{Bonus} Tower Defense - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

AN: Edited chapters do not count toward monthly quota's.

I'm throwing in another bonus as thanks for you all being patient with me this month. I know my deadlines are [6 chapters a month], rather than any set date, but even I feel delayed this month. So much shit goes into shutting down a house and setting up to go to a new continent. Ugh.

Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 2: Damian

It took a long minute for the human-sized shadowy black wolf to stop twitching beneath the Flames spell before Damian cut off the power and bent over, panting.

'Stendarr's Balls, is there no end to these beasts?'

The nineteen-year-old was not one who feared combat. Just like any other hot-blooded male to grow up in the proud lands of Skyrim, he didn't shy away from danger, but that didn’t make him suicidal.

Bretons didn’t have that natural instinct to raise a blade and charge into the jaws of death that Nords did, and Damian was thankful for that.

The dark brown-haired, green-eyed young man collapsed backward onto the rock he'd been resting on from exhaustion before the shadow wolf creature jumped him.

For the fourteenth time that day.

His lean, six-foot-two frame was drenched in sweat and dried blood as he finally allowed himself a moment of rest.

For three days.

Three long, unforgiving days.

He had been fighting and running from the demented beasts straight out of the imaginative pits of Hircine’s unholy realm.

‘I somehow doubt this is Hircine’s Hunting grounds.’

Damian had assumed it at first, what with suddenly finding himself in an outcropping of odd-looking trees and giant stones inside a vast, scorching desert, with wolf-like monsters coming to tear him apart, but that idea faded for three reasons.

One, there was no taunting.

Werewolves and Deadra never missed a chance to taunt or showboat, especially the Deadric Princes; they wanted to see you feel fear.

‘Dramatic, all-powerful teenagers is what they are.’

Second, and far more importantly, the night sky was missing an entire moon.

And the one that did exist was shattered beyond belief. It took Damian two days to finally accept that a moon could be broken like that.

‘The fabled celestial bodies of Masser and Secunda could never birth the concept of a moon shattering so terribly with the light they shine on Tamriel’s night. And seeing how Hircine highly values the moon, this is no realm of his.’

Three, far less importantly, yet annoyingly correct, was the impudent little imp who came along for the ride.

When Damian arrived in the world three days earlier, it was the imp who stated this world was not Mundus, Oblivion, or anything he was familiar with.

‘Am I really going to have to take that deal?’

Damian sighed and rubbed a bandaged hand over his tired face.

‘These beasts are increasing in number; I cannot stay here.’

On the first day he arrived, he only had to deal with half a dozen shadow beasts.

The second day, the number doubled.

And now at the end of the third day, he had already dealt with sixteen.

‘This is a worrying pattern, and these creatures project little in the way of natural intelligence.’

The shadow beasts would just appear and charge him like starved animals with drooling maws, no pause or hesitation. And they always seemed to know where he was no matter how much ground he covered.

'I changed directions every hour, and they somehow kept tracking me.'

Damian masked his scent, wiped away his footprints, set up false trails, and yet they still found him.

He traveled through the small corpse of odd trees and stones he found himself in, going to the edges to see stretches of long desert and towering mountains in every direction, only to find himself right back at his arrival point in the center.

The only reprieve he could find was when he conjured an Atronach or spectral wolf and sending them off in a different direction.

And even that only lasted so long before the conjured creature was banished and they refocused on him.

A dull throb in his bandaged leg caused Damian’s face to twist in displeasure. ‘I really wish I had my bag of potion supplies on me when I got here.’

His hand glowed golden as he channeled a Novice Restoration spell, [Healing], against his wounds.

A hiss of pain went through him as the spell did nothing to dull the sensation of one’s flesh being pulled back together.

‘Should have spent more time learning the Apprentice Restoration spells.’

He tried to distract himself from the pain by thinking about why he was even in this mess.

A shudder passed through him as he recalled that experience.

The ritual was just supposed to bring him an unbound Dremora Merchant to do business. Damian had a pouch filled with common soul gems ready to trade, but he hadn't thought to keep his travel gear on him.

'I was inside the college doing an experiment; why would I be packed for a journey?'

