#sigil magicka

[crazyskirtlady]

Astral travel Djinn✨

{Equip this crown:lucid astral travel & dream recall}

[dascent-sigils]

Capricorn Sigil

Feminine energy, duality, water, emotion.

Earth, mountain , duality in Oneness .

Cross of 4 cardinal space (North, Est , South, West)

Yes it is the old alias symbol of Capricorn just like this one ♑︎

To activate - water, earth

Intention/affirmation - usually suitable with emotions and all aspects "assigned to" root chakra (Muladhara)

[larkscribbles]

The Last Gate

1965 Words [ao3]

In the wake of the Oblivion Crisis the Champion of Cyrodiil continues to fight - she has a promise to keep and people to protect. But what is to become of her should she complete her goal? What fate is left for her after the last gate is closed?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kynreeve has enough sense to try and charge her, forcing their shields together so he can swing at her back with his mace. She pivots, pushing off, taking the brunt of the blow but using the brief lull to find the space to the side of his chestplate and drive her blade in. The creature snarls angrily, spitting blood, trying to bat her off, flailing in desperation. The imperial spellsword rams her buckler into her adversary’s head, knocking him off balance. Then, taking advantage of the opening, reigns down blow after blow with the pommel of her sword. She halts to retrieve the daedra’s own weapon to finish the job, denting its helmet until it stops moving. It’s messy and inefficient. Her arms hang leaden at her sides. The rational part of her hates herself for wasting energy like this, but the blood in her veins boils. A hot seething anger so deep it shakes her entire being, driving her onwards like an engine. The fire of her fury leaves her numb to everything else, even common sense, this is the last gate - the 60th. Nothing else matters after this.

The Champion of Cyrodiil eyes the crumpled form of her opponent. The daedra had acted as if she didn’t have a reputation; as if she was not standing before the creature in a set of its own infernal armour covered in the blood of its brethren. Dremora didn’t feel fear in quite the same way, death was a mere inconvenience to them.

Avery shakily lowers herself onto a stone bench, having reached a room with no immediate danger she can afford herself the luxury of tending to her wounds. She has learnt there’s a pace to these things - destroying keeps as a one woman army - charging in now would be fruitless in her current state. Her helmet hits the floor with a clang. She uncorks a vial and takes heavily from the blood fountain, guzzling its contents. The cool liquid momentarily alleviates the heat of the oppressive sulphuric air. Upstairs, in the keep the dremora will be amassing their forces in a last stand to stop her acquiring the sigil stone. Without its source of magic their gate will crumble and they will no longer be able to terrorise Mundus. This is the last one. Mehrunes Dagon’s forces will at least be halted for a while - returning to this forsaken realm to lick their wounds and wait for another era where they may invade again. It’s inevitable. She’ll be long dead by then. She blinks away wetness in her eyes. Not tears. Sweat. She swallows the lump in her throat by quaffing a potion to fortify her for the coming fight; the purple elixir easing the screaming in her muscles and mind somewhat. The prickle of magicka returns to her fingers. She continues to drink vial after vial until she feels ill, simultaneously disorientated and hyper aware, shaking with adrenaline and the effects coursing through her bloodstream. She is of no use dead. She is the realm’s final defence - their shield. A tool to be used. Once this is over she will be discarded.

The champion surges onwards and upwards, charging through the final set of doors. The shining obsidian corridor rises steadily, elevating her to the final room. Every Sigilium Sanguis is concentric, multilayered with three floors, and covered in spikes. The floor is swollen to the extent its dome-like, made from a red glassy stone shot through with white veins, marbled and lumpy like a heart. Suspended from the ceiling hangs the sigil stone, burning like a small sun, bathing the room in a firey orange. Its constant thrum of energy permeates the room. The casters perched at the top are already conjuring beasts, hurling down bolts of lighting to stunt her own casting and seize her muscles. She charges up a staircase - an arrangement of red rungs that curl upwards like a bisected rib cage - hoping to bottleneck her melee opponents so she can cleave through them more efficiently. It makes her an easier target for the longer ranged attacks but the potions and buzz of her enchanted armour should mitigate the damage that should outright kill her several times over. Her blade sings and spins, severing skin, muscle and bone. The first level clears. Avery summons the pulse of a restoration spell, gauntlet of her shield hand flaring with a searing blue light - regeneration - encouraging her flesh to knit and twist back together slowly but surely.

