I made a video to accompany this. Link below:
Arcarin hated the cold. It was unfortunate, then, that he found himself on the outskirts of the northernmost city of the northernmost province of an Empire already situated north of Arcarin’s native Summerset Isles. But the High Elf didn’t have much of a choice. There were few magical experiments that the Isles’ authorities would prevent for being “unethical,” but if you did happen to cross that line, distance from Summerset suddenly became a precious thing indeed.
As it was, life in Skyrim wasn’t intolerable for a wandering spellsword. Mercenary work was plentiful when most able-bodied folk were busy fighting either the returning dragons or their own kin in the civil war. One such contract was why Arcarin now found himself trudging through the tundra on his way to a small bandit camp about a day’s walk from Winterhold. The camp wasn’t always characterized by its outlaw inhabitants, and until recently was occupied by prospecting brothers lucky enough to uncover some gold ore veins peeking out of the snow. Of course, those fools were only too eager to show off their new-found wealth to every wench in Winterhold’s taverns, not realizing that in this frozen wasteland the women were often as skilled with swords as with seduction. When the brothers led back a group of their favorite girls to the camp, the ore veins suddenly found themselves with new owners and the only prospector who managed to escape had a new employment opportunity for Arcarin.
The only part of the job that, strictly-speaking, had to be fulfilled was to drive away the bandits so that legitimate folk could mine again. However, the newly-made only-child had not been in the best of moods when hiring Arcarin and had requested that the spellsword, quote, “make them suffer.” Arcarin had no problem making people suffer. As such, when he crested one final snowbank and saw he was overlooking the camp he was hired to eradicate, he drew his steel sword and prepared a flame spell with great anticipation.
From what he could tell, his employer’s story was in the very least true in that the camp was now occupied by four attractive young women, all of them armed and armored. A quick survey of the place revealed the two on the edge of the camp farthest from Arcarin had fur armor and bows, while the ones closer to him appeared to be better prepared for a melee with heavy steel armor. Of course, steel does little to protect against magic attacks, so Arcarin decided to start things off by casting a flame spell at the nearest bandit designed to burn away the flesh of woman’s exposed arms and cook the organs inside her chest as her metal breastplate got super-heated.
Unfortunately for the Altmer, as he jumped down to confront the bandits he realized that he spell went slightly to the right of his target, and the young woman was now charging at him with her mace raised and ready to introduce itself to his face. Fortunately for the High Elf, the woman seemed to be somewhat shaken by flaming death suddenly being hurled at her, and her attack was awkward and clumsy. Arcarin was able to easily sidestep her charge and cast another flame spell that managed to glance the right side of his attacker’s torso. As his opponent was momentarily stunned by the intense burning pain she felt around her midriff, Arcarin gave another quick slash at her, hoping to end the fight quickly so he could concentrate on the three other people here whom he suspected wouldn’t take his side in this current duel.
However, his sword merely glanced off the bandit’s metal armor, and his next swing was blocked by her raised shield. The woman hoped to press her advantage and attempted to counter-attack, but she was too slow, and Arcarin had already recovered from the recoil and raised his sword to parry. He was successful, and right after his blade moved to deflect the mace away, he followed-through by slamming the hilt into the bandit’s jaw. The iron helmet the woman was wearing didn’t cover the lower half of her face, and as her head snapped back from the impact she let out a shrill cry of pain. Smirking, Arcarin stepped backwards and prepared another flame spell. He took great satisfaction in watching his opponent's face as it shifted from the shock of the hilt’s impact, to anger as she realized what he did to her face, then to fear as she saw the flames growing in intensity in his left hand. She attempted to raise her shield to block the incoming spell but doing so only prolonged her suffering, since instead of the initial force of the magic attack instantly killing her, the flames simply danced around her shield and engulfed her torso from the sides. Shrieking, she started to fall forward onto her knees, but the incredible pain caused her body to jerk violently backwards and she fell onto her back, the flames surrounding her melting the snow she collapsed into.
