The wooden practice sword felt heavy, as heavy as a normal sword and while I knew that was a good thing, my brain told me that it wasn’t right. My legs felt heavier, weighed down by the new boots that had steel rising all the way to below my knee. Each of my arms had new gauntlets strapped to them, the iron made their presence known.
I gripped the weapon and gave it a few practice swings before nodding and looking across the sparring yards. My opponent, Bjorn, stood across from me. He had dark rings under his eyes.
He’s been up here everyday for the past few days, and he still has the night shift. I thought, looking at his tired form.
He instantly gained a certain amount of respect in my eyes. Any man willing to work himself to the bone for his craft is a man I can understand, and maybe even grow to like.
“Begin.”
Bjorn was a nord through and through. He gave a yell and charged me, it was laughably easy to send him to the ground after lashing his backside with my sword.
The weapons master stood there with disgust in his eyes. He was a skilled swordsman, and his knowledge of other weapons far outstripped my own, but he was also an asshole. He made no attempt to correct Bjorn, content in watching him get his ass kicked.
I caught his eye. “Are you going to teach him what he did wrong or am I going to have to?” I asked with a bit of anger in my voice.
He stared back at me unblinking. I got all the answers I needed out of him. I turned back to my opponent, who just stood up and was breathing hard.
“Bjorn right?” I asked him.
“Yea.” His voice was deep, much deeper than my own, and even though it wasn’t loud, I could tell it would travel far.
“Why are you here?”
He turned to me and I could see confusion written all over his face. “I’m here to serve Skyrim.”
It was a typical Nord response. Most likely he joined for the easy job and the respect you automatically get. Then there were those who enjoyed the power trip also. It was much the same for public servants in my last life.
“So am I.” I agreed. “But that is not why I am here.” I continued and pointed at the ground we were standing on. “I am here because I want to get better, I am here because I demand excellence out of myself.”
He hung on to my every word. “Now I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?”
He broke eye contact. Bad, never do that in times of uncomfortability with nords. I reprimanded him in my mind.
“Da died in the war and left me and ma by ourselves. I hated him growing up, but ma always respected him. Never been too good at fighting, we were hands growing up. Figured I wanted to fight, and the respect isn’t bad either.” Bjorn replied.
Not the full story. I deduced. But good enough, he’ll tell me eventually.
“Good, so you have motivation.” Even if it is shallow, I can work with it. “And you have good instincts. Attack first is a good plan only when you have the advantage of surprise, even then you should do it with caution.”
“Now, adopt your stance.” I barked as I finished my small lecture.
He frowned, obviously not knowing what I was talking about. So instead of explaining I walked over to him. I stopped beside him and turned till I was facing the same way he was. Then I bent my knees slightly putting my right foot behind my left. My hands brought my imperial sword up in the air pointing at an invisible enemy.
“The imperial sword is a shorter sword than some of the other designs you’ll see across the land. It’s made up of less malleable iron in the middle of the blade, giving a really strong base. It is double bladed, meaning that both sides are sharp and it comes to a deadly point. It is a weapon that is good at cutting motions.” I paused my speech for a moment to perform a diagonal slash.
“But where it really excels is it’s stabbing ability. This sword, though only made of iron, will pierce through almost any armor. It may not CUT through any armor but it will PIERCE through most.”
I dropped down into my stance once more and waited. Bjorn didn’t move. I turned my head towards him and shot him a look that sent him moving in action.
“We’re going to practice the basics. So now we thrust.” I told him performing a textbook thrust into an invisible enemy's breastplate. When I drew back, I fell into my stance naturally.
Bjorn didn’t need me to look at him this time and he thrust. It wasn’t the worst attempt I had ever seen, but then again I watched Ralof swing a sword growing up, and that man can’t fight with anything but a warhammer. Bjorn stumbled for a moment before dropping into his awkward version of my stance.
“That is an important lesson. Footwork and balance are some of the most important aspects of a fight.” I told him and performed another thrust.