Damian had only a spare second to process how screwed he was before the inverted, glowing purple portal went supernova and sucked him in, shooting him forward like a cannonball through the void.

Damian couldn't say how long he traveled.

It felt like moments and an eternity all at once as he crashed through layers of watery glass, unintentionally tackled a Dremora Merchant who seemed to be gambling with human skulls in some kind of city, and then continued on his flight path through layers of reality and dimensional walls before landing here.

At least he still had his Adept robes and his Flame Atronach staff, but how long they would last was a different story.

And wherever here was, it was distinctly unfriendly to him, if not outright hostile.

‘Not to mention I have a new language in my head.’

And wasn't that a strange concept to wake up and find? As a decade-long student of the college, Damian was no stranger to foreign languages, but to suddenly wake up to find a new one in your head was confounding.

‘I’m procrastinating.’

Damian sighed loudly and leaned back to look at the sky, right where he arrived three days prior.

‘My only hope of staying alive is accepting that bastard's deal, but damn it, what kind of conjuration mage makes an equal deal with a Dremora? I can hear Uncle Phinis berating me for just thinking about it.'

He had wallowed for three days thinking he could deal with things himself, but he was slowing down as time passed.

The only thing holding him back was his pride.

‘Should I?’ Hunger and exhaustion sapped at his pride, and Damian was on the edge of what to do. ‘I know the dangers of dealing with Dremora. An exchange is one thing, but a binding partnership is another.’

Damian’s furiously thinking mind froze as he felt the uptick of mana in the area, like the sensation of one's hair standing on end before lightning strikes.

A glowing violet portal appeared directly above him, and a burst of hope exploded forth from his chest.

‘Someone’s coming! Did Uncle manage to track my path? Three days is surely enough for a Conjuration master like him. Or maybe it’s that annoying Archmage? I’ll even deal with his smug face for a month if he gets me home.’

The young mage watched the portal grow with anticipation, but it suddenly stopped at the size of a sweet roll.

‘Huh?’ Damian blinked as an object fell through and almost smacked him in the head if not for his reflexive catch before the portal closed behind it.

The whole process took seconds, and Damian's tired mind took a long minute to reboot.

He robotically looked down at the satchel in his hand and found a note stuck to it.

{Young Damien, I hope this finds you well.

You were getting cooped up in the college, and I took offense to that. Your talent was being wasted without facing some hardships to help you grow, so I gave you a little push. Have fun on your adventure and don't forget to bring back souvenirs.

-          Savos Aren, Archmage, Conjuration Master, Proud Bachelor, Concerned Bystander, Leader of the College of Winterhold.

P.S. Do something impressive.}

The note was promptly crushed and incinerated in passionate flames.

‘I’ll kill him.’

Veins pulsed along Damian's neck.

He had never wanted to punch someone as badly as he did right now. His eyes practically blazed as he tore open the satchel's latch and looked inside.

‘Bastard at least gave me something useful.’

He pulled out a Minor Stamina Potion and downed it without hesitation, sighing in relief as the blackness on the edge of his vision faded.

Relying on Stamina Potions to replace sleep wasn't ideal. Still, scholarly mages tended to ignore that in the face of their studies.

He would just crash harder at some point.

But more than the potions, the satchel itself was a treasure. It was enchanted with the [Deep Storage] spell, giving it expanded space within without reducing the weight of its contents.

‘How long has that bastard been planning this?’

Damian couldn’t help but mutter as he looked at the valuable bag. It wasn’t too large, only the size of a 10x40 box, but it was neatly organized with minor potions and dry rations.

Expanded space bags weren't rare, but they weren't common, and for the Archmage to have one this size, filled with potions far below the man's grade, meant this was pre-planned.

Damian wasn't thick-headed enough not to understand that.

And he also understood that whatever the Dunmer bastard had done, Damian wasn’t getting home anytime soon.

“Fuck. I’ll get back and punch that bastard if it’s the last thing I do. My talent was being wasted, huh? Who the hell are you to decide that!”

Damian fumed and tore into a ration bar.

He didn’t actually hate the man he had always taken as that one crazy, irresponsible, yet powerful and mysterious uncle in his distorted family, but damn, did the man have a talent for being smug.

