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Reconnaissance	By : OrianeX Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls Online Views: 1023 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Elders Scrolls universe and its characters and do not make money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Reconnaissance -1/2
- 2-Reconnaissance - 2/2
- 1
- 2
N/A : This is my first attempt at translating one of my stories in english, please consider that english is not my first language and there can be mistakes. Feel free to point the corrections to do.
Also, I know this story is not canon with the lore. WARNING : May contains spoilers for the game.
Muriel is my original character, not existing in the game.

Muriel was walking up the narrow lane that ran along the back of the village buildings. She had come all the way from her tower and had taken a room at the inn to rest before dark. She had come out before it fell, but the dim light was already installed.

Big black clouds veiled the sky and the wind was getting up. She winced under the hood that hid her. She was hot and she was struggling not to give in to fear. She was heading to the back of the village, a little away, where she had made an appointment for a few days. Her interlocutor had been surprised, had insisted on being sure of her determination. She was not going to be a coward. It would be only a brief hard time.
The townspeople hurried up to return to their homes, except some stragglers, a beggar and the usual footpads but she did not pay no attention to it. She had kept her hazel wand under her cape, with a small bag of necessities. The atmosphere was heavy and it was too much hot under her layers of clothes.
The wind rose and she passed in a crossroads of buildings full of the unpleasant scents of urine and rotten meat. A dog roared in the distant. Nothing to comfort her. She jumped with surprise when the first flash of lightning drilled the sky and crackled lugubriously. She scolded herself and began to hasten. The small storm lantern she carried did not light afar. She resulted in a side street and wondered if she should not continue in the main streets, risking drawing attention… Somebody suddenly come running by her right and grazed her. She saw his frightened face for a brief moment. He shouted something about a monster and ran away. The sorceress frowned. There was something happening. She stuck herself against the wall of a building in the closest alley and waited a little.
Shouts rose not far on her left. Then bangings, like hooves, reverberated in the street. She sank silently, more and more attentive, in the twilight of the alley. She blew the storm lantern and took her wand. A new rumble of thunder echoed, destabilizing her for a moment.
There was a sneer suddenly behind her and a sinister, drawling voice: " there's one here ". Turning around, she discovered a dremora a few meters away from her. Its black armor, its horns and its cruel facies suffered no ambiguity. How had he arrived there?
She gave a brief cry of horror, forgetting what she intended this evening and started running to put distance between her and the creature.
She ran on the other side of the street, towards the way she had went down and sprinted in the alley, increasing her speed and her endurance with a spell. In the twinkling of an eye, she reached the end of the alley and arrived in a dirt track which sank between mounds of earth behind a house.
She heard bestial bawlings behind her and did not try to fathom it. She needed a clear ground to throw much offensive spells. Or a shelter to avoid wasting her energy in a pointless fight. Where there was a dremora, there would be more and the peaceful small village was not going to be any more.
She went past the mounds and found the small way that led to the outer wall and to the door towards the cemetery. With a gesture and a word, she urged both mounds of earth to close on the way she had just walked. The earth muttered, lifted up itself and complied with her will. She crossed the door of the cemetery, frightened and terrified. Had the worshipers of Molag Bal opened a portal in this crappy lost village ?
What could they want in this place? The mound of earth would not hold for a long time the creatures of Oblivion. And… she panted to get her breath back while looking for a hiding place in the cemetery. Some stunted graves, hillocks covered with mossy grass and one or two mausoleums but there was no real vault or safe places to hide. The sweat stuck her dress on her back.
Could she rely on her pact with the necromancer to protect her ? Then, why had the creature pursued her ? Was it one of his henchmen ? Would not he have had to ignore her? As she turned on herself, distraught, a derisive laughter rose in herback:
" Watch this proud would-be-sorceress running away as a rabbit ! "
A dark silhouette showed on the night canopy, sat on a gravestone, a monstrous looking destruction staff in his hands. Seeing the spikes of his armor and hearing this deep voice took her by surprise:
"You ?!!"
