This one isn't as funny, but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless!

I have never been a fan of the island weather. The sounds of birds and the crashing waves on Eyevea always disquieted my contemplation, forcing me most days to spend my time in the highest towers. I wrested my position as a master artificer from the council pending my written thesis on the nature of Dwemer soul gems.

The truth was, I had all but murdered my teacher on an expedition into the ruins of Mzithumz. It was a simple enough ruse to convince him that the dormant dwarven spheres in the ruins were inactive. His screams were musical, as he was quartered neatly into a precisely trimmed pile of flesh. This "accident" granted me the opportunity to steal his coveted research and venture further in.

A Dwemer generator, a control rod and the blood-soaked scrawlings of my mentor granted me the insights I needed to complete our mission and leave the ruins more-or-less intact. A dram of potent nord liquor burned my stomach as I mustered the courage to turn the dwarven spider on myself, granting me convincing enough scars that no one would suspect what I had done to my master.

It was that simple. The guild took the pitiable story of an apprentice who wanted to complete his master's research as Stendaar's truth, and my career rocketed into the Aetherium in a few years time. Many of my master's former students are suspicious of the truth, but lack the clout to bring my reputation into question.

And so, I live a comfortable and quiet life here in Eyevea, following frivolous research leads, dining on the finest wines and cheeses. Not bad for the son of a stablemaster from Narsis!

The archmage's face was pale as a pair of Argonian intiates brought in a litter (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Litter_(vehicle)) covered in silks. He explained that this artifact had been recovered from the riverside near the Inner Sea Armature, and that my help would be needed, as the foremost expert on unidentified Dwemer power sources.

I withdrew myself from the book I was enthralled in and approached the litter. With a bit of trepidation, I pulled back the silks to reveal an object that defies logic and reason. It was a cube constructed of no material I had ever encountered. Crimson red, with white lettering which I could not decipher the meaning of.

I pondered the object long and hard, brushing my fingers along one of the edges. I could feel the power within it, the crackling energy of Mundus bound to this crimson obelisk. I dismissed the Argonians, keeping the council of the Archmage for the time being.

We could not remove a sample of the obelisk by any means. Arcane, mundane, it made no difference. I marvelled at the prospect of this indestructable substance, and what it could mean for the guild, not to mention my career. Broken tools lined the floor of my domicile, and the Archmage politely requested that I take a break.

That no-account Valaste arrived along with my dinner, and the three of us discussed potential research venues. This is when things got paranormal. We decided to proceed with a displacement test to try to determine it's mass. It was very light and simple to lift, but when placed into a basin of water it only displaced a small amount, something akin to a teapot, or a single ingot of dwarven steel.

We ended the night with the uncovered red cube in the center of my room. The nights became sleepless for me. What does it mean, this white lettering? Is it even a dwemer artifact? Its design and composure was completely unheard of, even in the deepest ruins.

My former master haunted my dreams. Disjointed and rotten, his carcass chided me for my hubris, claiming that my inability to decipher the cube's origins and meaning would be my undoing. Leaping from my bed, I screamed, a misplaced chamberpot tripping me so that I fell skull-first onto the pointed edge of the crimson obelisk's corner.

I lashed my Argonian chambermaid twenty times for that chamberpot being there. Lousy low born lizard didn't have the decency to weep. The archmage chastised me for this mistreatment, as Valaste stood in the hallway, jaw agape. The cut on my forehead, she explained, looked like it had been caused by the edge of a sword, rather than the edge of the box. I was healed promptly, and my bloodied robes were replaced with new ones.

I paced angrily, my thoughts drowning out the discussion between the Archmage and Valaste. The two seemed startled when I dismissed them from the room, claiming that their presence here was disturbing my research. I was positive I was on the precipice of a breakthrough, and I needed solitude to acheive it.

Alone, I raised the obelisk from it's litter. I held it in my hands, judged the weight, the balance. I angrily threw it at my wardrobe, and it STUCK! I observed it, hanging there in the air, and when I went to retrieve it. This time, I could reach in to the box, where I clearly felt a handle, such as an axe or sword. I drew the blade from my wardrobe and twirled it. I could feel the power in my hands, and laughter grew in my chest, echoing the halls of Eyevea.

The power was exhillarating, I reached in to feel the curve of the blade, the grain of this concealed metal. It was obvious to me now, the obelisk was merely some kind of barrier, keeping this blade from the wrong hands. The Archmage and Valaste stormed into my quarters, inquiring what has precipitated this laughter and I turned to them with a malicious grin.

Fire lept from my fingertips as I commanded Magicka to take form and strike out at the Archmage and Valaste. It was all so clear now. The two would die in an "Accident", and I would assume the position of Archmage. I brought the blade down with both hands on the Archmage's neck, but only a slight nick was formed.

Angered and terrified, the Archmage unleashed a torrent of mana into my chest, knocking me back and the blade from my hands. It corkscrewed in the air as I once again tripped on a misplaced chamberpot. It landed point up, and I was suddenly impaled.

My lifeblood spilled out as the Archmage and Valaste witnessed my demise. My spirit lingered in the quarters for weeks. The Argonian Maid did an unsatisfactory job of cleaning up the mess, and my remains were left as they fell, half trapped in the Dwemer Artifact.

My quarters were bricked off, and the research into the mysterious red box was buried away in the most guarded secrets of the guild. I lie in stony silence, taking the answer to the riddle of the red box to my makeshift tomb. Never would Valaste know the truth about the weapon, or even that it was a blade.

And I will bide my time until I can return as a lich. Then, with this mystic blade I will either conquer Nirn, or Destroy it.

**I stole this image from another post!**

***Also credit for the idea to @nurrasana in the original post "I fell in love with a bot".***