Arcarin always enjoyed watching the ways destruction magic could interact with the human body, and this was no exception. However, there was little time to savor the sounds of the woman’s soft whimpering or smells of her slowly roasting flesh, since her friends were only a few steps away from Arcarin and did not seem delighted by his display of magical mastery. So, with a flourish, the spellsword turned his attention the the young Nord rushing at him and prepared a powerful lightning spell.
This young woman was, like most of Skyrim’s natives, an imposing sight. Nearly as tall as a Altmer like Arcarin, probably even more muscular, and charging straight at him with traditional nordic equipment and a terrifying battle cry, most men would have simply fled in fear. So, of course, it was perfectly understandable that his shock spell went wide. At least, this is what the spellsword told himself as he recast the spell. The second attempt was more successful than the first, but not completely. Arcarin cast it right as the young woman’s blow was about to connect and the two of them stumbled as their respective blows hit each other. The Nord fell face-first into the snow, while the High Elf managed to stay on his feet. He took a few quick swings at the bandit lying underneath him, but they glanced off her armor and he decided to back up to take advantage of his spells. While the young nord got back to her feet, Arcarin took stock of his magicka reserves. Another flame spell would probably be too costly, but the man had an idea. He sent a quick shock to his opponent who again fell, momentarily stunned, and then he turned to the body of the first bandit he had fought.
He wasn’t sure whether or not she was still alive, but at the moment he didn’t really care. As he looked over her equipment he saw that the iron helmet that had failed to protect the woman’s face wasn’t attached to the rest of her armor in any way, and he was able to quickly yank it off her head with a telekinesis spell. If Arcarin had the time, he might have noticed that the helm hid the face of a very pretty young Breton whose only flaw was an ugly bruise on a slightly-misaligned jaw, but he was focused on other things at the moment, the most pressing of which was an angry Nord getting to her feet for the second time. Unfortunately for her, just as she was getting her balance, she felt a searing pain as Arcarin shot her companion’s helmet right at her legs. The blunt force of the main part of the helm hitting her left calf was bad enough, but the ornate horns on the side of the thing also managed to cut through her armor and leave a bloody gash on her right thigh.
As she fell to her hands and knees with a high-pitched cry, Arcarin advanced with his sword drawn. There were many options here. He debated leaving her here while dealing with the last two, but there was a good change she might recover before he finished. There were a number of spells he would like to test, but his magicka was getting low and he supposed experimenting with this hapless opponent right now wasn’t possible while he was still in bow range of her friends. Thus, with a sigh, he raised his sword and brought it down on the young Nord’s neck.
The blow wasn’t a clean as Arcarin would have liked, since the thick black fur of the woman’s armor obscured just where the gap between the helmet and breastplate was and he thought his blade might have caught somewhere as he thrust it down. Still, the woman did collapse and the snow around her neck was turning redder, so even if the Nord was gurgling and clutching at her neck far more than your average corpse, Arcarin felt safe enough turning his attention to the last two bandits, a young Imperial and Wood Elf.
The two of them apparently didn’t take kindly this, and the spellsword felt a sharp pain as an arrow embedded itself in his armor. He wasn’t sure which one had given him this new present, but either way he decided that he didn’t want another. Spells might be a useful tool against heavily armored foes looking for a melee, but against these two archers he would prefer to fight where they were least comfortable. Plan in mind, the Altmer ducked behind one of the tents and cast a restoration spell, healing his wounds and rejuvenating his body. Thus refreshed, he immediately used this burst of energy to rush out of cover and straight toward the nearest bandit.
The Imperial woman wasn’t expecting such a bold maneuver, and though she fired at Arcarin right as he jumped from cover, her shot went wide. This was not a good mistake to make, since the spellsword was able to reach her before she was able to ready her next arrow. To her credit, the young archer was not completely helpless, and as Arcarin advanced he noticed that the woman was raising her bow to deflect the swing of the sword in Arcarin’s right hand. So Arcarin didn’t attack with his right hand. Instead, he swung a massive left hook that caught the Imperial fully on the right side of her head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arcarin wryly thought about how Dibella wouldn’t approve of his ruining so many beautiful faces today. Of course, Arcarin did a lot of things the divines would not approve of, so what was one more?