I looked over to Bjorn to see a glint in his eyes and a smile on his face that I hadn’t seen before.
Is this all it takes, a little instruction? I wondered, watching him.
“Good, that’s good. Now you need to perform that motion over and over again until it becomes instinct. Let’s go over all the basic motions.” I said.
“Sir!”
I stood up and turned towards the disturbance. It was a boy with his hand outstretched towards me, inside it contained a rolled up scroll.
“From the Jarl, sir.” The boy said.
I took the piece of paper from him. “Thank you.” I said. He nodded to me and then took off in the opposite direction, the pack on his side told me that I wasn’t his first or last stop of the day. I mentally berated myself for not giving him a coin.
I looked around the field to see that Bjorn and I were no longer being watched by the weapon master only. Instead I found a dozen other men looking at me and Bjorn as we practiced. I swept my auburn hair back with one hand and sighed.
Is that all any of these men need? Instruction? Someone to show them the path, the way?
I made out Finn’s blonde hair in the crowd too. Another one up too early or too late.
“Well, get off your asses and get over here!” I barked out the order, my mind made up.
I saw at least seven of the men outranked me, I didn’t care and neither did they. They all stood up and made their way over.
“Stand beside Bjorn there, give enough space to perform the maneuvers. Good!”
I moved in front of everyone so they weren’t craning their necks. I showed them the gladius-like weapon in my hand and pointed to it. Everyone present carried the same weapon, although some had custom hilts, either of a different design, or painted. Some even had tassels hanging off of it. Their sheaths varied even more.
“The imperial sword is a shorter design…”
----------------------------------------
I straightened my body and wiped the sweat off of my brow. My head swivelled around the training grounds, looking at the twenty men in front of me. I realized that I knew nothing about them.
In my previous life, a unit was family. Each willing to take the sword for the man next to them. These men would grab a mug of mead and laugh. I thought to myself about the state of them. Even now they fought over water at the well.
My anger rose a touch at watching them bicker and my feet started moving of their own accord.
Fuck it.
I reached the first man, I had yet to have a proper conversation with him and didn’t even know his name. I did know that he was an absolute monster, he stood about six foot nine, and wore an equally impressive longsword on his back. He had been training all morning, but not with us. The other man was Bjorn, and I felt a stab of disappointment until I heard the topic of conversation.
“No longer!” Bjorn roared to Finn.
“A single sword lesson and you think you can go against our agreement. You’re still scum, Breton.” The man hissed out to him.
Bjorn is definitely not a breton. I disagreed. Bjorn stood about two inches shorter than me. And I was around six foot four.
“What’s this all about?” I spoke up to the giant.
His head whipped around, giving me a great view of his ugly mug. He had black hair that fell past his shoulders.
“None of your business, milk-drinker.”
“He’s been making me cover his district, along with my own at night. It’s the reason I hadn’t been able to get to the crypts.” Bjorn hissed out. “I told him I’m done with his shit.”
I nodded at him, hearing everything I needed to.
“So you’re lazy, ugly, and a bully.” I said staring the giant down.
He showed his teeth to me and I looked for any signs of him outranking me. I found none, in fact he didn’t even wear the imperial issued gauntlets or boots, giving me the impression that he fell below me in hierarchy.
Good.
His hand moved to my shoulder. “Don’t touch me.” I warned.
The giant gave a hearty laugh, it echoed throughout the grounds.
I ducked the fist coming my way, expecting it. My hand balled on instinct and I exploded into an uppercut that connected right below his sternum. I had to move out of the way to avoid the mountain of flesh falling to the ground.
He sank to his knees holding his stomach. He was obviously having a hard time breathing, if the wheezing was to be believed.
I crouched low, getting into his ear.
“That shit stops now.”
I stood up and looked around the training yard to see just about everyone staring at me again. It was actually comical the way they met my eyes, then looked down to the body at my feet and then they looked away, going about their business.
Good. I thought, returning Bjorn’s nod as I walked away.
Magick awaits.
