61: Grotesque

I achingly rolled onto my back and stared at the night sky. It was choked with smoke and the smell of death, and I coughed and held my sides. Blood was trickling out of several open wounds I had received from the blast, but they were nothing critical. The air was eerily quiet. What’s more, there was something greasy and unusual about it. I looked around stiffly, and saw that I was surrounded by the corpses of dozens of Daedra and Redoran soldiers. I pulled myself to my knees and looked around for the staff. It was nowhere to be found. I even looked under several bodies, but it was gone. I tried to cast a spell to light my way as I searched, but it would not cast for some reason. Whatever it was that was in the air, it was keeping me from casting spells.

I heard weak coughing nearby, and I managed to stand and navigate through the smoky, greasy air to the form making the noise. Artan, the mage who I had been speaking to shortly before the battle, was getting to his feet nearby. I stumbled over and helped him up.

“What the hell was that?” He managed to say between coughs. “You… Exploded!”

“It’s a long story. Have you seen my staff?” I was still searching desperately for it. Perhaps it had been blown from my grasp by the explosion.

“Why can’t I cast spells?” Artan asked, still slightly dazed. “It’s like there’s something in the air.” He felt it too, so I knew something had happened to stop all of our spells. As I searched through the corpses littering the ground, I noticed a blackish fog hovering limply very close to the ground. It seemed to be everywhere, though just a few inches from the ground. I continued to search for my staff, and Artan began to check if any of the soldiers might still be alive. I soon found myself standing by the gates to the city. They were blackened and had holes in several places, apparently from the energy of the blast. I pushed on one weakly and felt it give. I walked a few steps before a shape plummeted to the ground in front of me and stood slowly. I was relieved to see the Nerevarine’s twin scimitars burning brightly before me. “What happened?” He asked urgently.

“It’s very difficult to explain…” I began, but I was cut off by the Nerevarine.

“Where is your friend?” he asked.

“Artan is just outside the gates.” I said, slightly confused.

“No, not him. The staff! Where is the Staff? It is critical we find him!”

I was taken aback. How did the Nerevarine know about the Dark One? I was certain I had never mentioned him to anyone, and I knew the staff’s glowing colors were not visible to anyone but myself. “How do you know…” I began again.

“It’s very difficult to explain,” said the Nerevarine. “There isn’t time now. The battle is quiet here, but elsewhere it still rages. Now, where is the Staff?”

I was about to say something when I noticed the black fog creeping up around my ankles. Once again I felt the greasiness in the air and I knew I would not be able to cast any spells. The Nerevarine noticed the fog as well, and knelt down to examine it. I was shocked to see the flames that engulfed his swords sputter and being to die as they came close to the fog. Clearly, so was the Nerevarine, because he backed away suddenly. He shook his head slightly, then extinguished and sheathed his swords with a flick of his fingers. He motioned for me to follow him and he ran back out through the gates.

The fog was thickening as each second passed. Already, Artan was knee deep in the stuff, and he looked very confused, as if he had lost his way. He was staring into space, and I knew that the fog must be toxic somehow. The Nerevarine began to wade into the stuff, and I watched in horror as his shimmering armor was coated in a film of oily fog, which condensed into liquid droplets on the powerful plate mail. Whatever was doing this, it was deeply attracted to power and magic. The Nerevarine’s pace slowed until he stopped, and his face took on a glazed expression similar to that of Artan’s. The fog was nearly waist deep, and I was beginning to feel slightly stupefied. I shook my head to clear it, and then backed out of the fog towards the gates. I noticed that both Artan and the Nervarine’s dull gazes were focused on a point high above me. I turned and ran to the pathway that took me to the top of the natural archway above the gates.

As I reached the top, I looked around for… what exactly, I didn’t know. I squinted into the darkness around me and could just barely make out a form a short distance away. I only saw it because it was glowing dimly and rings of deep red light pulsed down its surface. It was the Staff, hanging firmly in the air a few feet off the ground. Each pulse of horrifying red light released a puff of the oily fog, which flowed down into the battleground where Artan and the Nerevarine were standing stupidly. I walked up closer to the staff.

It had changed drastically. Where it was once smooth black metal, it was now scarred and gnarled. The dim light it emitted was refracted and twisted by the scars into a sickening display, and I stood transfixed with horror. Yet, I knew I had to do something to stop whatever was happening. I did all that I could do.

I reached out and grabbed the twisted thing.