron?

So: how goes it, constant readers, of whom I know there are at least seven? Give me your feedback. And don't hold back - if you think it's beginning to look like 'chick lit' (heh, or even chicken little) fell free to give your 2 cents!

Sorry, but it's a BGSF sin to give thoughtful comments on fanfics.

Apparently Red isn't getting enough "thoughtful comments" on his own work

Just read the chapters today and I think they're done fantastically. Well written and rather original. I like where the story is going and don't really find any of the lore inconsistencies to detract from the storytelling. Keep 'em coming.

But I don't even write many fanfics anymore.

You write, I read; that's the symbiotic relationship we have. Now write

To Master Redsrock and Diviner Beniamus Revas, Greetings, acknowledgments, and thanks.

Both of you have been here long enough to have read many of the fanfic and RP efforts here on this sub forum, and the fact that you have continued to read the chapters to date is gratifying to this writer's ego. One hopes to have both quantity and quality, of course: but given the choice between many adoring and uncritical readers, and few and loudly critical but constructive and...most of all...intelligent readers, I'll plump for the latter.

More chapters have already been written. I am refining, adding, and pruning as necessary.


Master Redsrock has in his signature "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write." ~ Stephen King. How I agree with that! Not only do I have nearly every book on King, but I have read his books on the craft of writing fiction (and the similar craft of writing screenplays) over, and over again. Whomsoever would be a writer, let him/her study those.

For the gold standard for writing is belief. If I can make you believe, then I have touched your hearts and minds. If I can't, then words are just eye candy.

To be continued...

I like the way you think, D.Foxy.

... and that is the first rule of writing - serious writing that is - THINKING! :whisper: Yes, you must read...but think after you read...think again...and again...and yet again...

Most people think that writing just flows from your fingertips to the printed page or electron screen. Let me tell all aspiring writers what Stephen King, and a greater maestro before him, Ernest Hemingway, did...

Hemingway always wrote out his stories in longhand with pencil and paper. He said he did this because it gave him three chances to revise his stories: the first when he wrote it slowly in longhand, the second when he typed out the first draft on his typewriter, and the third when he was typing the fair copy to send to his editor.

King did the same on many of his early novels. Yes, I kid ye not, Forumers, he ACTUALLY wrote out in longhand many of his early thousand-pagers :shocking: and typed them himself on a typewriter :shocking: ... that's the sort of dedication you need...and the mental discipline. To go back to what you've done already, and re-do it, is the sort of dedication that makes you either an OCD patient or an adequate writer. (To be great you need to be touched by Sheogorath). Or just

So, to all those who are :nerd: and who :read: and who think they can write... I have two words. Patience. And tylenol.

Ahh, back to the story! Another chapter's a-coming soon!

5. TOO MANY COOKS ? EMPLOY A PLOT.

The Mage's Council meeting room was one of the most unpopular ones in the entire Mage Complex. Other rooms were light, airy, with large and expensive glass windows and a pleasing view of the gardens outside: the Council room was in a separate annex of the main building, windowless, lit by a lightglobe and guarded by constantly updated spells against eavesdropping. And, of course, cleaned out only once a month under strict supervision. All Mage's Council meetings smelled of stale air. This was unavoidable as the doors and windows were kept locked for the duration of the meeting, and meetings were never short. Definitely not a place to spend any more time in than absolutely necessary. Even the guards outside thought the place was a gloomy and rather shabby place,

Achmage Morkwin mentally winced as he sniffed the air before he began the meeting, which he hoped to keep shorter than usual. Not that any Mage Council meeting has ever been short, he thought. In every meeting that we have, even meetings to discuss trivialities, there are always those who think they're important, those who think the Archmage is politically impotent, and those who are just impertinent. Add to that number those who think their authority will decline if they don't make any comment at all, and those who say 'no' even when they mean 'yes' just to make life difficult, and those who just repeat what someone else said as if they said it first...I wonder why any decisions are ever taken at a meeting.

Morkwin smiled genially at the Council as they filed in to take their seats. Patronius looked up once, then made a great show of studying a parchment. Ah. Patronius doesn't know what this meeting is going to be about, so he's acting as if he's studying important information...the better to quietly gauge the mood of the meeting, see which way the wind is going to blow, before committing himself.