As the woman was reeling from the blow to her head, she suddenly found herself being very painfully raised into the air. She squealed as the much taller Altmer grabbed her by the hair and lifted the lithe Imperial off the ground. The side of her head was still throbbing from the left hook, and the new pain from being held by her hair was excruciating, but both were suddenly replaced by intense vertigo as she found herself suddenly falling backwards. This was because the man holding her in the air had quickly and violently slammed her head into the ground, and she lay on her back, out of the fight.
Arcarin wasn’t sure if he had killed his opponent. The blow had certainly been forceful, and if the back of woman’s skull had landed on one of the exposed ore veins, it would certainly have been a poetic death. As it was, the thick snow she had landed on probably cushioned the blow to some extent. Regardless, he stepped over the prone Imperial and set his sights on the last bandit.
Arcarin liked Wood Elves. Of course, they lacked the innate poise and elegance of their High Elf cousins, but they had their charms. The males, with their small stature and eager-to-please attitude, were simply naturally suited to the subservient roles they found themselves in. And the females? Well, Arcarin enjoyed showing them their place in the natural order.
The remaining Bosmer was apparently not eager to learn this lesson, nocking another arrow and taking aim at the Altmer. The first one missed, yet the bandit was skilled with the bow and she did manage to get another shot off before Arcarin could close the distance. This arrow was no more lethal than the first one that hit, but also no less painful. Grunting, the wounded spellsword slashed with his sword; the lithe archer responded by dodging backwards. Realizing the dangerous situation she was now in, the woman abandoned her bow and drew her dagger, hoping the last arrow would grant her an opening to strike.
Sadly for her, it was not to be. While Arcarin’s next strike also went wide, and the young woman managed to get off two swings before he could recover, her counter attack prioritized speed over accuracy and power and thus both blows only glanced off her opponent’s armor. Arcarin, taking advantage of his opponent’s recovery during the backswing, took a quick swipe to his right that did far more damage to his lightly-armored adversary.
As the last woman fell to her knees, the one who defeated all of them took in a moment to savor his victory. Another completed contract meant a better reputation, which meant more lucrative jobs, which meant more gold with which he could finance his experiments. Still, that was the future. At present, Arcarin still had to deal with one last bandit. There were so many spells to choose from, of course. Fire was always enjoyable, but he had already done that today. He contemplated a frost spell, but it was already cold enough in this divine-forsaken province. So, he decided to do something a bit different, and cast something from the school of illusion. Arcarin didn’t usually enjoy these types of spells, preferring to alter and command the physical world around him, rather than his opponents mind, but at the very least this was good practice. Illusion spells, after all, are very simple to cast. But if you want them to be of any use, the real trick is in overcoming your opponents mental defences. Breaking their will.
Arcarin found that it was easy to break someone’s will if you had already broken their body. The young woman in front of him was little different. As he cast the spell, he could see into her mind and found so many vulnerabilities. The regret of stealing this camp. The anger at watching her friends fall. The fear of what was about to happen to her. Arcarin took stock of all these weakness and exploited them. In her mind, he offered to banish them, to bring her peace. It was all a lie, of course, a wretched illusion, and deep down she knew it. But she didn’t have the strength to resist an offer made with such sickly sweet words. And just like that, her will was broken, and she accepted seeing only the world that Arcarin wanted her to see.
The High Elf was pleased that the spell worked so well. It never hurt to have a versatile skill set, after all. With a smile, he told his new puppet to prepare a bedroll for him. He didn’t have enough time to travel back to Winterhold before the day was over, so he would camp here for the night. At the very least, the young woman would keep his bed warm. And Arcarin hated the cold.