She doesn’t see the clannfear fast enough, its reptilian crested head bowed low in a reckless charge. The creature flings itself from the top floor down at her. Claws and a pointed beak try to pierce her protection. Fire flares from the spellsword’s hand as they fall through the air, the jet of flame licking nothing initially, then whipping downwards to engulf the creature. Ochre scales char and blacken. They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs. The beast shrieks, having sustained too much damage from the fall, and disperses like dust in the wind, melting into the air. Avery wheezes, ribs rattling in her chest, blood staining her teeth, her eyes roll in their sockets. She lies splayed on the floor like some kind of crustacean - protected in a shell for the time being but ultimately vulnerable. Her head rings, vision clouded, smeared with red. Through the eyeholes of her helmet she can see the blurred shapes of the remaining troops advancing on her, trying to get better aim on their prone opponent, or just to see her face when they do kill her. Of course they’d enjoy that.

The spellsword grits her teeth and wills for time to slow, it takes her a moment to register every laboured breath hurts less. Her spell is still up. She just needs time. Time she doesn’t have.

A muddied figure comes into focus, making its way towards her. The highest ranked daedra barks at the others to back off its quarry. It’s purposefully using Nibenese to taunt her - so she can understand. The others hover around her like flies around a carcass.

The Champion of Cyrodiil sucks in a rattling breath and gathers her strength. The air crackles with magic. She screams, assaulted by first a numbing cold and then a searing heat. She rolls onto her front, breath rasping in her throat. It’s coming closer now. A mage from the staff it wields. The robe it wears. The lack of a helmet. Avery crouches, shifts her weight to the side to avoid the bolt of lightning that lances through the air at her, then retaliates with her own attack. Her assailant hadn’t expected it, the dremora had already drawn an ornate dagger. Single hand flailing to conjure a spell. She doesn’t use the pommel of the sword this time.