A quick recalculation of the odds, then Morkwin looked around at the other Mages, and registered the fact that 'Mind-like-whip' was staring at him unblinkingly. Yes, you lizard, you are going to make trouble. You most probably will try to take charge of this meeting early - probably by interrupting me and bringing up another subject - and I suspect you've already canvassed some other Mages before this meeting. Or maybe all of them. Well, no problem, I wouldn't be Archmage if I hadn't done some plotting in my own time. But I'll wait till you show your hand...then I'll counterattack..

Morkwin smiled at each Mage as they entered, making sure they passed close enough to him so that he could sense through their body language their probable mood. As for himself he made sure that not even the slightest involuntary flinch passed through his body when he shook the hands of those he knew to be his enemies. Ah, magic is more than just spells, and not all magic can be found in books, you amateurs - the real magic is the power to know the mind of others without using spells. Smiling, moving around the room, exchanging a few words with each as they fussed and fidgeted before taking their seats, Morkwin made a few last minute mental adjustments to the assessment of the Council's mood which he had done the night before. Smiling genially at the upturned faces, he began the meeting.

"I now call the meeting of this Council to order. We have Mages Urg-Lokath, Mind-like-whip, Patronius, Arvil, Do-jen, Dyron Hel Senat, Zan Reeet, and myself present, thus having an almost full Council and more than meeting the quorum requirement of three. I am glad that we are all present, for the business of Valleron is pressing and require our urgent attention. I intend to make a full report, but before I do so ?"

A voice, soft but with authority, interrupted Chairman Morkwin's opening speech.

"Excuse me for interrupting, Mage Morkwin, but I distinctly remember at our last meeting we agreed that Mage Daryen, even though he was judged to be the most reliable and suitable for the job, was not to be fully trusted, which was why we agreed he be fitted with the Sentients. Now during the month he has been there I have tried to view his sight, sound, and touch, and I had been successful ? but only in patches. There were many lapses, some as short as a minute, and others about an hour or so, and I told you and all the Mages here at the time that this was worrying. Indeed, it was extremely worrying. I believe, too, that all the other members of the Council should feel the same way. Now are we going to discuss this first, or not?"

Morkwin's eyes first took in the entire Council, which was slowly nodding its collective head. When he replied, he did so calmy but firmly.

"Patience, 'Mind-like-whip'. My report will touch on this, too. It had crossed my mind even as I fitted Daryen with the Sentient Soulstones, that he might try to trick us. The most obvious way to do this would be to transfer the stones to a well-coached confederate of his, who would meet, talk and interact with the people we wanted him to meet. We would see through the eyes of his actor, while Daryen would be free to plot and scheme and be bribed or threatened without our knowledge.

To guard against that I had prepared a backup, one would also be fitted with the stones in such a way as to hide that fact, and he would check on Darynen to see if he was truly wearing the stones or not. He is an Argonian. As you all are aware, only Argonians have a skin tough and ridged enough to hide the fact that there may be something implanted under them. The stones have been implanted into his brow, ears, and hands, and the wounds carefully sown over so that no one can tell from looking alone whether stones have been implanted. The Argonian I have selected is one that is absolutely loyal and not so intelligent ? and the best thing of all is, he does not even know he is working for the Mages Guild! He believes he is working for an Argonian Conspiracy to find out what is there in Valleron, and thus this useful fool does not know in the slightest that he is actually working for the Mages Guild and reporting to me! As we all know, Argonians are fiercely loyal only to their own race, and no other -"

- here Morkwin smiled ironically at 'Mind-like-Whip' and bowed his head, slightly -

" ? with, of course, a few exceptions such as our esteemed Mage Council member and other members of our Mages Guild. This is why I am as sure as is possible that neither has Daryen betrayed the Council, nor has the Argonian reported anything but the truth."

Even the veteran Mages of the Council were stunned ? they had expected Morkwin to be cunning and devious, but the depth and subtlety of his plan leave them unable to speak. Patronius opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally Urg-Lokath spoke, and in his voice was found both admiration and a hint of wariness.

"By Boethia?a masterly plan indeed, Mage Morkwin, but we would like to know exactly what instructions you gave this Argonian. And why were we not told of this? Are not the Mages of the Council supposed to know of, and approve, all the things that are carried out in this Council's name?"

