Meeting of the Powerful - Origins - Chapter 5: Ingmar Torbreaker

• Posted by Morthevin May 24, 2014 - 1,013 views

  Author's Note: Now that I've given all our stock characters an introduction, I'll be writing all my entries in third person.

  Ingmar crawled up the steps to Mount Kilkreath on all fours, exhausted by his journey all the way from Falkreath. In his curiosity, he had allowed himself little time to rest or eat. He had only just realised that he was starving. The sky was at its brightest blue, and the sun looked down upon Nirn like a worrying parent. The statue to Meridia reflected light off itself, giving it a polished appearance. It stood high and mighty as a woman with a cloak draping from her slender frame. Her head was hooded, and wings protruded from its back.

  It observed Ingmar as he finally made it to the top, and then look obliviously at the small stone figures at its feet. It depicted two women holding hands. He seemed, at that exact moment, rather dull and not exactly of scholarly type. As a matter of fact, not of any type whatsoever. He opened his pack and shuffled through it, trying to remember where he put the relic he found in the barrow.

  A small “Aha!” escaped from his lips, and he removed a spherical object. It glowed, even without the sun above. Then he turned, and the smile dropped from his face, as he realised he had no idea what to do with it. He carefully examined the statue, then the figures at its feet. He then looked at the relic, and back at the statuette. He measured the circumference, then once more, examined the women. His brown eyes gleamed, and his mouth spread wide in a smile. He lowered it into the space between the figures, and white light shot up.

  He was blinded, and when the light receded, he was staring at a bright floating ball, somewhat resembling the magelight spells of the Alteration school. The light spoke to him as his eyes adjusted, with a voice as proud as it was soft, “You are here, champion. The necromancer Malkoran has seeped into my temple, and with him came the foulness of the undead. He abuses the souls of the fallen. The souls of those who died attempting to restore order to Skyrim. Worse yet, he defiles my own token. The blade forged in the light of the brightest star, now reduced to dark summoning rituals. Claim this token, and be rewarded. Become the instrument of my cleansing light, disposing of the undead in my name, wielding my holy sword, the Dawnbreaker! What say you?”

  Ingmar was still adjusting, but in his heavy Nordic accent, managed to reply, “The Dawnbreaker of legend, and slaying foul creatures in your name? What more could a warrior want? There is no greater honour than to wield the power of a Divine through a sword.”

  “Very good! Go now, and claim my blade for your own! The doors to the temple are open to you, champion. We shall test your mettle against this necromancer!”

  Just as Ingmar managed to recover from the flash, another destroyed his vision, and when he could see again, he was on the ground. The doors to the temple were slightly open, and there came the echoes of footsteps. Ingmar stepped in, and saw running towards him a woman. She was being pursued by shades. The very creatures that Meridia had described to him. Ingmar waved lazily to the side, as a signal to get the woman back. He then, without thought or warning, pounced forth, and swept his blade. Two shades went down in flames, not long before another was caught in his fury. The final adversary closed in on him. But he wasn't afraid. He simply lifted his sword, and dropped it over its head, bringing it in two, before it combusted and fell. He turned, and stepping up to the woman, smiled his smile.

  Upon closer inspection, he saw that she was an Imperial, and that she was beautiful. She had jet-black hair, and rosy-red cheeks, coupled with eyes of a piercing, pale blue. She looked like a priestess. A priestess of Mara, judging by her amulet. And to him, it was only fitting. She smiled, and spoke with a voice as smooth as the finest cloth, and as sweet as the best mead, “Thank you, fine warrior.”

  Ingmar cleared his throat, and replied, trying hard to maintain the seriousness in his voice, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “I am Adella Caelius, priestess of Mara, and healer. I am in your debt.”

  Ingmar whimpered, failing to hold back his attraction to Adella, “You can start by telling me where to find a necromancer.”

  Adella chuckled. She knew love when she saw it. She also knew who it was directed to. She simply pointed down the hall. As Ingmar stumbled towards the door she drew his attention to, dazed by the woman he had just met, Adella grabbed his arm, and asked, “Can I come with you?”

  Ingmar whimpered again, and nodded, now blushing. She breezed passed him, and calmly said, “He's this way. The man you're looking for.” She then continued on, stepping lightly. Her feet made no noise whatsoever. Ingmar hurried along, keeping himself at an angle relative to Adella so that he could see her face at all times. The rate at which they were moving was comparable to the speed of a horse, as they were met with no resistance, until something dawned on Adella, “Um...”

  The shadows were coiling around crumbling pillars and rotting beams, and from them emerged hands. More hands sprouted from the shadows, and they grasped at the ground, before pulling themselves up, revealing shades. Ingmar drew his sword, but Adella lifted her arm, and quickly gathered lightning to her hand, “Stand back.”

  The cracks of lightning echoed throughout the temple, as did the whipping sounds of magicka. After a very short time, the shades were reduced to piles of darkness with little opacity. Adella smiled, and let out a triumphant “Hmph...”

  Ingmar's jaw dropped in absolute awe. Adella turning to face him, said, “Well? He's this way.” They trekked yet on, and eventually, came to a wide chamber. Candles were lined up on the floor in perfect alignment at the edge of a torn carpet, leading all the way up to a pedestal, upon which sat the Dawnbreaker. Ingmar could just imagine this place at its prime. The carpet being a lush purple, and not the dim colour that it had been reduced to. The need for candles would have been removed, as the Dawnbreaker illuminated the whole temple.