She made a gesture, a small sphere of light rose between them two and threw a translucent veil on the lines of the one who was sitted there. On a sharp-featured face with pointed ears and silver hair. Muriel turned frozen under her hood. It was Mannimarco himself who was waiting here and he looked at her of a detached, almost ironic air. Behind her, in the village, she heard a shout. A burning smell touched her nostrils. Panicked, she looked around her and the necromancer, looking for his minions, his guards, whoever accompanied him. And he guessed it.
" No my little rabbit, I am alone. Do you believe that I need guards when facing the like of you ? "
The Breton girl concentrated on him and tried to understand :
" What are you doing here? "
After fractions of a second, she added, aware of the danger upon her :
" My Lord ?
- So, the little druidess would have some education ? "
She hated being called a druidess. She considered herself a sorceress, related mostly to the element of earth, able in others elements, more powerful in the element of her predilection, but not a worshiper of an abstruse deity of nature. She remained silent. She was in a very bad position. In spite of her small talent, she was worth nothing to him.
"I entertain myself, my little rabbit. It seems that there is nothing interesting here. But my servants need to work out a little. And you, little druidess, what brings you out of your tower in this ... " he cast a scornful look at the crooked roofs " ... hovel? "
She bit her tongue, looking for an adequate answer, trying to avoid to reveal the truth, even if … The altmer chuckled ominously.
" Come on, miss I-negotiate-my-safety-myself. Your tongue was much sharper when we saw each other the last time "
This time, the Breton girl bit the inside of her cheeks. In an act of bravery and insolence, that she would never have thought to achieve, if not in a desperate situation, she had negotiated an Ayleid jewel with the necromancer. She had come into possession of the jewel by chance, and had heard the cultists of the worm talking about the need that the necromancer had of the object. She had to negotiate with him, for her safety and that of the land around her modest tower. Honestly, a wreck of a tower, but it was her home all the same. A home she wanted to protect for the cultists of the worm and the necromancer troops. He agreed, but with a tone that suggested he was only doing it because he wanted to. He could have probably snatched the collar from her dead fingers without a problem. But he didn't and that always bothered her.
Why was he there? He slammed his staff down once. She jumped again and answer :
"I'm here to earn money… "
Which was a half-truth.
"In this hamlet of misery ? By shaking the pockets of all the inhabitants, there would hardly be enough to buy a horse ... a sick one. "
He crossed one leg over the other, making his armor creak slightly and put a hand on the stele to lean back. A relaxed pose that contrasted with his annoyance:
"I can recognize when someone tries to answer me without answering me, my dear. My servants spend their time practicing this sport. Generally, it annoys me and they lose their heads. We are between people of good education, you probably do not want to annoy me. "
He paused when an explosion caused a small house to fly further into pieces. The Breton girl restrained herself from cowering. Humiliation invaded her more than fear. She lost her countenance. She did not have to. Speak. It was too much…
"Come on my little rabbit, if you manage to hold the conversation while my minions finish their work, I might be able to spare you. But only if this conversation is between people - of good education. "
He emphasized the last words and waited.
"I'm going to sell potions, my lord. There is always a great need, especially for ladies."
Make small talk, she told herself, tell him a few things. All her muscles tensed, she felt a cold sweat running down her back. The necromancer look at her figure hidden by the cloak, too hot for this time of the year, and her mysterious hood.
"And I'm sure you need that to sell your goods."
As he finished his sentence, he waved his hand and a powerful gust of wind hit her in the face, pushing back her hood. She stretched out her arms, shouting in surprise, then immediately tried to hide her face.
But the necromancer did not need to raise the light to see what she was hiding. She had emphasized her brown eyes with a black line and put a little gold powder on her eyelids. And on the edge of her temple, she had traced the symbol of the workers of the night. Not the thieves. That of the ladies of the night.
Mannimarco froze, understanding what he had just discovered. For a moment, he lost his nonchalance. The young woman who faced her was ashamed, her blondness and her fair complexion perfectly showing the red that rose to her cheeks. She stopped trying to hide herself and dropped her arms, unmasked.