Arcarin hated the cold. It was unfortunate, then, that he found himself on the outskirts of the northernmost city of the northernmost province of an Empire already situated north of Arcarin’s native Summerset Isles. But the High Elf didn’t have much of a choice. There were few magical experiments that the Isles’ authorities would prevent for being “unethical,” but if you did happen to cross that line, distance from Summerset suddenly became a precious thing indeed.
As it was, life in Skyrim wasn’t intolerable for a wandering spellsword. Mercenary work was plentiful when most able-bodied folk were busy fighting either the returning dragons or their own kin in the civil war. One such contract was why Arcarin now found himself trudging through the tundra on his way to a small bandit camp about a day’s walk from Winterhold. The camp wasn’t always characterized by its outlaw inhabitants, and until recently was occupied by prospecting brothers lucky enough to uncover some gold ore veins peeking out of the snow. Of course, those fools were only too eager to show off their new-found wealth to every wench in Winterhold’s taverns, not realizing that in this frozen wasteland the women were often as skilled with swords as with seduction. When the brothers led back a group of their favorite girls to the camp, the ore veins suddenly found themselves with new owners and the only prospector who managed to escape had a new employment opportunity for Arcarin.
The only part of the job that, strictly-speaking, had to be fulfilled was to drive away the bandits so that legitimate folk could mine again. However, the newly-made only-child had not been in the best of moods when hiring Arcarin and had requested that the spellsword, quote, “make them suffer.” Arcarin had no problem making people suffer. As such, when he crested one final snowbank and saw he was overlooking the camp he was hired to eradicate, he drew his steel sword and prepared a flame spell with great anticipation.
From what he could tell, his employer’s story was in the very least true in that the camp was now occupied by four attractive young women, all of them armed and armored. A quick survey of the place revealed the two on the edge of the camp farthest from Arcarin had fur armor and bows, while the ones closer to him appeared to be better prepared for a melee with heavy steel armor. Of course, steel does little to protect against magic attacks, so Arcarin decided to start things off by casting a flame spell at the nearest bandit designed to burn away the flesh of woman’s exposed arms and cook the organs inside her chest as her metal breastplate got super-heated.
Unfortunately for the Altmer, as he jumped down to confront the bandits he realized that he spell went slightly to the right of his target, and the young woman was now charging at him with her mace raised and ready to introduce itself to his face. Fortunately for the High Elf, the woman seemed to be somewhat shaken by flaming death suddenly being hurled at her, and her attack was awkward and clumsy. Arcarin was able to easily sidestep her charge and cast another flame spell that managed to glance the right side of his attacker’s torso. As his opponent was momentarily stunned by the intense burning pain she felt around her midriff, Arcarin gave another quick slash at her, hoping to end the fight quickly so he could concentrate on the three other people here whom he suspected wouldn’t take his side in this current duel.
However, his sword merely glanced off the bandit’s metal armor, and his next swing was blocked by her raised shield. The woman hoped to press her advantage and attempted to counter-attack, but she was too slow, and Arcarin had already recovered from the recoil and raised his sword to parry. He was successful, and right after his blade moved to deflect the mace away, he followed-through by slamming the hilt into the bandit’s jaw. The iron helmet the woman was wearing didn’t cover the lower half of her face, and as her head snapped back from the impact she let out a shrill cry of pain. Smirking, Arcarin stepped backwards and prepared another flame spell. He took great satisfaction in watching his opponent's face as it shifted from the shock of the hilt’s impact, to anger as she realized what he did to her face, then to fear as she saw the flames growing in intensity in his left hand. She attempted to raise her shield to block the incoming spell but doing so only prolonged her suffering, since instead of the initial force of the magic attack instantly killing her, the flames simply danced around her shield and engulfed her torso from the sides. Shrieking, she started to fall forward onto her knees, but the incredible pain caused her body to jerk violently backwards and she fell onto her back, the flames surrounding her melting the snow she collapsed into.