Morkwin bowed first to the speaker, then to the Council in general.

"I apologise for this, but it was necessary that the greatest secrecy be preserved so that none could know of my backup plan before Mage Daryen left for Valleron. And while we are now on this subject of secrecy and checks, perhaps this would be the right time to explain what my instructions to my Argonian Agent are, and how he has faithfully carried them out. "

"My instructions, given indirectly of course, to him were that he should pose as a guard on the island, and at the same time recruit where possible other Argonians to report to him all the doings on that island, with particular attention to Daryen. He is to write a report once a month to me in code. Of course that is just a ruse to disguise the fact that I am seeing what he sees and hearing what he hears, in addition to Daryen's Sentients ?

Here Patronius, frowning, held up a hand.

"Excuse me, Mage Morkwin ? to see Daryen's sight and sound, even in excerpts, is time-consuming enough. How do you find the time to see two Sentient accounts and still leave room for your other work?"

"By using the Sentience of my Receiver Stone. I have spell crafted my receiver in such a way that it will remind me to view both only when living beings are being viewed and spoken to, and when Daryen's hand is writing. That cuts down my viewing time to an hour a day. Of course, all our Sentient Receivers have memories, so we can ? if we suspect something ? go back and review over all that he sees, hears, or even snores in his sleep. But both from what I have seen on Daryen's Sentients, and the Argonian's Sentients as well, as well as his first written report which is now in my hands, I can tell you this, dear colleagues: Darynen has not taken off his stones, and he has not received any bribes, threats, or other inducements."

"Now about the lapses in reporting by the stones ? I have discovered the reasons for this. It seems that there is so much magical energy being generated by the Valleron's own special class of Autonomous Sentient Stones that they are at times interfering with the recording and reporting of our own stones. I have studies these lapses, and concluded that they are not important. There were only four lapses longer than five minutes, and they averaged an hour in length: two of them happened in sleep, so they can be discounted. The Argonian's surveillance and diary covers the other two, so that in reality there is no gap in the reporting. I think on that front we can rest easy. For now. Do I have the agreement of the Council?"

Morkwin looks at the Council, and waits.

All clever and Ambitious Mages, every one of them, he thought. Yes, they do not trust me or even each other completely, and this is not surprising ?many Mages have betrayed each other for far less than the secrets in Valleron. And for all their cleverness, that is why it is so predictable what they are thinking now?they are surprised at my precautions, they grudgingly admit that it was clever, but at the same time they are jealous. And suspicious. Any moment now, one of them will get up and say that I did well, but all should have access to both stone records, and also copies of my receiving stone. Who will it be?

Ah yes. 'Mind-like-Whip' speaks.

"First of all, let me congratulate Mage Morkwin for his brilliant plan and extremely deep foresight. I believe I can speak for the entire Council in expressing its gratitude to him for his deep thinking and extremely hard work. And indeed, we would not be fulfilling our duties if we did not elect to share some of the time and effort consuming burden with him ?"

Ah so that's the route he's going to go down. Clever.

" ? and so I suggest to this Council that two of us, chosen randomly each time, be appointed each month to assist Mage Morkwin in his surveillance of the Argonian and Daryen. I apologise to Mage Morkwin for the trouble involved, but I humbly ?"

'Humbly'. Humbug! Hypocrite!

"- request that he make two copies of his special Receiver Stones, so that we may be able to do the work we discussed."

And also try to find out the secret, and copy the stones. Yes, I thought you'd say that. Which is why I have prepared some special stones just for you ? they shall transmit as well as receive, and I can also select what you see and what you don't!!!

You are all so predictable. Which is why in spite of all your intelligence, you are easy to trap. Now with a show of reluctance, I must give in and give you the Stones you lust for.

Archmage Morkwin looked around the Council with an impassive face, then suddenly shrugged. And smiled ruefully.

"Very well?it will take a few days, though. I agree that the Council needs to be in the picture and so I agree to the proposal by Mage 'Mind-Like-Whip' that there should be a random selection. Now, to move on to the secrets we have obtained so far, and the latest appraisal of the political situation in King Silath's Court?"

A sudden rhyme popped into his head.

They say too many cooks spoil the broth. But I'll employ them to cook me up a plot!