"The brothel I see at the crossroads certainly needs more potions to fight venereal diseases than witchcrafted potions."
His voice was less amused now. He gestured with two fingers holding his staff and a new building exploded in flames, casting moving shadows all over the cemetery and adding to the general cacophony.
"They certainly are more in need of prostitutes who do not mind the sight of local farmers and vagrants." He paused, slightly angry.
"So how much are you worth ? "
The young woman shuddered violently, cut to the quick. Her eyelids flinched. She straightened up suddenly and her eyes darted on the altmer who was searching in the folds of his cloak. He took out a little purse, which he cast with a contemptuous gesture at the feet of the Breton girl.
"Well, that should be enough for turning a trick.
- What ?!
- You were ready to sell yourself to hicks who do not even know the word hygiene. You should feel flattered that it's me who deigns ...
- Who do you think y ... !!! "
She stopped herself just in time but did not hide her anger anymore. She had bitten her lips to force herself to shut up, but fury burned in her features. She was ready to go for his throat. End of the overwhelming shame. No more terror and reason.
The king of the worms recognized the same fury, the fire that burned her soul when she appeared, perched on a weyr, one of those lizards distant dragon relatives, hanging on a wall of the cave where he was slaughtering some soldiers. He was always looking for that damn Ayleid artifact that a troop from the Aldmeri estate had stole to his servants. And none of them had been smart enough to take it back.
At least, he thought. He needed it quickly. The power it contained would be enough to amplify the ritual he was preparing. But it was that Breton girl who had shown herself in its possession and who had begun to negotiate. And as he was threatening her, she had opened a gulf in the ground, without a staff, with a simple clumsy gesture. And she had threatened to throw the Ayleide collar in and close the earth on it. At the time, he could only admire the nerve of the young woman, terrified and furious, who had negotiated her security with passion, totally ignoring the desperate calls of the commander of the guards who enjoined her to give the artifact to him. He had felt the power that flowed in this young person whose hands were still shaking today.
He had given himself the luxury of accepting her negotiation, a refreshing moment in his life. Most of the time, his opponents agonized him with insults and negotiated only to better plan to kill or destroy him. Or they let themselves be quickly corrupted. Boring to death... She had negotiated only for her, obviously unintended to play the hero for the country. And she had kept her word. She had sent the necklace, he had left her alone.
"Watch out your mouth, little rabbit. Do not forget who you are talking to. Do you lower yourself so much as having to sell yourself to a brothel ?
His voice was tense. Muriel felt her anger be swept away by this observation. The altmer had hitherto adopted that detached tone of voice which was a permanent sarcasm in his mouth. She had heard him before. But his last question was serious, there was a hint of anger he had not masked. And the meaning of the question finally calmed her. It was so surreal to have to explain that to Mannimarco, the king of worms, the hand of Molag Bal. A lich ... was not he supposed to get rid of those kinds of desires ? Ah ... so ... in fact he was making fun of her ... She took a deep breath not to sound too violent.
"How can that interest you, my lord ? And you, who is powerful enough to make fun of the powerful, what brings you to add to my humiliation ? How does the future of my very modest person matter to you ?! "
The necromancer uncrossed his legs and straightened to stare at the Breton girl. He tightens his grip on his staff. She shivered.
"Because I like mysteries, no doubt. For example, why a descendant of the Reden family needs money. To the point of having to sell herself. "
Muriel shifted her feet, embarrassed, and looked down.
"I know who you are, my little rabbit. Do you think I would have left you alive without learning more?
- I'm not from the main branch of the family ... "
The Breton girl suddenly felt a great deal of fatigue. Her nerves twitched and convulsively relaxed. But, she had to carry on the conversation. She hoped from the bottom of her gut that he would really leave her alive if she held the talk long enough. The necromancer was known to be hungry for power and willing to do anything for his great plan but what she knew about his life / death, he was not a bastard completely devoid of honor. She clung to this idea with all her strength.
