02: Darkness

I gathered my thoughts. I had never relied upon magic, having an almost uniquely poor level of magical strength among the Morag Tong trainees despite being a Dunmer. But this situation was a little different, and a little bit of magical light would have gone a long way, and helped me go a long way. Presuming there was even a long way to go, it was too dark to tell. In an attempt to be positive I registered the observation that others before me, perhaps relatively more reliant on magic, had coped with this same challenge. I simply had to have faith in my training, though admittedly I had not had any training on a situation quite like this. The Morag Tong are assassins but during this exercise the only possible victim could be me.

The cavern sounded large, but how large? I crouched down and searched for a rock, finding a suitable one quickly. Then I threw it as hard as I could at the ground. It shattered with a loud snap, gravel and small chunks of stone striking my legs and loudly splashing into pockets of unseen water. I listened for an echo. In vain. No echo meant that, in theory, this was a big cavern, or at least a noisy one. There was an advantage to this noise however, because I could hear that somewhere to my front right was what sounded like steadily falling water, which gave me a vague sense of direction.

As I saw it I had two options... follow the cavern wall, or head straight across the center towards where the exit presumably lay. The former sounded slower but safer, the latter potentially more risky. The latter it would be. I did not want my memories of the Morag Tong initiation ritual to largely involve scrabbling alongside a wall in the dark. Besides, some of the rocks were pretty jagged. I cast aside my sandals and robe and plunged into the lake before me, flask in hand.

The water was cold and deep. I kept my head above the water. The Grandmaster had made it sound like a bad idea to swallow any water from here without some preparation, and if I had to resort to meditating mid swim I would just sink or freeze. Breast stroke also meant I could listen to the waterfall and vaguely judge my direction. Leaving my clothes beside the rock face that had once been an entrance would allow me to recognise it if I did end up hopelessly lost and following the cavern walls with my hands, unglamourously.

The following swim was long and tiresome, with little to mark the passage of time beyond a growing numbness from cold and ache from fatigue. That and the waterfall sounds slowly reorienting from my front right to my right. Then my knees kicked into the ground painfully and without warning. I found that I had entered an area of small islands. Islands on which to drink and then meditate I supposed, though they seemed quite empty and otherwise uninteresting. Did it make any difference which I chose? I wasn't really sure what criteria to go by, but on island after island the thought came to my mind 'not this one'. Eventually I noticed something interesting, the waterfall sounded like it was water striking a solid surface as opposed to water striking the lake. Maybe there would be something there. I swum toward it, a fine spray of mist striking my face heralding my arrival.

Unlike the other islands this one was not simply a flat expanse but had pillars of crumbling rock, and at the centre of these the metal statue of a woman. It was upon this statue that the falling water fell from above, striking her head and arms before flowing down to her feet and onward to the lake. A significant location then, relative to the emptiness I had encountered in this place to date. I was anxious to get this ritual over with and reached the flask to the statues face, catching the water as it fell from her lips and chin. Then I found a dry part of the island and sat cross legged, the full container resting lightly against my thigh as I prepared to meditate.

I thought back to the training and meditation that all candidates had been taught. The suppression of pain or any distraction, the focus of attention and of poise, and patience. Essential for an assassin. I steadied my breathing which was slightly ragged, stilled my shivering and summoned my confidence.

'Meditate... immediately... to protect your mind... during the process'

What the process would entail I had no idea. Some sort of change. Initiation. Probably accompanied by pain. Apparently a process that could drive you mad if you left yourself unprotected. But, presumably, a process that had useful lasting effects. I needed blind faith unwavering.

The meditative state was surprisingly easy to summon here from an environmental perspective because there were no distractions of light or changing sounds, but suppressing my thoughts was more difficult. My final sane thoughts possibly. That thought didn't help either, but a sense of calmness finally gripped me. I reached for the flask, raised it to my face, paused, then poured and swallowed without letting it even touch my lips.

Describing the initial sensation would be difficult because I was doing everything possible to focus on something else, on an internal mantra. But it was not pleasant. I could feel a kind of numbness creep from my stomach, across my torso and out toward my limbs and neck. Compared to my training however it was was bearable, and I did not let myself get distracted. My hands grew numb and the sensation crept over my face but my internal mantra was unaffected.

My concentration was perfect... right up until two hands clasped the side of my face and an unseen face planted a kiss on my lips. My eyes snapped open (uselessly) in surprise and in an instant my mind was assaulted by that same numbing sensation. I could feel a female body gripping me in a hug, but I could also feel my consciousness slipping away.

She whispered to me "Men hold some things to be wrong and some things to be right, but to one who transcends, all things are fair and good and right". Her voice was both soft and harsh

Then true darkness.