6. VENERA'S GAME: THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT

It is a delight to partake of life's simple pleasures. The feel of the evening wind on my face and hair as I walk in the Royal Gardens. The sweet fragrance of Foxglove and Honeysvckle. The freshness of the green leaves. And the admiring glances of the guards as I walk past, back to my apartment to change for tonight's audience. Ah, yes, men?

Men and males ? frequently I have thought that the best metaphor to make for them is that they are jeweled stones in the rough. Stones are hard, they resist attack from wind, rain and even shock, but every stone has its flaw line. A master jeweler knows how to strike them in such a way as to break up the stones, and polish them to perfection, and set them as jewelry, so they shine and sparkle and look heavenly ?

- for the adornment of us females, of course.

I smile again. Men, even the most intellectual, can be shattered into more manageable pieces, and polished for my use, if only you know where to strike. They will not even know that they are being used, for they will only see that they are more polished than before: the fact that the polish is eventually for us alone escapes their self-absorption.

And sixual attraction?all women know that this is a tool we can use to manipulate and dominate men, but fewer women have discovered that on its own it is not enough, and only one woman in a thousand knows what else is needed for a seduction to be so complete as to be total victory and domination. A Man's desire burns as hot ? and as briefly ? as a fire in straw. To dominate and manipulate men, it is necessary to discover what it is they dream of and lust for. And then offer that, in addition to a total sense seduction. The sight of course, but the sound, the scent, the touch, and most subtle of all, the mind!

Ahh, it feels good to be a woman, to be beautiful, but most of all, to be me! Now, which gown shall I choose? With what jewelry?

Stripping naked in front of the mirror, I smile at my reflection. Yes, I am beautiful. I have the face, the proportions, the skin. And of course, my briasts?I study them critically, and test their feel and texture by stroking and hefting them. Yes, still magnificent. Most women would stop there and preen in their glorious perfection, but of course I'm far too smart for that.

Casual observers may think all men desire a basic type of beauty with only slight differences, but that's tar too simple. Even the men themselves don't know what they desire, and only when they stumble upon what they've been looking for all their lives do they fall 'in love'. And they think it's magical, or some fate written in the stars, or some Goddess striking with a weapon of love! When all that was happening was that the physical and emotional reality he saw came close to the one that was sitting hidden in his mind the whole time.

I knew I could seduce nearly all men only if I could appear to be all women to all men ? at least in their eyes! This wasn't really so brilliant, other women before me had discovered that too. But their insight was limited mostly to that 'some men like brunettes and others blondes' type of thinking. Whereas I know it's much more subtle than that! Any man can fall 'in love' with any type of coloring ? if ? IF ? there appears in his eyes and ears most of what he's been looking for?the minute variations of face, height, voice tone, words, even clothes and scent, all working together to create an image of his mind's ideal.

Again the mirror. I study my face critically, then mentally stretch the nose longer and lift up my eyebrow ridges. Ah, yes, that looks just enough like the King's mother to attract him, though not enough to provoke a conscious reaction from his mind or from anyone in his court. And since I don't want to provoke a direct sixual response from him, only a subconscious 'she could be my daughter' response, I'll need to change the pitch of my voice to a more child-like higher pitch?and of course, I'll need to wear innocent, pure white with only pearls and a wrought silver headband. And to slightly alter my hour-glass figure to a more girlish, innocent shape?

I relax my projection and instantly the mirror shows my true face, which is still amazingly beautiful, but not the type to provoke the response I want from the King!

Heh, all the mages who studied the art of Chameleon only thought to use it to blend into the surroundings! But that was like using a fine steel warblade to slice onions! Typical Male Mind, only thinking of Wars and Victories in fighting. Why should I use Chameleon to sneak around and perhaps even fight, when with the inventive use of Chameleon I can rearrange my face and even body to appear as a man's dream?

Many women before me knew this ? but they tried to do what I'm doing now through the use of makeup and wigs and dresses and other physical aids! And, I smiled triumphantly, that's why they failed! Because these are things that can be seen, detected, and even duplicated, so that after the first impression men see through the illusion, and become even more hostile ? while still burning with lust ? towards the woman.

