A Wizard's Descent

Hello. This is my first attempt at writing a... what do you call it here? An Apocrypha? A fanfic? Well, whatever you want to call it, this is my first try to write a piece of Elder Scrolls fiction. Probably not my best literary work ever, but I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it isn't too unrefined to enjoy.

>For a few years now, I had been studying lost magics. The summary of my reasearch is that throughout the ages, several magical artifacts and spells which seemed common in use would simply vanish. During a short excavation on the mainland, I discovered something which, as destiny would have it, revolutionized my work. A regular Daedric ruin, all but buried in the ash from Red Mountain.

>The only object of particular note I discovered was an unassuming journal, all but completely eaten away by erosion. The only phrases of note I could make out were, in order: "...the novice..." "...before floating..." and "...his spell...". It was really an uninteresting find, and I thought at first, a waste of my time. I returned to my tower disappointed.

>Nearly a month later, I caught wind of a report. A strange, somewhat mad man, in the middle of an open field, having died from a great drop. There were no trees nearby to fall from, and not even a single hill in the field. Not only that, but he had reportedly created a spell all on his own, despite being known as a novice caster. It fit together only too nicely, I thought when I fished the note out of my desk that evening. "...The novice..." "...before floating..." and "...his spell...".

>I wanted answers, but I would not have any for some time. I returned that week alone, to the excavation site, and dug out a pile of ash which had accumulated over the doorway. I searched high and low for any trinkets or more information which could lead me to something useful. I was at a loss. Completely and utterly.

>Months passed, and I became all but obsessed. I requested my peers, even, to help in my research, though they all likely thought I was making a big deal over nothing. It wasn't until much later, when an associate on Solstheim found a strange book buried in the ash that I finally found something.

>The rough, dark leather that it was bound in seemed to all but pulse. Something about the front cover felt especially strange. The material was the same as the rest, but it felt so tantalizingly different, so barely wrong. I had heard about these things. The Telvanni are no strangers to Hermaeus Mora and his Black Books, made to lure mortals into his service through the enticement of forbidden knowledge. And we are certainly familiar with the madness which accompanies reading them.

>I filed it away in my desk. I traded away more than most Imperials would see in a lifetime to get that book, and I wasn't exactly sure why.

>Really, I shouldn't have opened it, given all prior knowledge. These things are known to drive men mad from even a single glance at the pages. Some folk have even been reported to go looking for them and never return. It was stupid of me, and I knew it, but... All the self-control I had learned to excersize in my years seemed to slip away. Like a child opening a gift, I tore open the book, to a completely random page, and I felt something majestic.

>It taught me. The knowledge all but seemed to flood into my head, the reading itself being of little consequence. Like a dam breaking, the words and skills seemed to pour into my mind, with no end in sight. I was swept up in the tsunami of my head, desperately flailing my limbs in a vain attempt to stay afloat. When I tried to scream, it was as if my jaw was forced shut with a blade.

>I could feel blood beginning to spew out of my mouth as I coughed, vision growing hazy. With all my strength, my jaw was pried open, yet even as I screamed, all that could be heard was a faint squeal. Every orifice of my body slowly but surely began to rip into intense pain. Hunger suddenly pried at my stomach, and a tearing sensation ripped betwixt my fingers, down my arms. I felt an aching stretch in my eyes, as I tried to pry them open, even as my bones were cracking under the force of the waves.

>The more I tried to remain, to find safety, the more heavy my eyelids became. My body began to harden and sink. The last thing I felt was an urge to keep searching, before I was engulfed in the all consuming darkness of Apocrypha.

>When I awoke, the book was gone. I contacted the wizard who discovered it a few days after, but was met with only a note of confusion. "I don't know what you're babbling about," he began, "but it sounds like you need to take a break, if nothing else."

>I took my break. The burdens of what had happened still wore heavily on my mind and Small headaches would come and go whenever I thought of it, as if my head was punishing me for refusing to relax. In time, I began to doubt the experience myself. There was but one fact, one iota of truth which told me the experience was real; I had mysteriously learned to hover. Just a few inches above the ground, nothing more than a cantrip, really. But I knew to keep searching.