  Beside it was Malkoran. In necromancer robes he stood, his long, orange hair standing out on his pale skin. To match it, an ugly beard hang from his chin, swaying from side to side as he moved. His was red with anger, and his teeth were gritted. His eyes burned with fiery hatred and malevolence. His voice, like a cold hiss as he spoke, muffled behind his wall of teeth, “Back for more, are you? And with a friend? This is going to be... so... much... fun...”

  His hand shot forward, and immediately, shards of ice materialised and erupted from before his palm, directed at Ingmar. Adella's arm moved in front of him, and the cold spears shattered. She then pulled her hand back, summoned an orb of shock, and fired it at Malkoran, the sheer speed of it overwhelming. Despite this, it was easily dismissed by Malkoran, who, in response, launched a torrent of ice and snow in their general direction, wide enough to swallow both of them. Adella panicked, but Ingmar drew his sword, hearing that gentle crackle that he so loved. As the storm approached, he spun around with his blade facing outwards. It generated heat, and the spell of their adversary melted.

  Malkoran growled, and shot his arm upwards. Ice spikes manifested beneath Ingmar, and he stepped quickly aside. He did it again, and repeated the process, anger visible on his face. Adella shot a stream of lightning from her fingers as Ingmar dodged away from the ice shooting up from beneath him. Malkoran raised his free hand, and the stream was redirected to his side, only seconds before he turned to attack her.

  A frosty beam erupted from his palm, and Adella used her other hand to block the strike, trying hard to get her attack to hit its mark. Ingmar moved behind Malkoran, but this didn't go unnoticed. The shadows coiled around the pedestal upon which the Dawnbreaker sat, and shades emerged from the darkness.

  They closed in on Ingmar, and he swung his sword as they backed away. Immediately, them then shot themselves forward, and lunged at Ingmar. He batted away the strike, and his sword lurched forth. One of the shades parried his strike, and another locked blades with his own, as a third circled around, preparing to attack. Ingmar turned his head, and saw Adella on her knees, head sagged, and ice creeping upwards from her feet. She was freezing to death.

  Malkoran now stepped heavily towards him, visibly strained by the battle. He was smiling. In one hand, a ball of blue fire that generated cold. From the other, ice circled weaved around his hand. Ingmar spun around, his sword catching all the shades near him, setting them ablaze. Malkoran loosed shards of ice, and he dived out of the way.

  Malkoran was now standing tall and imposing above him. His looked down on Ingmar as if he had done something wrong. His hands were raised high. He didn't even stop to gloat. He was breathing heavily from exhaustion. Ingmar looked up at him as the magic in his hands swelled to unimaginable levels of power. Taking this chance, he slashed upwards. Malkoran just stared at him, and then smiled.

  There was no visible cut whatsoever. A flash of bright blue light shot outwards from Malkoran's body, as the effects of his ironflesh spell timed out. The magic in his hands swelled further, growing in size and power.

  Suddenly, his eyes widened, and a sword passed through his chest. Blood flowed from the wound like a crimson stream. He fell backwards, on top of Adella, who was now struggling to get up from underneath his weight. Ingmar kicked his corpse, and it rolled off of her. She gagged, and then was sent spiralling into a coughing fit. He dropped a hand to help her up, which she grabbed, and pulled herself up with.

  He spun around and gazed upon the majesty of the Dawnbreaker. As soon as he laid a single finger upon it, he was blinded. As he ascended, he heard a horrible screech, before he was once more was looking upon the aspect of Meridia. Her voice was carried way on the wind as she spoke, “So it is done. The defiler Malkoran is no more, and the Dawnbreaker shall be once more used for its original purpose. You have done well, champion. Go now, and cleanse of the undead in my name.”

  The light encompassed his field of vision once more, and he was standing in front of the temple, where he went in. Adella was nowhere to be seen. That is, until she came out of the temple. Her robes were torn, and burnt. Her hair was messy. She had just been in a fight. Ingmar's eyes widened, “What happened to you?” he said with a measure of shock in his voice.

  Adella blinked a couple of times, before replying, “Nothing much.” She then pointed at the Dawnbreaker, now hanging from Ingmar's waist. He looked down as well. She questioned, “What happened to the old sword?”

  “I don't know. It was simply replaced, I guess.”

  “Well... this was fun. But I have a duty to Mara. Hope we can see each other again, soon.”

  Ingmar's head sagged, “Don't you want to come with me?”

  “No, I can't. I prefer a life of tranquillity to one of fighting and violence.”

  “Oh...”

  “Don't worry. It's not as if I'm dying or anything. We'll see each other again soon. I bet you'd like that.”

  Ingmar blushed, embarrassed, “Um...”

  “Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. And hopefully Meridia.”

  Adella breezed off down the steps, and continued on her own path. Ingmar's head dropped even further. He had really liked her.

  ~*****~

  Melandil gazed upon the coast of Necrom. The waves of the Sea of Ghosts were breaking on the shore with a tremendous crash. He was there to... convert the denizens of Morrowind to the worship of Hermaeus Mora. He didn't care how. Be it through lure or torture, he would find a way.

  But something happened then that he didn't expect. A figure washed up on the shore. It was tall and masculine, but bereft of any legs. Only a tail. Its arm was bleeding and it had a cut down its left eye. It was unconscious, and gravely injured. Melandil knew what he was dealing with. His excessive reading sessions were not without reward.

  He would take this creature in, and nurse it back to health. Perhaps teach it a few spells, but above all, gift it with weapons. It would be his first and foremost emissary, his adopted son. He didn't know why he felt this way. But he was happy.

  He had discovered a creature of Akavir. He had discovered a Tsaesci.