Grumbling over his food, Damian held up a hand, and the spell he'd learned long ago but never had a reason to use flared to life.

[Conjure Dremora Churl]

A pentagon-shaped marking on the back of his hand lit up before a ball of light shot forward and struck the ground, where a violet portal grew.

Out of it stepped a loincloth-wearing Dremora imp with a fang-filled grin.

“You called, mortal?”

The spell was meant only to resummon a Dremora Churl a mage had already killed to serve them.

But this was a different scenario where neither foe was willing to kill the other.

Damian glared at the three-foot-tall, red-skinned, short-horned creature. "I'm willing to bargain."

The Churl narrowed its beady black eyes. "I offered you a fair deal."

"Fair is subjective to whoever's point of view you look at it from. Your previous offer would screw me over eventually." Damian's gaze held strong on the demons as he spoke without a trace of fear, tapping his shoulder slowly with his staff.

The Churl's gaze traveled downward, taking in what lay in the sand around the mortal's body.

Rune traps covered the ground, and by the time the demon got around them, the mortal would have a spell ready.

Both knew the Churl was stronger in close combat, yet a prepared mage wasn't something easy to deal with.

The demon growled in the back of its throat before meeting Damian's gaze once more. "Very well. Deal with the vermin behind you, and we'll talk."

Damian’s eye twitched as he turned in that direction. “Another one?”

A duo of cart-sized wolves came out of the shadows and took a bare second to lock their bestial red eyes on him before charging.

Damian kept half his focus on the Dremora while using the other half to conjure spectral wolves that tore into the shadow creature in a battle of fangs and claws.

Destruction spells always felt the most stress-relieving to cast at an enemy, but Conjuration was his bread and butter and far more economical to cast.

Especially with his Adept Conjuration robes that lowered the cost of conjuration spells and increased mana recovery.

“Why won’t these things leave me alone?” Damian grumbled.

No one liked being hounded every second of every day, especially since his spells didn't last forever and, despite his power advantage, he could be ambushed or overwhelmed, as he had learned over the last few days.

He couldn’t take a shit in peace.

No man deserved that.

"They are locking onto your mana, mortal." The Churl answered the question not directed at him without a care as he held up a black gem shard with a look of glee.

As the shadow wolves died, traces of black particles flew from their bodies into the gem like a vacuum sucking up dust.

“And once again I can only marvel at these creatures.” The imp stared at the gem shard with pure hunger and grasped it tightly, shuddering with pleasure as power flowed from the shard into it.

Damian watched it happen with a wary gaze. “Yes, [Miasmic Darkness] is what you called them.”

The Dremora Churl damn near giggled in joy as it put away the gem shard.

“I did. Wherever this is, it’s not Nirn, nor Mundus, nor any of the realms of Oblivion outside it. It has no claim from a prince or Aedra.” The imp raised its arms in excitement. “Yet these creatures hold tiny traces of pure miasma formed through a touch of divinity. It’s practically a feast for any unbound Dremora.”

The creature was practically drooling.

Dremora in general, not just the Unbound, have few ways to increase their power and standing among their kind.

For the ones bound to a prince, they can either follow whatever sin their master embodies, eat the souls of powerful beings, eat each other, or absorb miasma generated from negative emotions. It's one of the main reasons all the Deadric realms keep tens of thousands, if not more, of souls alive to suffer in torment.

Miasmic suffering is both a food source and a power source to Dremora. And to the unbound who have no master, it’s the best option they have to grow and survive.

"Uhu, and what would you give to get it?" Damian asked shrewdly, waving his hand to send three surviving spectral wolves out as decoys while the last jumped to his side, panting happily as it lay down beside him.

"What do you want?" The Churl responded quickly, almost desperately, while eyeing the wolf warily.

The laws that bound its being still applied anywhere in a mortal realm, Mundus or no.

It couldn't stay on a mortal plane without a summoner calling and supplying mana, and neither could it hunt the creatures it so wanted. Only when they attacked him or died around him could the Churl act.

"Serve me." Damian said simply. "Swear yourself to my service, and I'll help you."

“No.” The demon denied instantly. “I’ll never give up my freedom unless I face extinction.”