Her second wind kicks in. Blood rushes in her ears. She roars at the remaining daedra as if this were an arena fight, clanging her sword and shield against each other. A challenge. This is it. The final push. Without a semblance of order or restraint the remaining forces try to rush her, abandoning strategy. The woman evokes another healing spell and welcomes it, baring her teeth and bracing her shield.

~~~

She staggers up the ramp to the final floor. All she sees is black and red. The red of her own blood. The black spots creeping into the corners of her vision, drowning out the room. The ramp to the final floor is almost frilled, black rods interspersed with red waves, suspended by thick black chains. The spellsword lurches towards the only colour that is different - orange. She outstretches a shaking hand claiming the final sigil stone. A wave of emotion overcomes her, ambiguous as to whether it's fatigue or relief. The orb flares with a searing light, building until the room is entirely white. Space displaces, like a pot boiling over, flushing everything out. The Deadlands is purged of Avery’s presence for the final time.

The spellsword awakes on her side. The air is clean. The sky is bright and blue. Trees sway gently in the breeze. The skeleton of the oblivion gate lies ruined in a blackened heap. The heat of the stone pulses in her hand like a heartbeat. She swallows thickly, mouth metallic, and stands to find the grass below her is slick with blood, her armour battered and punctured. She takes a knee, seeing to some of her wounds with potions, her thirst with water, her hunger with stale bread.

Her purpose is another matter entirely. What is she to do now? The question makes her feel hollow. Since Martin had died she’d been discarded - fulfilled her job as a nameless pawn of fate, getting Martin where he needed to be. She found purpose in continuing what he would want. The realm safe - Dagon’s forces defeated - wiped from the land with the start of a new era. She digs the heels of her palms into her eyes. Her mind is foggy. What could she do now?

There’s the brief consideration of picking up the Imperial Dragon Armour promised to her - armour fit for an emperor. She laughs at the notion. All she could think about was home so she finds herself returning to Bravil. The townsfolk were wary, simultaneously recognising her and giving her a wide berth. Some were glad to have her there, and begged her to regale her adventures. She had never been one for stories and she was acutely aware they didn’t necessarily want to know the truth. Some just wanted to know of Martin. They all talked about Martin.

The Lonely Suitor Lodge is less busy than it’s higher end counterpart. She frequents there, drowning herself in drink. The fire that fuelled her is long extinguished. The days blur together.

Despite all she’s accomplished she feels small and empty. This had been the only way she could do anything meaningful - to strike back at the Daedric Prince, a god. Even with the blessings of the Aedra there is little one can do against a Daedric Prince - the conclusion of the Oblivion Crisis proved as much. Martin’s sacrifice proved as much. The city hails her as their hero, their champion. Avery knows she is simply the only one left alive they can direct their sentiment towards. She wasn’t stronger than fate, than prophecy. An improvisation was all the world had to defend itself with. Martin didn’t have to die that way. He could have simply not sired heirs, that would have ended the Septim dynasty. He didn’t have to be snatched from the world. To sacrifice everything to a God he must have barely believed in any more.

Amidst her bitter recollections she realises she should probably tell Baurus of her whereabouts. The Blade was one of the only friends she had left. Likely considered her dead given their last conversation. She should write to him. But what would she say? There was nothing to say. She had nothing left.

She stares into her murky reflection at the bottom of her tankard.

“Miss-”

She doesn’t look up.

“Miss Champion? We- we require your aid.”

She raises her head. It’s not urgency permeating the man’s voice so much as it is fear.

“A strange door has appeared in Niben Bay-“

She stands, stool clattering to the floor and clears the distance between them in three brisk paces. “A gate?” She presses, eyes flaring, voice hard.

“No- no- I don’t know- it doesn’t look like- it’s not normal-”

Avery hovers by the door. “Where.”

“It’s a small island- directly in the middle of the-”

She leaves to arm herself. Whatever it is - this gate - it’s definitely a gate. This is going to be the last damn one.

[waidwn]

for vateshran, you can get buffs to your stats depending on what order you do the portals in. for magicka and health bonuses if you're on a magicka build, you want to do green, blue, red. for health and stamina for a stam character: blue, red, green.

also, if you're struggling with the ring of death mechanic in the final boss of vateshran where you have to kill one of the dudes to make a gap or if you simply want to ignore it, if you're playing on a class that has a teleport ability, like sorcerer's streak (or nightblade's shade teleport or ambush or the arc portal or any other teleport i'm forgetting) you can just teleport out of the circle and ignore the mechanic. unless they've changed it since i last did it.