No. The way to capture a man's infatuation, and keep it forever, is for the illusion never to be discovered! To chameleon one's face and body to fit a man's dream is clever enough; but to Chameleon many subtly different forms at once, and do so simultaneously so that five different people see five subtly different forms and faces at once?ah, that is MY genius, the genius that I alone, of all women, have discovered! And I know enough not to over-use my art. I could, if I really wanted to, make five different men see me as a blonde, a brunette, a redhead, tall and short at the same time, but when I am not around sooner or later they would compare notes and discover the discrepancy. Such was the downfall of many seductresses before me. Once the illusion is shattered, the audience looks at the conjuror with a critical eye, and not all his clever aids nor the speed of his hand will ever fool them again.

Hah. That will never happen, the way I do it. A slight difference in nose angle, eye size (but NEVER eye color, though I may change the hue of my green to suit different tastes) jawline, and eyebrow shape for each man, but never anything dramatically different that can be accurately described in words. Thus all men will look at me and be in love ? and each man will never know that the other man is seeing, and hearing, something slightly different from what he himself is seeing and hearing?

And, of course, the voice! Five or more men, five or more slightly different voices, each specifically tailored to appeal to the subconscious desires of each?and none of them will know that each of them is hearing a different thing. Yes, the art of illusion is great indeed, and the personality driving it needs to be powerful?but then, there has been no personality among females that I know of, both in history and to my knowledge, that can compare to mine.

Sands almost out of the hourglass! I must get ready for King Silath, for today he has finally agreed to meet me. Who will be there? Ah yes, the court, the soldiers, and that Mage ? Daryen. I smile. Daryen! The form I showed to him was so similar to what I'm going to show King Silath that I won't need to change a thing for him, especially as he's going to be rather far away. I only need to change my voice for him so that he won't notice how much more childlike I'm sounding as I cajole King Silath to at least allow me to visit the island, even if only to the restricted places, so as to 'visit the island of my ancestors once more'?of course King Silath won't let me do that, but he'll feel so guilty that he'll give in to my next request, which is to see some of the 'treasures' unearthed by the excavators.

And then?I can put my mastery of Chameleon to good use! Ah, great are the powers of Chameleon?and the male Mage fools use it only for sneaking around in their ridiculous adventures?

I chuckle. I remember my first tete-a-tete meeting with Daryen in the King's Law Chambers. He had tried to counter my "Shall we game, Sera?" with a "Your move first, madame!"


And so?yes. I will move first, Sera Daryen. With a Queen's Gambit.

Still smiling, I walk out to the waiting chamberlain. Before he can bow, I move quickly to him and touch his arm. Instantly I change my features to subconsciously resemble his dead daughter. The voice, too - his daughter had a slight stammer -

"Oh, Sir, I'm s-so nervous!"

He looks at me with concern and tenderness. Yes, men are easy to manipulate. The trick is to keep them manipulated.

I simply adore reading this! You have a brilliant way of describing details, and so far, I'm very intrigued by the main characters, especially Venera. My attention was captured after reading the first lines of chapter 1.

I'm looking forward to read more!

Oh and I was wondering, what race is Daryen? I'm assuming Imperial after reading

But for some reason I kept picturing him as a Dunmer.

Ahem...Serenity...there's a reason I made Daryen into a foundling orphan.

More shall be revealed in later chapters!!

But I am very glad that among my many female readers, you have posted. Not including my internet mother, summer, of course ... but mom is familiar with my work...

The point is... many of the Fanfics here have been written mainly from the male point of view, even if the dramatis personae and storyline contained female characters. While I am a male, and straight at that, I have always tried to see the female point of view...and I think I have succeeded in this story.

The female point of view is more than just a cliched opposite of the male point of view! In Venera I have tried to create a female villian, but she is so much deeper than just a one dimensional...er...beech...that we see in cliches in writing. I think I have added light and shade and colour, and that should make her fascinating...

And also the male. Daryen. A pompous and narrow prig in the beginning, he'll undergo a metamorphosis as the story moves on.

Thank you, constant readers!!!

7. A PEARL BEYOND PRICE.

"How many times do I have to tell you ? don't touch any of the objects you discover! We didn't give you tongs for nothing, you know. As soon as you find something you think may be magical, just use them to put it into those boxes, and send them to us to check! Then I wouldn't have to order another coffin for another one of you stupid diggers!"