----------------------------------------
Understone Keep.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I took my time walking through it’s grand halls. The ceiling extended high into the air, or should I say stone. Although I could tell it was stone, it was carved so perfectly that one could mistake it for something other than the mountain that surrounded us.
Gold pillars rose on each side of the rooms, reaching to the ceiling. It was obvious to me now that it was the same alloy that made up dwarven machinations and weaponry. They obviously knew more about metallurgy than any of the other races.
So powerful the deities of this universe banished the entire race for daring to reach for the heavens. My mind supplied as I continued walking towards my destination.
I moved through the halls with grace, as if I had done it many times before. It was all an act. This was my first time going to the library, or any library in this universe. A part of me was giddy at the proposition.
I had a new addition to my wardrobe, a satchel that carried my writ to get in the library, my waterskin, a journal, some writing utensils, and a disinfectant potion for the cut on my stomach from the fight with the cannibalists.
I arrived at my destination after a few missed turns, though it was mainly because of my awe at the palace.
I walked up to a golden dwarven door that had six guards stationed around it. Guards that I didn’t recognize.
“Halt.” One called out and stepped forward. “Writ?” He spoke simply.
I reached into my satchel and pulled it out, their hands strayed close to their weapons at the action. I unrolled it so that he could see it. The seal of the Jarl glared at the man, even through his visor.
He nodded to me in acceptance. “Imperial mage?” He wondered.
It was a fair question, I was dressed in the typical imperial garb, including my new boots and gauntlets to get used to the weight.
“No, Quaestor. Two weeks into duty in Markarth.” I explained and all six of them nodded in sync. I almost made a joke about it.
“Go ahead then, there are a couple of people already there.”
I did as he said and stepped through the massive doors. I don’t really know what I was expecting before, but I was not expecting it to be as big as it was. There were close to twenty rows of bookshelves, filled to the brim with books of all kinds. The library was oval in shape and the closest thing to the door were the tables laid out for people to read and study at.
The left ten rows had the symbol for the Dwemer race, and golden covered books rested on those shelves. Four middle shelves had the runes for history and biographies. Finally the rightest most rows had the symbol of the arcane, and under that some had the symbols for the different schools of magic.
I must have had awe written all over my face because the other people in the room took notice.
“Largest library in the holds, outside of the college of course.” A feminine voice at the tables said.
I looked to see a woman in mage robes. She was absolutely gorgeous, and her face told me that she had elven heritage.
Breton. “Nobody told me.” I responded. “I expected a library of maybe one-hundred books.”
She let out a small laugh. “No wonder you were gaping like a fish. Imperial battlemage?”
I got the same question as earlier from the guards. I shook my head at her. “No, just a normal Quaestor with a curiosity for the arcane.” I moved towards her and extended my hand. “Name is Hadvar.”
“Arellia.” She said offering her hand. Now that I was closer I could see that her eyes were icy blue, as if they were plucked out of the sky. Her silvery blonde hair fell beyond her shoulders.
“A pleasure to meet you, would you mind if I bothered you if I am having difficulties?” I asked politely.
Her eyes twinkled at me, and I knew I was dealing with an intelligent one. “Sure, anything for a Novice.”
I smiled at her for a moment before I noticed the chuckles from the other four people in the room.
I forced the smile to stay on my face. “Well, that is fair I suppose. Happy hunting!” Just like that I moved past her and towards a desk on the opposite side of the room as her. I set my things down there and got out my journal and pencil. The trader had ink and quills, but I had been writing with pencils and chalk on metal for most of my life in Riverwood, no use in changing now.
After setting everything up I moved over to the arcane section. I looked through the sections for a good fifteen minutes before choosing even one. In the end I grabbed the introductory tomes for destruction, illusion, restoration, alteration, enchantment, and alchemy. Everything but conjuration.
“No.”
I turned to the speaker quickly. It was an old man with a white goatee standing beside me.