Arcarin always enjoyed watching the ways destruction magic could interact with the human body, and this was no exception. However, there was little time to savor the sounds of the woman’s soft whimpering or smells of her slowly roasting flesh, since her friends were only a few steps away from Arcarin and did not seem delighted by his display of magical mastery. So, with a flourish, the spellsword turned his attention the the young Nord rushing at him and prepared a powerful lightning spell.
This young woman was, like most of Skyrim’s natives, an imposing sight. Nearly as tall as a Altmer like Arcarin, probably even more muscular, and charging straight at him with traditional nordic equipment and a terrifying battle cry, most men would have simply fled in fear. So, of course, it was perfectly understandable that his shock spell went wide. At least, this is what the spellsword told himself as he recast the spell. The second attempt was more successful than the first, but not completely. Arcarin cast it right as the young woman’s blow was about to connect and the two of them stumbled as their respective blows hit each other. The Nord fell face-first into the snow, while the High Elf managed to stay on his feet. He took a few quick swings at the bandit lying underneath him, but they glanced off her armor and he decided to back up to take advantage of his spells. While the young nord got back to her feet, Arcarin took stock of his magicka reserves. Another flame spell would probably be too costly, but the man had an idea. He sent a quick shock to his opponent who again fell, momentarily stunned, and then he turned to the body of the first bandit he had fought.
He wasn’t sure whether or not she was still alive, but at the moment he didn’t really care. As he looked over her equipment he saw that the iron helmet that had failed to protect the woman’s face wasn’t attached to the rest of her armor in any way, and he was able to quickly yank it off her head with a telekinesis spell. If Arcarin had the time, he might have noticed that the helm hid the face of a very pretty young Breton whose only flaw was an ugly bruise on a slightly-misaligned jaw, but he was focused on other things at the moment, the most pressing of which was an angry Nord getting to her feet for the second time. Unfortunately for her, just as she was getting her balance, she felt a searing pain as Arcarin shot her companion’s helmet right at her legs. The blunt force of the main part of the helm hitting her left calf was bad enough, but the ornate horns on the side of the thing also managed to cut through her armor and leave a bloody gash on her right thigh.
As she fell to her hands and knees with a high-pitched cry, Arcarin advanced with his sword drawn. There were many options here. He debated leaving her here while dealing with the last two, but there was a good change she might recover before he finished. There were a number of spells he would like to test, but his magicka was getting low and he supposed experimenting with this hapless opponent right now wasn’t possible while he was still in bow range of her friends. Thus, with a sigh, he raised his sword and brought it down on the young Nord’s neck.
The blow wasn’t a clean as Arcarin would have liked, since the thick black fur of the woman’s armor obscured just where the gap between the helmet and breastplate was and he thought his blade might have caught somewhere as he thrust it down. Still, the woman did collapse and the snow around her neck was turning redder, so even if the Nord was gurgling and clutching at her neck far more than your average corpse, Arcarin felt safe enough turning his attention to the last two bandits, a young Imperial and Wood Elf.
The two of them apparently didn’t take kindly this, and the spellsword felt a sharp pain as an arrow embedded itself in his armor. He wasn’t sure which one had given him this new present, but either way he decided that he didn’t want another. Spells might be a useful tool against heavily armored foes looking for a melee, but against these two archers he would prefer to fight where they were least comfortable. Plan in mind, the Altmer ducked behind one of the tents and cast a restoration spell, healing his wounds and rejuvenating his body. Thus refreshed, he immediately used this burst of energy to rush out of cover and straight toward the nearest bandit.
The Imperial woman wasn’t expecting such a bold maneuver, and though she fired at Arcarin right as he jumped from cover, her shot went wide. This was not a good mistake to make, since the spellsword was able to reach her before she was able to ready her next arrow. To her credit, the young archer was not completely helpless, and as Arcarin advanced he noticed that the woman was raising her bow to deflect the swing of the sword in Arcarin’s right hand. So Arcarin didn’t attack with his right hand. Instead, he swung a massive left hook that caught the Imperial fully on the right side of her head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arcarin wryly thought about how Dibella wouldn’t approve of his ruining so many beautiful faces today. Of course, Arcarin did a lot of things the divines would not approve of, so what was one more?