That's the fifth this week, and you would think they would learn by now. I gave a disgusted look at the corpse that was being lowered into a cheap coffin by the burial detail. Either stupidity or cupidity had done him in. He had tried to pull out a sword from the scabbard that it had lain in, all those years. And had his head nearly taken off by a fireball spell. I really think we should hire workers for their intelligence as well as for their ability to shift and shovel earth. But at least each accident gives me an opportunity to refine what I've been working on?

When Morkwin had fitted me with his stones I knew it wasn't going to be easy to deceive him and the stones, but with my long experience of the forbidden and restricted arts I had already thought out a tentative plan, a plan I refined in the first weeks of my task at Valleron. The various stones of power I discovered on the island gave me the opportunity.

I smiled to myself. In fact, I had not even need to lie?completely. The stones did interfere with both recording and transmitting, that was true enough. What I had done was merely to amplify the effect of what already existed, so that the interference was random and intense in short bursts. And once I have convinced the suspicious Morkwin that this is actually natural, it will become easier for me to arrange for the items I want to be placed next to a magically 'noisy' spot, so that Morkwin's eyes and ears will be blind just as I sneak that item into my own personal hoard, as indeed I've already begun to do in small amounts?it will also require a little luck and a bit of creative juggling with the account books and the cargo manifests, but I'm sure I can swing it?

Yes, so long as Morkwin remains gulled. But he didn't become Archmage by being a fool - or even by being just cunning. No, our Morkwin will have at least considered the possibility that I'd be so tempted by some of the treasure and even more so by the magic items that I'd steal. So what would he do? I bet he has somebody making another set of records at the docks. He doesn't have anyone else with the stones, that's for sure. I insist that all diggers strip down to loincloths.

I sigh. The island is an ant's nest of tunnels and tunnels within tunnels, and though there aren't any animals left in those tunnels...there are still the traps, which can throw weapons, open pits, or summon lesser Daedra briefly. That's why we need the guards here - and they've had to earn there pay quite a few times, too. But most of the time they just stand around as the digging goes on. To give both me and them something to do while the digging's going on, I am taking instruction in weapons from them. Ranged weapons, mostly, the throwing dagger and the bow, with the two handed staff once in a while. I'll never make a warrior. But within these past weeks I have managed to become a reasonably good assassin with the bow and the dagger, provided that the range was short. Now, I believe in letting other men do the fighting...but just in case I should ever need to fight, I now had the rudiments of the craft. I grinned. I might yet be a Battlemage...

My thoughts are interrupted by a shout.

"Sera Daryen! Come and see this, and tell us what we should do!"

A New Discovery! I am running at once ? and even while I run, I grin crookedly. I don't think Venera, if she could see me now, would call me 'A Mage who lacks Brawn' now! All this supervising, practicing, walking around, sometimes even running, and frequent sessions with a pick and shovel (I've discovered that the very dust in these caves is magically charged, and that exposure of my Sentients to that dust degrades them) have made me athletically much stronger than before. I can now run and jump and even swing a sword with the best of them (and I needed to last week ? that storm Atronach trap was really tough, even for our Battlemages!) so now I feel much better. And best of all, with all that hard work I'm finally beginning to get over Venera.

Yes. If only I didn't have to see her twice a week in the Law Rooms. But now the constant, tearing heartache has muted to a dull throb.

Now what on earth ?

"See, Sera ? it's big! Really big!"

Huh? What the ? it's true, this is quite a find!

"It must be the size of a coffin when it's fully free! And look at the workmanship, and the inscriptions?the box alone should be worth quite a bit!"

" Sera Mage - there's some strange writing on this thing...and see how it shines? Definitely it's enchanted!"

Ah. They've uncovered a large box ? must be quite a lot of artifacts in there, and valuable, too, if all those locks on it mean anything! Interesting. Time to get to work.

"All right, all of you stop pvssyring! And you know the drill, all of you. Dig away the earth. Don't touch it when it's fully free. Get back out of sight while I try to open this ? there may be traps and just by looking at this thing, I'd be surprised if there weren't any traps. Come back after I call or an hour has passed, in which case you can bring along one stretcher as well, for I'll be unconscious or dead! "

They leave as fast as possible, for they know this isn't just my standard joke. One of the traps I inadvertently triggered, even with all my precautions, damaged me and killed three workers who were stupid enough to creep back to gawk over my shoulder as I was disarming the traps. After that I had no difficulty in telling them to stand well back and to be patient while I disarmed any magical or mechanical traps.