Calcelmo. I realized.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“No destruction, no enchanting, and no alchemy. You may have the others, but until you can prove to me that you are capable of such knowledge, you will be limited to the simpler aspects of magic.” Calcelmo answered me.
He held his hand out expectantly. Is it worth making a scene? I wondered looking down at his hand and then back to his eyes. The old man met my gaze evenly, obviously used to dealing with nords.
I didn’t answer him verbally. Instead I handed him the books he asked for. Then before he could leave I snatched another book that I had been eyeing off of the shelf.
‘Magickal theory and techniques of casting.’
Calcelmo’s eyes trailed the book, reading the cover quickly. He once again met my eyes and nodded, obviously respecting my choice. Then he turned quickly and returned to wherever it was that he came from. On the way out, he told the guards of my limitations rather loudly.
Once again there was chuckling and giggling in the library. Ariella’s eyes followed my form, tinkling with amusement all the way. I ignored them.
Let them laugh. Soon I will outstrip all of them.
I looked at my choices in tomes and quickly selected the one about magical theory. My big fingers struggled to find purchase with the pages, another embarrassing fact. Eventually I got to the front page.
‘Found in the unnamed journal of an unnamed archmage sometime during the third era.’
‘It is a fairly simple concept to realize that our bodies merely conduct the magic around us, our mind and will bend it into affecting the physical world around us. Our bodies store a set amount of magicka, drawing it in from the air around us. This amount of magicka will increase greatly the more one uses it, much like an arm that has gotten used to the weight of a sword. Our magicka can adapt to our needs, it can become incredibly dense, incredibly vast, and incredibly efficient.
The different areas of magic determine which of these our magic will become. You can safely assume that it will become more vast, regardless of which area you specialize in, as long as you’re properly training it. However, the more subtle arts, such as Illusion or Alteration, will make your magicka incredibly efficient. Masters of the subtle arts have the best control over their magicka, because they are forced to. The more destructive magicks cause our magicka to become more dense, as the spells increase in difficulty and destructiveness. Although masters of Destruction lack the refined control that can otherwise be learned.
I have set out to find a way to combine the two aspects and apply it to any aspect of magic. I have succeeded. In the following pages, there will be several examples of techniques I have found that allowed me to eventually become archmage.’
My eyes lifted off the page and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.
No wonder Calcelmo looked at me approvingly, this is a gold mind. I thought looking back down to the book.
‘Meditation.
This technique I call meditation can easily be mistaken for the act of clearing one's mind. I admit that it is similar, hence the name, but also fundamentally different. It requires constant mental work to keep it up. I should note that this and the following techniques increased my magicka capacity ten-fold over the course of a year. And I was already an expert destructive mage. I imagine, for a novice, it would be closer to twenty or thirty-fold over three quarters of a year, an astronomical difference.
One does not need to adopt any pose. It is simple in theory, and difficult in practicality. In theory, it is constantly expelling and intaking magicka. Simple. Now, the expelling of magicka will come naturally to you, as it does to all beings in Nirn. But the intake will require some experimentation. I have heard it being described like breathing, and it is a good example so we shall use it. Draw your magic, expel a small amount, and try to intake the same amount from the air around you.’
The page ended and I stopped writing my notes as I realized that this is where I was supposed to actually try it. I dropped my pencil and closed my eyes instinctively.
My magic crawled to my skin, like a snail. I held it there trying to gauge if some leaked out. Some did. I expelled a little more from my body and let it dissipate into the air. I focused on the feeling of it leaving. It felt a lot like the book described, breathing.
I inhaled and tried to get my magic to do the same. It didn’t, in fact it seemed like I lost a little bit more. I frowned and tried again. Once again I had no luck.
Instead of focusing on the breathing, I looked at my magic again and expelled another small amount. This time I noticed that my magic seemed to flow in a certain direction. It stemmed from my core, somewhere in my abdomen and spread outwards in the direction of my limbs and skin. The flow was simultaneously in the same direction and opposite directions.
I focused on halting the flow completely.