Anyway, even with the magical power she was just beginning to discover in her, she had not the slightest chance of defeating him or escaping him. It was the reason she had negotiated her safety. Consequently, she talked about her family.
"My father broke away from his family because of his attitude. He offended them and ... he never tried to reconcile. His lifestyle was not very appreciated. "
In truth, her father was an alcoholic who ended up making her mother die of sorrow. He had drunk all the money made from his sawmill and had started drinking even the money she earned hard by working with her hands, making potions and crafts. Beating her all along. But with lemons she had made lemonade because she had taken advantage of his vice to poison him. Then she had left immediately from her native village and ... that, she preferred to keep it for her. Everything else had led her to the Black Marsh.
"I am an orphan and despite my best efforts, I can not get the money I need. Going to the Reden family for help would be like begging. From prostitute to beggar, I still prefer the anonymity of a closed room than a public opprobrium. "
As she did not see a clear reaction on the face of the altmer, she went on, with sincere curiosity :
"May I ask you one last question, my lord ? A question about your youth ? "
The necromancer raised an intrigued eyebrow. It was the first time someone dare to ask that kind of question to him... He made a gesture for her to continue.
"It is common knowledge that you are a powerful mage, needless to mention. But I also know that you have integrated a school of magic, the Artaeum if I'm not mistaken. How much did the registration fee cost when you entered?
- What a strange question, girl. But I see what's your point. I did not have to worry about registration fees, given my situation at the time.
- Know that right now, just to get an invitation to the academy of Shad Astula, without recommendation, you have to pay an entry fee of 500 gold coins. "
The necromancer guffawed in surprise :
"500 gold? !!!"
Then he laughed out loud:
"Ah, old mages macaques have found a way to make financial elitism, enough to make the magic profitable !"
The roar of the fire intensified behind the sorceress and she already felt the temperature rise. She did not see, but two dremora came back and waited at the entrance of the cemetery, watching the strange exchange between their master and a mortal.
"So you need this money to go to Shad Astula.
- Yes my Lord. I have ... some skills. But without the basics, I'm gonna make mistakes. If I want to progress and finish what I started, I need basic knowledge. "
Mannimarco had noticed that the young woman was actually above in terms of pure magical power. He had her spied after the episode of the artifact. He knew she was operating an amazing feat by rehabilitating an ecosystem around an abandoned tower in the Black Marsh. To save the giant aspics species. Undoubtedly to prove herself something. He did not care about her goal but the means interested him. She was far from being stupid, and despite the decay of her family, she showed the signs of a social education that only lacked a school education. With good mentors, she would make an excellent sorceress and could become an interesting opponent. But she needed basics of magic. He glanced at the wooden stick she was holding. She did not even have the means to purchase a proper staff. What a... waste.
Behind her, the hamlet was now in flames and there was no more soul alive except for the young woman. Her angular profile stood out against the flames. She looked at him earnestly, attentively, concentrating with all her strength to fight her terror. Her pupils were two black dots lost in the brown of her eyes. Her temples were covered in sweat. He sighed.
"Your brothel is burning, my little rabbit. And my servants have finished harvesting their share of souls. "
He stood up and Muriel felt her hands tighten on her wand. She did not really need it, she did not channel her magic. She hoped to not have defend herself. She would rather end her life than fall into the hands of Molag Bal's servants. But the necromancer merely passed by her nonchalantly, his cold aura quivering, his cloak brushed against her.
"Keep the purse and go to the academy."

When he and his servants finally disappeared, the young woman fell on her knees. Emotions jostled in her, violently, between relief, amazement at being alive and hope. In the purse, there were some small gems and at least 100 gold coins. The stones itselves were largely enough to cover her application fees. She remained kneeling, prostrate in the graveyard, her hands clasped on this incredible money, crying nervously until the fire was out and nothing was left of her plans for the night.