Damian clicked his tongue and tried again, but failed each time.

He wasn’t actually interested in keeping a slave, but he would do whatever he had to for his own survival. The biggest influence on his life was a Necromantic Conjuration master in the form of his uncle, so he had long since gotten over any moral dilemmas.

Still didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

"Fine. I can't kill you, and you refuse to submit, so we'll go back to the partnership agreement." It pained Damien to admit it, but it was true.

The purpose of the Conjuration Ritual was not just to summon an ideal Dremora, but also to contain it within the ritual circle so the mage could kill it and resummon it endlessly until it admitted defeat.

Without that circle, he could only make the imp understand that fighting wasn’t in either of their interests.

The Churl smiled wide, showing off its pointed fangs as it nodded. “Good. I was getting tired of these attempts.” It snapped its fingers as a glowing red scroll appeared between the two. “Now that we are both in agreement.”

It narrowed its eyes on the young man, who shrugged unrepentantly, then continued. "We can discuss the terms."

Unbound Daedra were unique in how they could form contracts through their innate magic. Once bound to a prince or realm, all contracts go through the master, and they lose the ability to alter them, only able to offer what their prince demands.

But for the unbound, it’s how they manage to survive and thrive.

Damian narrowed his eyes at the archaic script. “Change that language to Standard. I’ll not make a binding agreement in a language I cannot properly read.”

The Churl scoffed. “That would weaken the contract and make it pointless. Standard is a magicless language for the sheep.”

Damian rolled his eyes and waved a hand airily. "Yeah, yeah, you stuck-up immortals. Make it in Aldmeri then."

Aldmeri was the ancient language of the high elves. A language of intent and magic, used to write spell tomes because modern-day Standard couldn't handle teaching the intricacies of magical spells.

Damien had been studying it for a decade, and he could confidently understand up to Adept-level spell tomes.

The imp grunted out an insult but complied with the new request and changed the wording.

Damian inspected it and nodded at the change. “First off, I want a secrecy clause. Directly or indirectly, we cannot betray anything we learn to others, even after our contract is complete.”

The Churl hummed. “As long as you do not impede me from acting on knowledge I learn if it doesn’t affect you.”

"Naturally. It goes both ways." Damian agreed, and the contract flashed with a line.

Intent was crucial in a magical contract.

It was the Deadra’s turn to add a clause. “I want filled Black Soul Gems.” 

Black Soul Gems, unlike regular Soul Gems, were unnatural creations.

Their main purpose was not to absorb intelligent souls, but to absorb negative emotion and miasma from the mortal world; trapping intelligent souls within the gems was a byproduct of that goal.

Even when a Black Soul Gem is used for enchantments, the miasma doesn’t leave the gem when the soul does.

Damian narrowed his eyes. “How many?”

“As many as this world can offer.” The imp shrugged.

“Denied.” Damian flatly refused. “My main purpose is getting home. I will not be going on a massacre of creatures I do not understand.”

The Churl growled and pointed off to the side where the spectral wolves even now howled in the distance as a warning of danger. “But they are coming to you!” 

Damian paused at that and scratched the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Point. Very well, until the day I leave this world, every filled Black Soul Gem or shard I acquire can be traded to you.”

“Until you get home.” The imp specified.

Damian raised a questioning brow, and the Churl smirked. "This might be some abandoned realm for all we know. If there are others, this world may not be your first stop. I want claim to every filled Black Soul Gem you acquire until you return to Mundus.”

"That…" Damian paused, considering the truth in those words, and slowly nodded. "I can accept that, but you will be supplying the Black Soul Gems or Shards.”

“Agreed.”

The contract flashed.

"I want goods, though.” Damian tapped his staff. “I will be exchanging the filled Gems for materials from Mundus at market price.”

"Naturally." The Dremora puffed out its chest proudly. "Before you rudely tackled me through dimensions." Damian would have felt shame if he weren't dealing with a Dremora. “I was already a merchant. I will not, however, be setting standard prices for goods.”

"Haggling is fine." Damian had no problem with that. "What grade of materials are you able to access?"

“It depends on my resources and strength.” The Churl admitted openly. “Without funds, I cannot barter goods in the realms of Oblivion. Without strength, anything I gain will be taken from me.”