Success. Now let’s go backwards. Failure, not possible, my entire being says to never try that again.
I backed up mentall and tried a different approach.
What if we kept the flow going but instead of drawing it back from the air to the points of expulsion, I foculized it in the spot I could feel in my abdomen.
I did just that, I exhaled my breath and magic. And when I inhaled, my core inflated also and I felt the smallest trickle of magicka leak back into my system. It was a constant flow, coming in from the outside in one point and flowing to the other points in my body.
I didn’t open my eyes, instead focusing on the feeling of my core inhaling. I did the action again and I produced similar results.
I smirked thinking of all the people in the room laughing and giggling at me.
It’s over for you bitches.
----------------------------------------
I knocked on the door three times. I waited for a few moments and during those precious few seconds I used meditation to exhale and inhale magicka. It was such a miniscule amount, which made sense considering it had only been a few hours since I was in the library.
“Come in.”
I opened the door immediately and walked into the office. It had two glass windows on the farthest side, one which was open slightly, letting some air into the room. A bear rug laid across the floor, leading to a fireplace that wasn’t currently lit.
The Captain of the Imperial guards of Markarth sat behind his desk scribbling away at some parchment. I closed the door behind me and stood at attention in front of him.
The seconds passed away and with it many many moments. I just focused on the technique of improving my magicka to pass the time. I knew it was a power play, he wanted to make sure I knew I was on his time. I also knew there were several ways around the power play. One way would be to take control of the situation and dominate the conversation. Another was to act so nonchalant about the situation that the power fell by the wayside because it was so insignificant. I chose the latter.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Rinse and repeat.
“Well you’re patient at least.” The Captain’s overtly imperial voice called out. I didn’t respond, determining it was not conducive to finding out why he called for me.
“Do you know why I summoned you?” He asked.
Summoned, indicating that once again I am on his terms. Fucking power plays.
“No sir.” I replied simply. Play the good soldier, rise through the ranks. Take his job when the time comes.
“You are a good soldier. My observations of you from the past few days tell me that. One that can and will rise through the ranks given the proper teaching and opportunity.” He commented.
I didn’t move, didn’t react. Inhale. Exhale. It was therapeutic. “That is kind of you, sir.”
“So why then do you want to become an Imperial mage?” The Captain asked out of nowhere.
“I don’t follow sir.” I responded. I knew how he could make such a deduction, but I have a role to play.
“Oh don’t play coy. Why else would you want access to the library?” He asked rhetorically before continuing. “I know it seems like a good gig, doing research and wielding a staff instead of a sword, no responsibility. Better pay, but you get blackballed real quick if you’re not powerful enough. The ranks of the Imperial Mages are a snake's den, did you know that? Almost impossible to move up.”
I tried my best not to sigh at him. He was working off of so many assumptions at this point it was becoming tiring.
“I do not wish to become an Imperial Mage, Captain. I just want to protect my men as best as I can.” I told him truthfully.
“Your men?” The Captain repeated. “My men, you mean.”
I wanted to reach across the table, grab him by the throat, beat him senseless and tell him that he didn’t hold the men's respect, and he had no real power. I would tell him that the Captain title is earned not given. I didn’t.
“Of course, Captain.” I responded. “Your men.”
“So what do you want?” The Captain asked then, now that my intentions were revealed.
“I want a more unified Skyrim for the storm on the Horizon. I think the best way to do that is for a stronger, more disciplined Legion.” I told him truthfully.
“Do you think us ineffective, Quaestor?” He said my name mockingly.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” I asked back before responding.
“I insist.”
“Yes, we are ineffective, inefficient, undisciplined, and just outright embarrassing.” I answered him honestly.
You could have heard a pin drop from a mile away it became so quiet in the office. The Captain’s eyes bore into mine. He let out a small chuckle before he picked his quill back up.
“Get out quaestor, do your job and I’ll do mine.” The Captain dismissed me quickly.
“Yes sir!” I answered and left him as he asked.
Incompetant shit-stain.