Two months later, Muriel reached Deshaan. She had stabilized the experiments around her tower and put everything on hold. She had been able to make the trip thanks to the carts of merchants who crisscrossed the country. Along the way, she had bought new clothes, a dress and a cloak suitable for appearing in front of mages. And even a modest staff. Hope had carried her throughout the trip. She had the money for making a fake invitation to the academy. It was a roundabout way to enter the place. You were supposed to receive an invitation, after a period of observation from the higher mages. She had not made great feats worthy of this privilege, nor did she carry a prestigious name. Only this solution remained. Unfortunately, she knew that would point her out as a pretentious girl who thought herself strong enough to enter the academy without legitimacy. She should prove herself quickly, find a patron, if not a mage interested in her researches.
Coming to Mournhold, she did not stop in the majestic and intriguing city. She immediately sought the wharf to sail to the academy, less sure of her. What would wait for her there ? In fact, she did not expect anything. She just hoped she could learn the basics and maybe go a little further, get into the library, find books on ecosystem engineering. Learn about animal evolution and soil characteristics. Learn how to make potions more potent than hers, discover many more plants than she had learned with her mother and the people she met in her life. She often has nightmares about how she got the money to travel. Nightmares where the necromancer came to ask her for compensation.
She took a seat on the boat with apprehension. She was not alone on her journey to the island, there were 5 more candidates. Which one also had to pay their invitation, which one had been invited ? She did not dare look up from under her hood, stirring her fears.
When they arrived, she stopped for a moment, gasping. With wet eyes. She was there. The towers and crenellations of the ramparts of the academy were impressive and dominated over her. She entered it with all the modesty and consideration she could. Here would be her future. The five candidates with whom she arrived were already sneaking their way through the dockers and the crates of merchandise. She followed them with an anguished and amazed step. An altmer woman was waiting for them behind a desk just past the landing stage.
"Welcome to Shad Astula, a training ground for future great sorcerers and leaders. May I see your invitation ? "
The others before her produced their written letters. She did the same nervously, her was written by a talented Argonian forger she had contacted on her arrival at Mournhold. Her name was written on it.
The altmer froze reading it. The Breton girl grew pale immediately. She felt unmasked, and feared she will be…
"Ah, it's you, we were waiting for you ..." This time it was the altmer who was turning pale.
" I'm sorry ?
- We ... I .. I'll take you to see someone... Follow me ... "
Troubled, Muriel followed the high elf who almost ran in front of her.
"Madam, what did you mean by "we were waiting for you" ?"
The altmer turned to answer her as they reached the doors of the first building. But a haughty bosmer dressed richly emerged from behind a pillar and stopped them :
"Tedras ? What are you doing here ? Were you not at the reception ? Who is that…
- I accompany her, the Archmage asked me to introduce her when she arrived ...
- What do you mean ? Who does the Archmage have ... Wait ! That's her, isn't it ? "
The Bosmer stared at the astonished young sorceress and began to yell at her :
"How dare you come here ! It's a scandal to have such a nerve !!! "
The altmer stood between her and Muriel :
"You calm down Hagaer !!!"
Thinking she was discovered as a fraud, the Breton girl raised her arms and stammered :
"I'm sorry, sir ... I ... that ..."
But the bosmer seemed to get even more excited and his voice carried in the huge room behind him, where a dozen young mages trained under the supervision of a more seasoned one.
"And a Breton ! And you have the nerve to look surprised ! Leave immediately, we do not want trouble with the like of you !
- But, sir, what have I done ? she asked, destabilized. She was desperately searching for the reason for this hostility : her letter, her dress ? Had her origins or her family stories been so far ?
- Your letter of recommendation, you must have the effrontery to choose such a ...
- Hagaer ! That's enough ! It's up to the Archmage to handle that !" the altmer defended.
The bosmer Hagaer made a gesture with his staff and the Breton girl thought he was going to use it.
"You know very well who this woman is, Tedras. And despite everything, you brought her !!! You should have put it back in the boat and sink it !!! "
The altmer woman glared at him and put her hand to the dagger at her side. The Breton girl felt that it was not just a barb, those two hate each other for a long time.
- No I do not know ! The Archmage asked me to show her to him when she arrived. But please, tell me.
