Several hours later, Torin was already seated behind the desk, twirling a quill pen in his hand while staring at a blank piece of parchment. The room was quiet, lit by the soft glow of candles and the faint blue light of the evening sky filtering through the window.
Echo, lying on the rug near the hearth, had recognized the signs—Torin was shifting into work mode, that familiar state of intense focus where the rest of the world faded away.
She let out a low, contented sigh and tucked her nose under her paw, deciding to take a nap and not bother him. But for all her consideration, Torin wasn't even sure where to begin.
Water walking... how should I go about this?
When it came to water-walking enchantments, the first thing that came to his mind was density manipulation. The concept was straightforward enough—alter the properties of the water to make it solid. But the practical applications were far more complicated.
Increasing the density of the water would only make that particular patch of water solid, and not buoyant emough to suports its weightl, let alone Torin's. He'd be standing on a dense, heavy mass that would sink beneath him, dragging him down with it. It would be like standing on a boulder that was quickly sinking into mud—useless for any kind of sustained movement.
That problem could be solved by altering a very large quantity of water, perhaps all the way to the bottom of the sea, something akin to using the energy of an entire sun to power up a single light bulb. Inefficient, ridiculous, and downright impossible.
How about altering the tension of the water surface? Like water striders?
That idea was more convenient, more practical, but not by a lot. He could create membranes of super-tension that would, for a split second, turn the water's surface into a hard platform, allowing him to step over it.
The problem with that was he'd have to stay on the move or risk sinking if he lingered a fraction of a second too long. It was the kind of enchantment that suited someone much smaller, faster, and more agile—a thief, perhaps, or an acrobat, not a towering Nord.
Maybe non-Newtonian liquids would do...? he mused, tapping the quill against the parchment.
He could use an enchantment that would give the water's surface the properties of something like a cornstarch and water mixture, which behaved as a liquid under gentle pressure but solidified under sudden force.
It would work similarly to tension manipulation, but it would give him more than a fraction of a second to make his next move. He could stand, walk, even run across the surface without sinking, so long as he kept his movements steady.
But then again, he wouldn't be able to stand still without sinking with this approach either. It was far from ideal for a fighter who relied on solid footing to deliver his blows.
Perhaps for Qasim or Auri—whose physical strength wasn't a major part of their arsenal—staying on the move wouldn't be much of a bother. They could dance across the surface, striking and retreating with fluid grace.
However, Torin needed to be able to plant his feet firmly into something solid for more than half a second to deliver his blows to their full effect. He was nowhere near as quick or precise enough to deal meaningful blows without putting enough force into them—and force required stability.
He stared at the blank parchment, his mind churning.
I can't seem to conjure the right answer so easily, but I need to start somewhere, he mused, even if it's just scribbling down the wrong ideas.
His hand, with the quill in it, moved to the parchment. Just before he could start writing, he paused upon noticing something dark and thin wriggling under the desk—a tentacle, black and glistening, moving with slow, deliberate purpose.
It pressed against the wood of the desk like a blind serpent seeking its prey.
Torin frowned and reached under the desk. His fingers closed around something cold and slick, and he pulled it out, revealing a mass of wriggling tentacles with a single, twin-pupiled eye in the middle, staring at him with ancient, unblinking curiosity.
The eye blinked once, slowly, and a voice echoed directly into his mind—deep, resonant, and terribly patient.
"You seem to be... at a loss... mortal." The words dragged like stones through thick mud. "Perhaps I could be... of assistance... if you would... only ask."
Torin scoffed, his grip tightening on the mass of tentacles. "I don't need your help. I can do this on my own."
A deep, resonant hum echoed in Torin's mind—a sound that might have been amusement, or might have been something far older. The tentacles in his hand writhed slightly, their movements almost lazy.
"I've... no doubt. For a mortal... you are indeed... clever..." the creature said. "But how long... will this endeavor... take you?"
Another pulse of that ancient amusement. "Will you make it... in time... I wonder?" The twin-pupiled eye narrowed, focusing on him with unsettling intensity. "Why... trouble yourself... needlessly... when I can... give you... the answer?"
Torin looked at the physical manifestation of Hermaeus Mora and couldn't help but scoff, a sharp, dismissive sound that echoed through the quiet room.
"What are you," he said flatly, "a Daedric Prince or a skooma merchant, trying to get some dumb hick hooked on your wares?"
The single eye blinked amidst the writhing tentacles, its twin pupils contracting and expanding in a slow, rhythmic pulse. Hermaeus Mora's voice echoed in his mind, patient and unhurried.