for maelstrom. the two arenas i struggled the most with were the ice giant final boss and the poison arena. for the ice giant boss, because everything with her is percentage based, slowing down your damage can be helpful. she'll break the ice platforms atcwrtain percentages, and if there's too many adds up when you're getting towards thw final one it can be really hard to kill her without dying. so kill adds first. the trolls are priority always. once you're on the last platform just focus on killing the boss, sincw when she breaks that platform, that's instant death. if you have a hard time with that, you can make the platform with the damage buff sigil your last platform so you can grab that for that final bit of damage.

the poison level honestly i still struggle with somewhat. stay out of the archer dude's cones, they'll apply volatile poison to you. if you're careful, you can deliberately trigger some poison flowers and get out fast enough you don't get poisoned to get them out the way for a bit, but that can be risky. for the final boss, you'll have to kill one argonian minder and get under the shield created by the second one to protect you from the boss's scream. having any aoe centered on you or any form of damage you can't target away from the munder during this part is dangerous, since it can kill the minder that's shielding you.

that's all that came to mind off the top of my head, at least. hopefully at least some of that was helpful? people have probably mentioned this but if you're struggling with survival the pale order ring can be helpful

edit: small addition. the quests you get for these arenas save your progress so you can always leave and come back later if you need to.

anyone have tips for vateshran hallows and maelstrom arena veteran modes?

im practicing with normal but i breeze through them so fast that im like “ugh.”

[vasukiii]

My newest visual exploration..

"Sanguinem luna sigil" - 29.7x42cm Acrylics+Pencil (Blood moon sigil)

Going to get an online store organised soon so I can sell my originals and prints so watch this space!

❩ॐ❨

[bruxodebrasas]

Ritual para Causar Arrependimento

NO Seguinte ritual deve ser repetido por até três dias consecutivos.

Materiais:

-Uma vela preta e isqueiro ou fosforo

-Uma tábua de madeira ou pedaço de papelão ou folha de papel

-Um pedaço pequeno de papel com o nome do seu alvo escrito.

-Pemba, ou caneta, ou lápis e um objeto metálico com ponta

O material de base, madeira/papelão/papel, deve ser posto em algum lugar onde não corra o risco de pegar fogo. Você desenhará nele os sigilos demoníacos das imagens deste post, todos dentro um circulo grande.

Escreva no corpo da vela o nome do seu alvo, e firme a vela dentro do circulo desenhado no papel, de preferência no centro, mas evitando colocá-la sobre os sigilos.

Acenda a vela, se concentre no sigilo principal, de Pyrichiel, e diga:

“Pelo pode de IAO, Eu chamo a vocês, Pyrichiel, Nemariel, Damarsiel, e Cardiel, para causar a NOME DO SEU ALVO Imenso arrependimento.”

Então queime o pedaço de papel com o nome de seu alvo na chama da vela, enquanto se concentra no arrependimento que deseja que seu alvo sinta, e em sua causa. Deixe que essas emoções fluam para o papel e para vela, deixe que sejam a energia que alimenta o ritual, e imagine como deseja que seu alvo se sinta.

Isso fará com que as entidades chamadas causem ao seu alvo arrependimento num geral, mas nada impede que seja adicionada uma fonte ou motivação especifica para esse sentimento.

Exemplo: “...porque N me fez tal coisa” ou “...por N ter agido de tal modo comigo ou outrem”, etc.

Procure se concentrar no respectivo sigilo de cada entidade conforme fala seus nomes, e após terminar o ritual agradeça as entidades chamadas, e deixe a vela queimando em algum lugar seguro onde ninguém entre em contato com ela.

Se a vela apagar após alguns minutos de ritual não reacenda, quebre-a em três, e descarte o ritual em algum lugar seguro, preferencialmente um lixo onde ninguém venha a fuçar.

Não se preocupe com o fato de a vela ter apagado, seu chamado foi ouvido e atendido.

Após a vela queimar até o final, descarte o ritual como descrito a cima.

Seguem sigilos das entidades. De cima para baixo respectivamente Pyrichiel, Nemariel, Damarsiel, e Cardiel

[msinkwell]

hi everyone in the witchy community!! i need some help as this symbol has manifested physically in my life and i have no clue what it means. my first thought was a sigil, but i never created it anywhere. am i just being paranoid for worrying? ;w;

to describe it: a pitchfork like symbol with 3 points. the 3 points are symmetrical in spacing and length, and the middle point has a bottom/tail/base to it that is brought down longer.

[ophelia-jadestone]

Feel Positive emoji spell

💪👍💞⚓🌈☀😁😉

❤to charge

🔁to cast

[imsopopfly]

By the way in plain English, I’m pretty sure this means something along the lines of “bringing shit into nirn from oblivion is impossible without an object that can draw a line between planes, and even if it were, the daedra would just like, be sent back immediately without it. The only way to make a long term bridge between nirn and oblivion is to use that object to pierce the veil between the planes”

Or, in even PLAINER English, it’s basically just explaining why you need a sigil stone to keep an Oblivion gate open.

tes is the only fantasy media that made me understand why people within the setting think magic users are nerds. every magical lorebook is like “mcfucker’s third law of portal dynamics states that the circumference of the summoning stone divided by your magicka is equivalent to clavicus vile” or whatever and I’m like yeah man i understand now i get it

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ *grabby hands* give me your character facts i need them!!!!!!!!!!!!!! two stars for miss beloved jia and two stars for mr old man miraak (・ω・)

4 ⭐️= 2 facts about Jia, my original character, and 2 facts about her significant other, Miraak! 🥰

Jia:

⭐️Jia's most treasured item is a blanket made of wool, picturing the needlework of a growing crescent, embroidered with golden and silver stitches. In this depiction, even though the moon is less than one-half lighted by direct sunlight, a fraction of its disk is increasingly illuminated by the sun. It is a blanket woven by her mother and has a double meaning: Jia's mother was a Companion, and even though she did not choose to become a werewolf herself, the personal sigil she always sewed on her attires was a Nordic ship beneath a full moon. As for the second meaning, I cannot yet reveal it as I will spoil my own fic, but I will only say it has to do with Jia's and Miraak's connection…😼😌

⭐️Jia is an aspiring scholar, following the footsteps of her Imperial father. Kodlak Whitemane, who taught her to read and write in the Common Tongue and Nordic, noticed her tendency in education, and despite not having a single idea of what those fancy Imperials found so interesting about dusty tomes, he hired a private tutor for little Jia to teach her Old Cyrodilic and instruct her in the world of knowledge. From then, and after growing up a woman and adventurous Dragonborn, Jia started collecting her books until she finally built the caracoled, two-leveled library tower she always wanted in Heljarchen Hall.

Miraak:

⭐️In my headcanon, Dragon Priests were hymning. And there was a distinct psalm they chanted for the avatar-deities they worshipped––a different for the Dragon (aka Alduin/Akatosh), other for the Moth (aka Dibella), other for the Wolf (aka Mara), etc. So, Miraak, as a highly esteemed Dragon Priest, has a marvelous singing voice. It has a deep, baritone cadence with a little pinch of hoarseness inside, and I personally imagine it like this!

⭐️Again in my headcanon, Miraak has long snowy-white hair and eyes of deep blue like the reflection of a wintered, dark-clouded sky in the ocean. Around his irises, there are also traces of purple as a result of his larger-than-normal magicka pool. He is an exceptionally talented wielder of spells, especially the ones concerning ice. He is basically the opposite of Jia, who is red-haired and sun-colored-eyed and wields only fire spells. (Fire and Ice, summer and winter, First and Last, both opposites and other halves. See what I did there? 😝)

[crazyskirtlady]

Pathway Within

Inside of you vines reach

tendrils unfurling

curling around the stem of your mind

And

Moss creeps

holding hands with fungus

fingers intertwined between your ribs

Lichen sparkles behind your eyes

While lotus rises from

the wet dark depth of your guts

into the sunlight of your throat

Algae bubbles through your teeth

Fruits are budding in the long grasses

of your arms and legs

Now when the wind touches you

a rustling of a thousand marshes calls out

Sings a song of lush and fecund

•°• ✾ •°•°• ✾ •°•| ⊱✿⊰ |•°• ✾ •°•°• ✾ •°•

[viadescioism]

Sigil for focusing on a task

Sigil requests are closed.

For more of my sigils go here:

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1m9vUCQcK8uX8O8yRoSHMkM9kKydBukSTKpO1OdWwCF0/edit?usp=sharing

[tallat-of-thralls]

Liminal magicka is drawing sigils at a 24hr truck stop in the middle of the night while one waits on their laundry to finish.

[gronglegrowth]

The Eagles of Glass and Gold: Alinor and the Summering Isles

The Altmeri homeland of the Summering Isles, also known as Alinor, is an archipelago formed from several large islands. The Altmer here refuse to allow the light of our Emperor onto their shores, instead driving us away with their mind-numbing mirror-makes. Of the few acres of territory on the smallest of the islands we have managed to liberate, we have ensured the Altmer there serve our Empire diligently and walk in the light of the Divines and Emperor. It is known that Alinor no longer uses the Imperial Remoth, instead reverting back to the Alinorean celum, a confusing and incompatible currency made from paltry materials. Of our subjugated Isle we have introduced them to the golden Remoth, and trade has flourished under our noble and Divine rule. The Aldmeri Dominion has attempted to reclaim their island from us, but our soldiers are strong-willed and resist their deceptive magickas, allowing us to remain the rightful sovereigns of these Mer who once did us harm. Our colony here is named the Elven Diamond, for even elves shall bend the knee to our sigil.