Heh, and how many of them suspected that I deliberately triggered that trap three days ago? Those regular gawkers were getting to be a real nuisance. Especially that Argonian, always there when you didn't expect him. I tried checking out all of them, but it seems there were not corresponding with any faction ? but I can't be sure, and they were warned anyway, weren't they? Serve them right. And I needed the time to 'rest' after my accident, and using the 'gaps' in the Stones that I created, I was able to study and hide quite a few things without the stones seeing?Morkwin, Morkwin, you thought you could watch me 24/7, but I can still create gaps?

Now to find out what this large box is?

Hmmm. Runes carved over it. Ah, I see - instructions on how to open it?but written in Dwarven script. I can read it, but trust those instructions? No! I shall do what I normally do ? use telekinesis and my own, sentient stone to manipulate from a distance. Let's see, there's a bend in the tunnel here ? that should be perfect to shield me from any explosion. Now to set up my stone so that I can teleview from a safe distance?

WHAT?

Complete interference! No sight possible! Then that must mean the recording and transmission of Morkwin's stones must be down, too. This Box must be stuffed full of Magical energy ? but I'll have to go and look at it up close. Let's see what it is?Amazing. A continuous restore health, at low level, and a continuous shield high-level. AND the most powerful lock spell I've ever seen! The runes say "Write the name and it shall be opened". Clever. The shield spell prevents drilling, and it can't be unlocked normally or magically ? you have to know the name that opens the box and it's got to be written on this flat plate here?why the 'restore health' spell? Let's try my 'detect life' magic ? YES IT'S AS I THOUGHT! THERE'S SOMEONE OR SOMETHING ALIVE IN THERE!

And I don't think there are any traps in the box. Why make traps in a box which could damage the living cargo inside? It seems someone wanted to bury someone - or some living thing - alive, but keep it alive until one day he came back to open the box. And he's made it impossible to open it normally, or magically?this is quite a find. The magika reserve alone powering these spells should be worth a small fortune. Not to mention the other secrets it might contain.

But the box creator had not thought of me. And of my secret researches, that made me craft, among other things, a 'reveal' spell.

For centuries Magicians had crafted spell after spell, never really thinking of what they were doing. I smiled to myself. They did not truly understand that in crafting spells, what they were doing was creating an artificial form of half-life which just knew enough to obey some simple commands to do this or that in this direction or to that person. When I had discovered this, I wondered: what if those instructions could be rewritten, so that for example the spell "throw lightning bolt in this direction" could be rewritten "throw lighting bolt at self, or at the sky, or at anywhere else?"

Something of that kind was already done in the "Reflect" spell, which was a kind of spell that instantaneously re-wrote the instructions of the original spell back towards the sender. Of course, the crafter of the reflect spell never realised it was just a 'rewrite' instead of 'reflect' that was being used! But I had. Using my research into Reflect, I had discovered a secret that was unique to me alone ? I could reveal the instructions of any spell, and rewrite them if necessary! Of course, that took time, so it was of little use in battle. But in dealing with enchanted objects - such as this box or coffin - my 'reveal spellword' spell was of tremendous use.

Now to use 'Reveal Spellword' to find out the code?AHA! The code is 'Valleron Resurgam 255 = 1 = Infinity, Sun into Ocean create Dark Life" ?clever. Not too hard to remember, but extremely hard to guess, even by someone who had broken or obtained part of the code. What other spells? Aha, an 'open box' spell?yes. There is a trap, but it's no explosion ? it's a magical/mechanical trap, with the magic triggering the opening of another box ? which almost certainly has weapons ? as soon as a mistake is made in writing the code. Someone took a lot of trouble to do this.

Well, as Morkwin can't see this ? and there is a perfectly valid reason why he can't, THIS time ? let's open the box. With the correct code.

I wrote the words, and watched the box slowly open.

Inside was a thin shroud with a humanoid figure half-visible I gently pulled back the shroud, and stood as if turned to stone.

VENERA!

Excellent chapter and excellent twist. Did not see that coming and I can't see where it's going so even better

Oh wow.

This is great Foxy. Mama approves. :goodjob: