Prolouge

‘Where am I? Who am I?’ It was as if a cloud were choking him. He pushed, willing his mind to emerge from whatever was suffocating his thoughts. Was he alone? He couldn’t remember… Had there been someone? He felt a pain at the back of his head. A color came to mind. A blue, regal, dark… He fell forward. It felt like he was breathing after being held under water. His throat struck the table before him, his face missing the carcass of a slaughterfish by a hair’s breadth. He was in a cave. Cold, damp, and with the fumes of something vile spoiling the air. He made to stand, but stopped as he heard someone speak.

“I knew that spell wouldn’t last.” The voice came from behind him. The man wore a black robe, grinding something in the mortar. “You’re remembering too much to be of use to me.”

“Who are you?!” 

A short laugh was the response. “And who are you? I found you on the road, an arrow had grazed the back of your head, but I think it was the pavement that had done more damage. I had hoped you might die of your wounds. I work better with soulless thralls.” The sorcerer turned to him. “You had no gold, nothing but this pathetic dagger and the robes on your back. Not even a staff or potions.” The captive took off his hood. “So young… How old are you, Altmer?”

The High Elf did not respond. His head was still reeling. He couldn’t remember anything. Where had he been going? “Please… Just let me go.”

“I can’t do that. The Masters need payment.” The necromancer sent a wave of purple energy toward him. It choked at his heart, but something in the young elf snapped free of it’s restraints. He snarled, flames rolling in his  hands.

“NO!” Instinct took over. The urge to live surged, he cast flames across the cave. The alchemy station caught, as well as his attacker’s clothes. As the man writhed, he made the flames hotter. Ashes crumbled to the cave floor, the magic receding. His breaths labored, the Altmer ran from the cave.

It was overcast outside. Aspens painted the landscape a muted orange and yellow. Thunder rolled with the threat of rain to come. He looked at his hands. The flames there were nothing more than a slight warmth to him. What was this? His parents had thought he couldn’t use magic. His… Parents..

It started to come back. Lillandril, his home, his family, and his name. ‘Noren.’ He’d been conscripted and carted off to war. But all that was over, and with it his usefulness. No one wanted him now. Who could need a High Elf with no power? 

“But.. is this magic?” He held his hands before him, turning them amid their tamed inferno. “I wasn’t alone.” He could almost remember what had happened before. Whatever had left him for that necromancer to find had separated him from someone. But who? A drop of rain interrupted him. Not really knowing where to go, he set off to the Southwest. He could ponder his history and walk at the same time.

The crunch of leaves seemed the only sound as Noren walked. His robe was filthy, covered in mud and fish guts. His nose protested the odor, but he saw little option so far. His heart rose as he caught sight of some stone arches ahead. He jogged to them, hoping a road was not far off. 

“Who’s there?” A mage was amongst the ruins. He was about to greet them when a shard of ice shot past him. The elf leapt behind a pillar for shelter.

“Please! I’m lost. I mean you no harm!”

“Then you got lost in the wrong place, Aldmeri cur!” She threw another spell his way. “These are my artifacts! Your dominion can’t disrupt my work!” The ice shattered against the masonry. 

“I’m not with the Dominion, okay? I just want to get out of the woods. I’m begging you. I promise, I don’t want your things.”

A metallic clang rang through the air. “Even if you’re on your own, I can’t have anyone knowing where this place is.” She rained spell after spell on his cover. He stole himself, reaching for his newfound power. Noren held his hands out, letting the fire spread over the ruins like a flood. The witch tried to hide, but slipped on the stones. While she was down, he grabbed a large chunk of metal from a table in the center of the stones. With all his might, he brought it down on her head.

The woman was still, the rain starting to come down in a light trickle. Noren had ripped his robe beyond usefulness. He looked at the bits of junk lying around. She had died for so little… A few scraps of dwemer metal, a bowl, a single book. “What did this matter to you?” He looked down at her. “I didn’t want to hurt you…” He knelt down, carefully muttering a blessing over her, only taking her robes out of necessity. She had a map as well. After studying it for a moment, he abandoned the silent ruins, resuming his previous journey.

It felt like hours before he reached a small lake. He dropped to his knees, drinking greedily from the water. He noticed a mill across the water, and a road beyond that. He sighed with relief. Glad to have a path to follow. The skies began to clear, the sun shining down a lovely glow as he saw the city ahead.

Riften. He remembered hearing about the city, but never thought he would find himself here. It seemed a little run down, but still a beautiful sight, in its own way. There were two guards near the gate. Noren steadied himself. It would be nice to rest somewhere out of the elements.

“Hold, and stand down.” The guard blocked his way. “If you want to enter Riften, you’ll have to use the north gate.”

“Is there any way I could convince you to make an exception? I’ve just found my way here after being lost in the forest. I was hoping to find some help.”

“And you are welcome to, after entering through the North gate. I have my orders, and I’ll not ignore them for some poncy High Elf.”

Noren felt his face grow hot. “But there’s no path around the city. I’d have to trudge through more brambles and underbrush.”