As the woman was reeling from the blow to her head, she suddenly found herself being very painfully raised into the air. She squealed as the much taller Altmer grabbed her by the hair and lifted the lithe Imperial off the ground. The side of her head was still throbbing from the left hook, and the new pain from being held by her hair was excruciating, but both were suddenly replaced by intense vertigo as she found herself suddenly falling backwards. This was because the man holding her in the air had quickly and violently slammed her head into the ground, and she lay on her back, out of the fight.
Arcarin wasn’t sure if he had killed his opponent. The blow had certainly been forceful, and if the back of woman’s skull had landed on one of the exposed ore veins, it would certainly have been a poetic death. As it was, the thick snow she had landed on probably cushioned the blow to some extent. Regardless, he stepped over the prone Imperial and set his sights on the last bandit.
Arcarin liked Wood Elves. Of course, they lacked the innate poise and elegance of their High Elf cousins, but they had their charms. The males, with their small stature and eager-to-please attitude, were simply naturally suited to the subservient roles they found themselves in. And the females? Well, Arcarin enjoyed showing them their place in the natural order.
The remaining Bosmer was apparently not eager to learn this lesson, nocking another arrow and taking aim at the Altmer. The first one missed, yet the bandit was skilled with the bow and she did manage to get another shot off before Arcarin could close the distance. This arrow was no more lethal than the first one that hit, but also no less painful. Grunting, the wounded spellsword slashed with his sword; the lithe archer responded by dodging backwards. Realizing the dangerous situation she was now in, the woman abandoned her bow and drew her dagger, hoping the last arrow would grant her an opening to strike.
Sadly for her, it was not to be. While Arcarin’s next strike also went wide, and the young woman managed to get off two swings before he could recover, her counter attack prioritized speed over accuracy and power and thus both blows only glanced off her opponent’s armor. Arcarin, taking advantage of his opponent’s recovery during the backswing, took a quick swipe to his right that did far more damage to his lightly-armored adversary.
As the last woman fell to her knees, the one who defeated all of them took in a moment to savor his victory. Another completed contract meant a better reputation, which meant more lucrative jobs, which meant more gold with which he could finance his experiments. Still, that was the future. At present, Arcarin still had to deal with one last bandit. There were so many spells to choose from, of course. Fire was always enjoyable, but he had already done that today. He contemplated a frost spell, but it was already cold enough in this divine-forsaken province. So, he decided to do something a bit different, and cast something from the school of illusion. Arcarin didn’t usually enjoy these types of spells, preferring to alter and command the physical world around him, rather than his opponents mind, but at the very least this was good practice. Illusion spells, after all, are very simple to cast. But if you want them to be of any use, the real trick is in overcoming your opponents mental defences. Breaking their will.
Arcarin found that it was easy to break someone’s will if you had already broken their body. The young woman in front of him was little different. As he cast the spell, he could see into her mind and found so many vulnerabilities. The regret of stealing this camp. The anger at watching her friends fall. The fear of what was about to happen to her. Arcarin took stock of all these weakness and exploited them. In her mind, he offered to banish them, to bring her peace. It was all a lie, of course, a wretched illusion, and deep down she knew it. But she didn’t have the strength to resist an offer made with such sickly sweet words. And just like that, her will was broken, and she accepted seeing only the world that Arcarin wanted her to see.
The High Elf was pleased that the spell worked so well. It never hurt to have a versatile skill set, after all. With a smile, he told his new puppet to prepare a bedroll for him. He didn’t have enough time to travel back to Winterhold before the day was over, so he would camp here for the night. At the very least, the young woman would keep his bed warm. And Arcarin hated the cold.
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