"You need... not tire yourself... nor be... overly cautious." A pause, thick with ancient calculation. "I would suffer a great... loss, should you... lose your... life... in this meaningless... farce." The tentacles writhed, coiling around each other like serpents in a nest. "To prove... my sincerity... I am willing to give... you the... answer as a... gift."
The eye fixed on Torin with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
"You've only... ever dealt with me... once. And it wasn't... for your sake... but for someone... else's." The voice softened, almost becoming coaxing. "You deserve... at least... this bit of... indulgence... don't you?"
Torin's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening. His hand clenched around the mass of tentacles, and they began to dissolve, turning into dark ink that slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve. The black liquid pooled on the desk, then dripped onto the floor, hissing softly as it touched the stone.
"Your temptations fall on deaf ears, Hermaeus Mora." His voice was cold, flat. "Don't show yourself to me again. I'll call upon you when—and if—I need you."
Another loud hum echoed in his mind—thoughtful, patient, almost amused.
"We shall... see... about that."
Torin merely sighed as he watched Echo come closer, her massive head lowering to sniff at the ink remains on the ground. He reached over to scratch behind her ears, his touch gentle.
"Stay away from that, girl." His voice was tired. "It's filthy."
...
Three days later, and Torin was once again in the workshop, hunched over the desk with dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes. The room was a disaster—balled-up, crumpled pieces of discarded parchment littered the floor like fallen leaves, each one representing a failed idea, a dead end, a path that had led nowhere.
The candles had burned low, their wax pooling on the iron holders, and the fire in the hearth had long since died to glowing embers.
Even Echo had grown bored of watching him and had opted to make herself at home in the palace's gardens, much to the staff's horror—not that Torin had the time or energy to even consider their reactions.
His entire being was consumed by solving the problem before him. And no matter how he approached it, the act of standing on water seemed almost impossible to achieve.
He simply couldn't make it make sense. A problem would always arise on some level or another—the density was too high, the tension too unstable, the enchantment too fragile.
Every solution he devised crumbled under scrutiny, leaving him back at square one with nothing but frustration and exhaustion to show for it.
Torin knew for a fact that there was a simple answer to the puzzle—one that didn't involve him making use of his old world's knowledge, the very same thing that made him so adept at alteration magic and enchanting in the first place.
It was most likely something fantastical, almost nonsensical. Something like simply willing the patch of solidified water to not sink, or commanding it to hold his weight through sheer force of will.
And that was exactly why Torin couldn't even begin to comprehend it. He was used to analyzing everything, making sense of everything. If something didn't make sense, it simply wouldn't work—or so his logic dictated, even after all these years of living in this fantastical, nonsensical world.
He stared at the blank parchment before him, his quill hovering over its surface.
There has to be a way, he thought, his eyes drifting across the cluttered desk. If only I could take a look at the greaves in Armand's possession—see how the enchantment was originally constructed.
His gaze turned to the most sophisticated enchanted object he'd ever seen: Skaldrfong, leaning against the wall, its ancient bone gleaming faintly in the dim candlelight.
The only thing that even came close was his own shield, and only because of the elaborate mechanical system involved, not the enchantments themselves.
Shalidor had enchanted the spear to teleport back into its master's hand instead of simply having it fly back. It was faster, yes. More advantageous. Much more stylish as well.
However, something simpler—a pulling enchantment, like the ones that drew arrows back to a quiver—could have served well enough.
Why go through the extra effort? Torin wondered. There are so many other ways to achieve the same effect with considerably less effort...
With those thoughts in mind, Torin suddenly felt the fog clearing from his mind, like mist burning away under a rising sun. His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning upward.
Right. Maybe I've been looking at this the wrong way this whole time, he mused. I don't need to find a way to stand and walk on water. I just need to figure out a way to fight effectively. All roads lead to Rome. I shouldn't confine myself to just one...
With that realization, a flood of new ideas instantly flooded his mind, each one building on the last like stones in a wall.
I could enchant a pair of boots to freeze the water surface, he thought, his fingers drumming against the desk.
If he made the enchantment strong enough, it could freeze a sizable portion of the water in a fraction of a second—enough to create a platform capable of holding its own weight and his without sinking.
The ice would be temporary, but it wouldn't need to last long. Just long enough to deliver a blow and move on.
Quickly, he shook away the idea. It was feasible enough, and possible, but it would take more time than he had to apply it properly. The enchantment would need to be layered manyfold to provide that kind of effect with that kind of potency and range.
It would also need to be tested and calibrated thoroughly, because that kind of cold would affect even himself.
Maybe, he thought, his eyes narrowing, if I mix in telekinesis as well, I'll have some leeway with the...
...
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