Sidebar: On the Dominion The Aldmeri Dominion are our sworn enemies. Under their rule there can only be constant strife, for they deny all that is good and sacred, preferring to close themselves off from the rest of Nirn and create horrible weapons in secret. From the little we know of these weapons it is said that together they can destroy the Divines themselves.

[dankar-camoran]

The Keys to Paradise

I am no lorebuff, but this is something I’ve thought about on and off for a while so, even if it doesn’t make much sense, hopefully people who have a better handle on the lore (and/or a better imagination than myself) can expand on this.

What is the connection between the Macguffins you need to reach Gaiar Alata and the relevant passage in the Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes?

“In his first arm, a storm.” The Blood of a Daedra This is probably the one I have the hardest time figuring out a decent explanation for. My immediate explanation is that storms, like Daedra, are associated with chaos; therefore, ‘storm’ is an apt metaphor for the essence of a Daedra. A bit too vague to really satisfy me, but it’s the best I’ve got.

“his second the rush of plagued rain.” The Blood of a Divine Another one I have trouble interpreting, but it’s got some interesting implications. “Plagued Rain” brings to mind Kynareth, since she’s associated with rain, which she first brought about when Lorkhan lost his Heart privileges. ‘Plagued,’ implies something is ill, tainted, or otherwise ‘corrupted’ somehow, which I think is a very abstract way for Mankar to describe how Dagon views the Aedra’s relationship to the Mundus: They may act as its Gods, but they are forever plagued by what they did to the true God of Mundus. It may even be that Mankar sees Kynareth creating rain as some kind of sign of guilt or remorse, if you think of rain as a symbol for sadness.

As for why the blood of Tiber Septim counts as Divine Essence, I think that, even if Talos wasn’t a God, it would still work, so long as he was a Dragonborn*, given that, since they’re marked by Akatosh, a little of the Dragon rubs off on them and counts as Divine.

“the third, all the tinder of Anu.” A Great Welkynd Stone Welkynd stones are said to fall from Aetherius. I’m not quite sure of any clear and explicit connections between Anu and Aetherius (if there even are any), but given that its the plane associated with the Aedra, who are often said to be more aligned with Anu, as well as the Magna-Ge who had second thoughts about making a big Change and thus, retreated back to the safety of Stasis, that’s enough of a link for me. the use of “tinder” to describe it is notable, given that “tinder” usually means something that’ll spark a fire. Since Welkynd Stones contain magicka and that’s their primary use, I wish I could find a better connection between Aetherius and Anu, because Anu being Magic is a neat idea that I have no idea what to do with.

“and the fourth, the very eyes of Padhome.” A Great Sigil Stone Liminal Bridges, in very loquacious terms, explains how sigil stones are anchors to create and maintain Gates to Oblivion. Given that Oblivion is where the Daedra are, and the Daedra are associated with Padhome/Padomay, the connection here is pretty self-apparent. Like tinder above, though, “eyes” is an interesting way of describing the stone. I’m of the mind that, since the stones are what allow the gates to exist, it’s more that the Gates are the “eyes” since they’re the connection between the Daedra/Padomaics and Mundus.

This is long and messy, but if you made it through all of it and have any thoughts, I’d love to hear them!

[talldarkandroguesome]

4th of Sun’s Height, Sundas

What a day it has been.

I waited for Plays-With-Fire to arrive today.

When I heard a knock on the door, I rushed down, blades ready just in case.

Yet when I unbolted the door and peered outside, no one was there.

Instead, two buttons sat on the top step.

What can I do with this? Does that mean this Daedra has now taken more people? I was in a panic, truth be told. To think that something bad may have befallen a friend and someone else who was summoned to help me. Two more lives, two more souls, stolen on my behalf.

What madness is behind this? Truly!

If there is something this foul being wishes of me, why must they hide in the shadows and try to cause this suffering? Just tell me what it is you want of me!

I gathered all the buttons together and placed them in the center of the sigil of protection in my room. I decided that it was time for me to prepare to go out and track down this Daedra, even if it cost me a life or two. It is an awful feeling to die, but those taken do not have the luxury of coming back. I need to stop being selfish, as uncle Tanval has correctly labelled me, and take responsibility for what is going on.

So I took account of all the weapons I had on hand, of all my poisons and potions, and then let myself rest, even though it was the middle of the day. I knew that it was time to take on whatever was responsible.

I do not know if it was a dream or not, everything has been so surreal. But I know sometime after falling asleep I was in a dark room. There was a loud crack of lightning. I turned around looking for any sign of walls or a light source.

Then a flash of red light illuminated a long hallway with stairs leading upwards. Soon after another boom of thunder. I have never seen lightning be red, but as I made my way down the hallway and the storm outside continued, it was clear that that was what was happening.

