Origin of an Altmer

  • In the late winter at the end of the second age an Altmer was born in the Summerset Isles. Given the name Vrael, of his father, he was raised by his father alone for his mother supposedly died in birth. His father being a renowned wizard among the Altmer he was raised to follow in his father's footsteps, learning the arts of magic and its uses. Vrael showed exceptional prowess in the arcane arts and by the age of 50 had surpassed the abilities of his father. Now, his father decided, was the time to tell him the true story of his birth, and of his mother. His father explained how he and his mother met, through studies of the arcane arts, and on to how they eventually birthed Vrael. But, Vrael's mother had an ulterior motive in the birth of their new child. The day after he was born she attacked her husband outside their home. She was clad in the black and red robes of the Necromancers. They dueled, and Vrael's father managed to hold her off and forced her to retreat with the promise that he would find her. However, he was given a magical, fatal wound. She promised him that before Vrael matures, he would be dead, and she would return to recruit her son. With the help of Restoration magics and careful alchemy his father lived to see Vrael become more powerful than himself. Even as he told the truth to his son he could feel himself fading. He told his son to carry him to a secret waterfall on Eton Nir, the highest mountain of the Summerset Isles. Vrael hastened with his father to the falls and laid him at the foot of the falls. As he was laid down he let out a croak as he tried to say something, but was silenced as death washed over him. No matter his feelings, Vrael was not brought to tears. He knew what was to happen now. Within moments after his father's passing a dark figure emerged from the path behind him. She pulled the hood off of her head as she neared, and she needed no introduction. With the red skull emblazoned on her black robe, Vrael knew it was his mother. "At last!", she hissed, "He lies dead, soon to live again!" As she said this, light was pushed forth from her hands and the glow descended upon the corpse. Vrael jumped back, watching as his father was raised as if on strings to his feet. His eyes glowed a deep purple as he turned to his son. "Will you join me and the King of Worms? You could be more powerful than even him!" she exclaimed. "No. Never. No power gained through such means is concrete," Vrael whispered, "You are weak." "A poor choice, Vrael." she hissed as she waved her hand and Vrael's father turned to his son. His eyes flared as his hands raised and he shot lightning forth. Vrael was ready, holding a barrier before himself against the attack. But then, what followed was lost to the sands of time. Something overtook Vrael as he stood facing his parents, something animal, something powerful. When he awoke, collapsed on the dirt, his father was twisted against a rock with his neck at a disturbing angle. A few meters away was a skid ending in a deep depression containing the mangled remains of his mother. He fled, far away. Afraid of what he had become. Every time he slept he had dreams, dreams of flying, dreams of fire, dreams of destruction. He traveled by boat to the northerly province of Skyrim. He moved into a small house in Winterhold and studied peacefully at the College of Winterhold until... Until it happened again. He was arguing with a colleague. The argument grew in heat until the man told him that he must have been born of a bastard father. Vrael's father represented all that was good to him, his entire childhood. Vrael seethed with rage, and his mind left him. In the city street where they were arguing, three were found dead. One of them was the mage from the college, one was a guard, and one was a child. The witnesses said he shouted at the man and cast a powerful spell upon him, immersing him and the bystanders in a firey inferno. After the "shout" Vrael fell unconscious to the ground. He was brought to prison, put on death row immediately for three counts of murder. He sat in his cell awaiting his death, grief stricken and alone. The guard came, it was time.

    

Comments

3 Comments
  • Piper Jo
    Piper Jo   ·  November 6, 2011
    Nice short-short.  To tell a tale from start to finish in a single page is a powerful trick.
  • Matthais the orange
    Matthais the orange   ·  October 29, 2011
    That was awsome!!!!!! Thank god someone else loves Altmer mages as much as me
  • RuneRed
    RuneRed   ·  October 25, 2011
    It's just a guess, but might you be the Dovakiin?