“And the more filled Black Soul Gems I give you, the stronger you will become.” Damian understood.

“And the stronger I become, the better my services.” The red-skinned imp grinned wide and hungrily. “It’s mutually beneficial.”

Damian hummed and tapped his shoulder with his staff in thought. “Well, that’s fine by me. I don’t really care what you do as long as I get what I want. Anything else?"

“I am satisfied.” The Churl held up its palms.

“Good. Then I, Damian, agree to the existing contents of the contract.” The floating scroll flashed with his acknowledgment, and he turned to the Churl expectantly.

“I… hm.” The Dremora paused in slight awkwardness. “I do not have a name that can be translated to Aldmeri.”

Damien waved it off. “Then choose a new one. It doesn’t matter what you call yourself as long as you are the one who says it.”

Names didn’t hold power as much as intent did. Magically binding contracts bound the soul of whoever spoke.

Deadric Princes could get around that because they owned their Dremora's souls, but that didn't apply here.

The Churl scratched his cheek in thought. “Um… I… maybe… Overlord of the…”

Damian saw a disaster in the making and cut him off. "Crantius."

"Crantius?" The Churl asked, confused, before its eyes lit up. "Ah, from the Lusty Argonian Maid."

“You read it?” Damian asked in surprise.

The imp nodded. “It is quite popular in Oblivion, particularly Lord Sanguine’s Myriad Realms of Revelry.”

Damian didn’t know what to say to that and decided to move on. “Your name is Crantius from now on.”

The Churl shrugged uncaringly. “Very well. I, Crantius, agree to the existing contents of the contract.”

The scroll flashed a second time and then split in two, each flying into the chest of the participants.

Crantius smirked and tossed over a pouch of a dozen empty Black Soul Shards. “That’s what I have on me.”

Damian caught it with a grunt. “Wonderful.”

He muttered a few annoyances about what kind of shit his uncle would give him when he heard about this and put the shards away. "Now that we’re done with that, I want information.”

Crantius rubbed his hands together sleazily. “Of course, dear customer. You have payment, correct?”

“…" Damian suddenly recalled his situation. He only truly had the clothes on his back, his staff, and a bundle of Soul Gems leftover from the ritual, and held up a finger.

“One sec.” He flipped through the satchel the Archmage sent him.

‘Half a dozen Minor Health, Stamina, and Mana Potions. A sack of apples. Bag of jerky. Is that the Archmage’s amulet? Two spell tomes I’ll look at later. A lockbox. A pouch of septims. And…’

His breath slightly hitched as he saw the last item.

‘Thanks, Savos.’

Some of Damian’s ill will towards the man evaporated.

He took out a scratched silver locket and gave it a brief, gentle look before putting it back, then pulled out the septims and tossed the sack up and down.

‘Feels like a couple hundred.’

Despite being an Adept Conjuration mage, Damian wasn’t exactly wealthy.

The college offered a variety of essentials from food to board to robes and covered anything necessary to live healthily, so mages of the college never had to work for funds just to survive day to day.

What the college didn't cover, however, was the cost of anything that advanced one's craft.

Teachers taught classes at specific times to whoever showed up, but they didn't hand out spell tomes, Soul Gems, alchemy ingredients, enchanted gear, or such. Everyone was expected to provide for themselves in those areas, and it was one of the main reasons it took a mage so long to progress.

Skyrim was a cold, hard place. It left no room for weakness; even if people weren't generally cruel, it was just life.

He had minor benefits of being the nephew of the Conjuration professor, as well as the unofficial adopted family of the Destruction professor, but that was more about better teaching.

They didn’t hand out valuable materials as gifts.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the cranky old bastard of an enchanting professor he dealt with. Old man Sergius actually made Damien pay for the materials he used just to learn from him.

Damien was never wealthy.

Every tomb and bandit camp he raided was picked clean of everything of value, even the ruined books and buckets!

He took everything and sold it just to fund his progress as a student.

Focusing back on the waiting Churl, Damian bounced the coin pouch in his hand. “All I’ve got is Septims at the moment.”

Cantius frowned in displeasure. “We agreed on payment through filled Black Soul Gems or Shards.”