I found that I had on me, no weapons, no poisons, no potions. In fact, I had on not a single stitch of clothing.

The latter of these makes me suspect it was likely a dream. But again, as things have been happening, I have little idea as to if it was real or not.

Finally, the hallway ended at a single wooden door.

I turned back down the hallway and when the next flash lit the hall, there was no more stairs. In fact, the entire passage behind me was now the dead end of walls. The windows were of a stained glass with no hinge to be opened. There was only the door.

Well, there was no recourse. I knew I had to open the door. So I did, preparing myself to do whatever damage was necessary to fight what may be after me.

When I entered the room there was no light at all and I took very small steps forward, feeling lightly with my toes before setting weight onto each step.

I was not surprised when I heard the door shut behind me and felt back to find that the door had become a wall once more.

So I began the slow progress forward.

Then suddenly the voice whispered into my ear. I did not move, listening to try and understand what was being said. I could only make out parts: Small one. To the trap. Use. Accept. Your place.

I stayed there as the words repeated again and again.

I felt the voice come closer. The breath on the back of my neck.

Still I kept myself from moving, even as fear gripped the very core of me. I had to wait. Wait for the opportune moment where I had a chance to strike myself.

That same talon-like nail ran down my back. I forced myself not to move, not to flinch, not to show any sign of fear.

Soon more nails joined the first, spreading around the small of my back and then to my right hip. Then another hand’s worth to my left shoulder. I felt it pulling me backwards and soon I found myself drawn onto a cold stone bench. Those clawed hands roamed my body with predatory intent. I could sense it. I could almost feel the emotions of the one involved.

Then I realized, if I was being touched, then I could use my Prince’s gift, though I was unsure if it would work upon a Daedra or not.

With an audible swallow in the silent darkness, I decided it was possibly my only course of action to learn the intent of that which had been hunting me.

A low chuckle by my ear let me know that the Daedra enjoyed my fear. I did not wish to allow it to be satiated by that.

Yet before I could try to use the boon, I felt one of the clawed fingers begin to violate me without warning. I jolted from the pain and surprise and it laughed again and asked me: no? Then withdrew it’s finger, still laughing.

The pain was enough to jolt me back to my purpose and I shot my hand out, grabbing at the approximate location of the the Daedra’s wrist. I felt it stiffen and then I reached out with my Prince’s boon.

What I saw was an overwhelming flood of thousands of acts at once, playing simultaneously, my body feeling all of them and the reaction of the victim for just a moment.

Then I sat up, fully awake on the floor in my room, right in the middle of the sigil, where the buttons had once been.

My head throbbed, I felt sick to my stomach, every part of me was sore.

And as I looked around, I realized, there were no buttons.

I started to look around frantically, worried about what may have happened to them when I heard a knock on the door.

I froze and asked who it was.

It was the maid, asking if all was alright. I said I was not feeling particularly well and would not mind if she could ring a healer to come and check on me. And also ask after a friend of mine at the Mage’s Guild, who I wished to invite to dinner.

I wanted to make sure that the maid was truly who she claimed to me, but if she was, I also wanted to be sure that Plays-With-Fire was safe.

I made sure to cover up the sigil, just in case anyone thought I was involved in anything Daedric, then waited for the healer to arrive. It was an elderly mer, who gave me a look over before she declared that I seemed to be suffering either from magicka burn, and was given a magicka potion and instructed to rest and refrain from over using spells. She said she had rarely seen it so bad outside of battlemages in the field. I thanked her and took the potion, feeling somewhat better.

I got a letter soon after stating that Plays-With-Fire was still in Mournhold and would be unable to join for dinner unless I was already heading back. I had word sent that I wanted to invite him to dinner once I was back in Mournhold, which I assumed would be in the next couple of days at the conclusion of my business.

The servants were very concerned with me, saying they were happy to see me leaving my room again, after staying in my room so many days in a row.

Were they all returned and left with no memory of what occurred? Or could it be that it was not that they were taken, but that I was ensorcelled?

I have no notion of what to make of all of this.

Worse still, I do not know the identity of the Daedra. Though I will say I got a distinct impression that perhaps they were of my own Prince.

I need to speak with Plays-With-Fire and Avon. I must figure out what all the pieces mean.

In the meantime, sleep.