- If the Archmage did not tell you then I do not have to do it ... "
Behind them, students gathered and listened obviously now.
"Oh I see. So I do not have to discuss his order either. Get away, Hagaer!
- Madam, what is the problem please ? asked the young sorceress timidly, just clinging to find out what she had missed.
- Miss Reden, instead of what my colleague believes, I know the Archmage wants to see you because of the letter of recommendation in your name that has come down to us.
- Sorry ? Recommendation ?
- Yes, and we can say that everyone knows the story of this letter in the academy since it is marked from the King of Worms in person. "
Muriel, red with confusion, heard the name of Mannimarco whispered around her. She never thought that her nightmare would take this form. She thought she was going to faint on the spot.
As the altmer and the bosmer clashed verbally but no more about her, she looked for what to do.
"Hey girl, ssome sssstrings were pulled for you ? What did you do to get Mannimarco to recommend you ?" Asked a small, dark-scaled Argonian. Muriel curled up, as red as a beet.
"What's happening here ?" said an unknown voice.
An elderly Dunmer in mage's light armor advanced. A respectful silence was immediately made and the sorceress understood who he was. She bowed briefly, imitated by all the students, including the two mers that had quarreled.
The altmer, Tedras, pointed to her with an arm gesture:
"This is Muriel Reden, Archmage. I planned to present her to you privately, if I had not been intercepted ... " Her dark eyes darted on the bosmer who took advantage of it :
"Archmage, this woman is the protege of the necromancer! She has the nerve to come here and pretend ignorance !!! You can not let someone with such a reputation in the academy, it would be a scandal and a danger ...
- Ah, Hagaer, always very worried about everything done in the academy, thank you for your opinion. But it seems to me that we have statuses registered since the creation of our noble guild and which always govern the conditions of entry. And we respect them in accordance with the Covenant. " calmly replied the Archmage, taking a parchment from a tube hanging from his belt.
He turned to the young Breton girl who hoped her nightmare would end with dignity. For example, a lightning coming from the sky that would carbonize her on the spot. The Archmage handed her the parchment.
"All of this seems to make you very nervous, miss. You do not have the attitude of someone who would have come here knowing exactly who recommended her. Read this letter."
Breathless, Muriel deciphered the elegant and refined writing and the signature. Fortunately, she could read. In a very sober but flattering style, the necromancer recommended her to the academy in his quality of reference in the world of magic and who " evolved towards horizons known to all".
She rebelled immediately, willing to dispel all suspicion:
"Sir, I assure you that I did not ...
- Do not worry, miss. I saw your letter of intent before the parchment arrived. You have followed the procedure. As for this letter of recommendation ... "
He laughed:
"Ah, that old Mannimarco snake must have had a wild time writing it. I am sure he regrets not being able to see how we reacted.
- But his reputation leaves no doubt about the evil influences that this woman can suffer", intervened the bosmer, hooked to his idea.
The Archmage ignored him and turned to the assembly who followed the exchange with attention :
" Normally, any person recommended by a mage known to his colleagues and who wrote a letter of intent has the right to enter the academy. Left to prove herself afterwards. So, let's see, is there anyone here who does not know who Mannimarco is ? "
Some sounds of denials answered him.
"And as I confronted him once, I can certify that he is a great sorcerer. Alas who has not turn well but who knows what we will become as we get older ... "
The Archmage shifted his gaze between seriousness and amusement on the Breton girl :
"Do you intend to turn to necromancy ? I do not think you mentioned it in your letter of intent.
- Nonono ! Archmage sir ! I ... assure you that I did not know anything about this letter of recommendation and I ... do not intend to do anything evil !
- Well, that's it, it was a joke, much of the style of the King of Worms. You are welcome to the academy, miss. Tedras will make you fill the formalities and find you a dormitory, you must be tired of all this trip. "
Some small applause were heard and Muriel felt her tension fall. A few students came to shake her hand, ask her questions until the altmer came looking for her to finish her inscription.
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Reconnaissance