“Does it look like I have any?” Damian asked dryly. “Use the Septims for now, and I'll have filled shards for you later."

The Dremora didn't look pleased, but nodded all the same. "

Very well, one time.” He muttered something almost too low for Damian to hear, but he caught the words, “I’ll need to hide them or one of those… rob me.”, and felt a tiny, ever so small, trace of sympathy for his new partner.

It wasn't easy being a low-ranking Dremora, it seemed.

Damian coughed into his fist. “First question, what did you mean when you said those shadow beasts were locked onto my mana?”

Cantius looked up and hummed. “Those creatures are bundles of negative emotions trapped in a shell of shadows and hunger for negative emotions, the same as Dremora, yet from what I have seen, they possess no intelligence. Magicka creates a splash when spells are cast, and it lures any of these creatures that pick up on it to you like moths to a flame."

“Ok, but why?” Damian raised a brow.

“How am I supposed to know?” Cantius threw his hands up. “I can tell you what’s happening when I see it, not why. I don’t live here. Maybe they find magical energy more enticing? Maybe something is controlling them? I could assume the faint trace of divinity in them is seeking out energy similar to its origin, but that’s just a guess.”

Damian grumbled a bit at that. "So the bottom line is that they'll keep coming every time I cast a spell? You do realize I use magic to kill them, right?"

"A vicious cycle, isn't it?" The imp's cruel smile showed exactly what it thought of the situation. "Perhaps you should pick up a physical weapon."

"Right." Damian rolled his eyes. "I'm a Breton mage, not a Nord muscle-headed warrior."

Training his body to be fit and learning to use bound weapons with magically sharpened edges were one thing, but relying on iron or steel was a waste of effort.

“Next question. Do you have a way to get me back to Mundus?” Cantius held up a clawed finger, but Damian quickly added in. “Alive.”

Cantius clicked his tongue. "No. I might be able to find a way for you to reverse-summon yourself to a realm of Oblivion, but whatever Prince ruled would notice you. Death is probably a better result than whatever they would do to you."

"Great." Damian sighed and patted the spectral wolf's head beside him. "Means I'm on my own with this one."

The ritual formula he followed that started all this was mostly fresh in his mind, but he’d have to alter and experiment with it before he could risk using it again.

The only issue with that was that it would take time. Time he didn't have, with shadow beasts constantly hounding him.

“How the hell am I supposed to work in peace in this damned realm?” He muttered.

He didn’t mean that to be an issued question, but Cantius still took it as one. “Just do what all you mortal mages eventually do and make a tower or something.”

"A tower?" Damian looked up, surprised by the idea. "A mage tower?"

“Yes, yes.” The imp rolled its eyes. “All the big names among your kind are famous for it.”

Damian felt like he should argue on principle, only to pause and consider it.

‘It’s not like he’s wrong. And I can’t deny I’ve always wanted one. It’s just that the college was too convenient to consider it.’

The more he thought about it, the more Damian liked the idea. He could have his own privacy to experiment, maybe even his own enchanting table!

“Wait, how the hell am I supposed to build a tower?” Damian’s fantasy was punctured by reality. “I’m an Adept Conjuration mage at best. I can’t conjure a tower.”

"That. I can help with." Cantius smiled widely and pulled a tome from wherever he stored things. “I’ve had this sitting around for a while.”

It tossed the book over for Damian to catch, and the mage paused at the title.

[Alteration: Raise Wall]

"Do I look like an Alteration mage to you?" Damian's brow twitched. "I'm a Conjurer first and an Enchanter second. I've never more than fooled around with Novice Alteration spells, and this is an Apprentice spell."

“You have time.” The Churl pointed out ruthlessly. “Learn.”

The Dremora's casual response ticked Damian off; he made studying an entirely different branch sound so simple, yet the familiar howls he heard in the distance left him with few choices.

Damian sighed and forked over the coins. “I’ll take it.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The imp smiled widely.

Damian just knew he'd come to hate those words.

Chapter End.

AN: Next time, a short time skip as Damian practices, and then he begins his hike to find the Perfect place to begin constructing his Mage Tower.

If only there wasn't worse in store out in that desert.