“Best get to it then.” The guard’s helmet was closed, but the altmer could guess at the expression behind it. He thought about arguing, but the sword at the soldier’s waist made him reconsider. “I’ll be on my way then…”

He emerged a short while later near the gate, cursing internally at the amount of trouble this city had already been for him. He was about to enter when another guard stopped him. “Hold there! Before I let you into Riften, you’ll have to pay the visitors tax.”

Noren scowled. “What’s this tax for?” He hadn’t really expected an answer, but was given one regardless.

“For the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?”

Now it was the elf’s turn to smirk. “It matters because this is illegal, and I know a shakedown when I see one. Does your Captain know what you’ve been up to?”

The guard hushed him. “Keep your voice down! You want everyone to hear you?” He pulled a key from his purse, heading to the gates. “Fine, I’ll let you in. Just let me unlock the gate.”

Noren bowed slightly as he passed them, his victory only lasting until he made to pass over the canal. It was there that he was stopped by a large Nord.

“You there. You in Riften looking for trouble?”

“Looking? No, though it seems all I can find…”

“Be careful what you say.” The man growled. “The last thing the Black-Briars need is someone poking around in their business.”

Noren’s brow was beginning to hurt in response to his anger. “I don’t know any Black-Briars, nor do I intend to cause them any trouble.”

“As well you shouldn’t. The Black-Briars have Riften in their pockets, and the Thieves Guild at their backs. Me, I’m Maul. I keep watch for them. I know this city like the back of my hand. If you need dirt on anything, you see me.”

“I’ll just stay out of your way.”

Maul held a stare before responding. “Watch your step here traveller.” He walked to a post across the street, leaning against it to wait for his next victim. The Altmer shook his head, making his way into the tavern.

“Welcome to the Bee and Barb, friend! Pull up a seat.” He was waved to the counter by an Argonian woman. She gave a toothy grin, clearing a place for him at the bar. He sat, his hostess seeing the look on his face. “Come dear, what’s the matter? Things rough on the roads?”

Noren leaned on the counter. “Just having a bad day. I escaped from a Necromancer, trudged through the woods for hours, was attacked again by a frost mage, and nearly swindled by the city guard.” He gave a weak smile. “You’re the first welcoming soul I’ve run across today.”

She set down a mug. “Well, this one’s on the house. I’m sorry your visit to Riften started out so poor. You’re lucky to be alive. Necromancers normally don’t treat people well. I would guess that is where your scars came from? How long did that monster torture you?”

The elf sipped the mead. “No. I got these from a previous mistake.” He looked to her. “I keep feeling like I’ve lost someone, but I can’t remember who.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “All I can remember is an ache right here, and… blue? I’m sorry, what your name, miss?”

“Keerava. If you’re looking for someone, I might be able to give you a lead.” She turned away, rummaging on a shelf. “A strange Khajiit fellow passed through a few days ago. Sad as I’ve ever seen anyone in all my years. He drank quite a bit, wrote this note, then went to the guards to turn himself in. Not sure what his crime was, but maybe he’s the person you’re looking for. If he had thought you dead, that would explain his mournful face.” Noren took the note form her. His hand trembled a bit, a strange hope and anxiety filling him as he read. 

‘My friend, I am ready to pay for what I have done. I will wait for you in Riften jail. Inigo’

“Inigo?” He read over the letter again, straining to remember the man. He could hear Keerava and Talen-Jae arguing with a priest across the room. He finished his drink before heading out to the city dungeons. 

The steps down into the dungeons were just as damp as the air outside. A guard sat in front of the door looking bored of his task. Noren approached stirring him for his near slumber. “What are you doing down here?”

“I would like to see someone who is in jail. I hear he turned himself in a few days ago, a khajiit.”

“Warden says no visitors today. Norton is not a man to disobey.” He eyed the elf. “I could let you through if you had something to make it worth my while.”

Noren flushed, digging in his pocket for the coins he had found on the witch earlier. “I have this…”

The guard looked at the paltry sum, shaking his head. “Try again with seventy-five Septims, and I’ll think about it.”

“I don’t have any more money… Please, he might be able to help me.”

“Then you’d better find a way to get the coin, then.”

He stormed across the market. How could anyone survive this place? All day, at every moment when he was getting close to answers, he was shaken down for anything of value. He came to the board outside the tavern. He had noticed a great many jobs posted there. Maybe there was something simple he could do to make some money. But what could he do? Considering the fact that all he had was a rusty dagger and maybe a novice level in destruction magic, he couldn’t see himself doing most of the jobs. One magician who could only cast flames was not going to survive an assault on a bandit camp. He was so engrossed in the posts that he didn’t notice a man approach him.

“Running a little light in the pockets lad?”

Noren sighed. “Is it that obvious?” 

“It’s all about sizing up your mark, lad. The way they walk, what they’re wearing. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Look, I pulled these off of a crazy lady who tried to kill me, and I’m pretty sure all my gold was taken by the necromancer I escaped from.” He scowled at the man. “Besides, my wealth is none of your business.”

The Nord’s face broke into a grin. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, lad. Wealth is my business.” He leaned closer. “Maybe you’d like a taste?”

Noren looked around. He couldn’t really do anything else on his own… Maybe this was his best chance.

“What did you have in mind?”