Burz, Keld of the Isles and twelve other heavily armed and armoured fighters followed me into the light, retrieving horses from the stables outside the city gates and making our way to the north. We spared no time, making all haste as I led the party to the caverns and home to the Mythic Dawn. For the entire journey I rode in silence, feeling my fear and uncertainty at not only what we would find but trying to come up with reasonable excuses how I had slaughtered several score of the cultists on my own. It was an uncertainty and unease that I could not shake even as we found ourselves stepping into the darkened tunnel with a trio of fighters leading the way with torches.
It was not long before we started following the trail of bloodshed and death that I had strewn through the tunnels, and my fears of discovery or at a minimum of answering difficult questions were lessened somewhat. In the hours since I had left with Viconia in my arms the caverns had turned into the home of scavengers following the scents of blood and death. Skeevers, and other Cyrodiilic rodents swarmed through the tunnels, their sounds of their chittering and squeaking announcing the sheer numbers of the vermin as they streamed away from our burning torches in a roiling tide of furred bodies. Some of the larger ones attacked the lead fighters in their blood-frenzy but were simply swatted down without pause by the veterans.
Most of the corpses we came across were already in various states of decay or had been feasted upon by the swarm of vermin. All of the bodies I was thankful to see were unrecognisable, their bloated, putrid forms with flesh stripped in places ensuring that the fighters were unable to determine the exact nature of their deaths.
They were however increasingly awestruck by the sheer quantity of cultists I had slew, stepping around and over the bodies of the dead and clearing each and every corridor and room with an experienced ease. It took a relatively short time to clear every nook and cranny of the shrine, relighting braziers and torches as they went and herding the masses of rats into the cracks from where they had crawled from.
The fighters effectively cleared the entire series of caverns and caves, and I followed behind ensuring that I stayed out of their way. Dozens of storerooms were scattered throughout the caverns, as well as numerous sleeping areas where dozens of beds lined the walls and dining rooms and areas set aside for preparing food. As far as we could tell the entire place had been designed to comfortably sustain a group of over a hundred or more, perhaps more if they were crammed in and slept in shifts. It was not a comforting through that a large majority of the rooms appeared as though they had not been lived in for months, which suggested that the majority of the cult no longer lived and operated from this area.
Other rooms were found that seemed to answer some questions, but created several more in their place. Several printing presses were found with significant stocks of resources for mass production of the accursed Commentaries, and another storeroom seemed to be filled with dozens of packing crates. Upon being forced open all of these crates appeared to contain nothing more than collections of gleaming obsidian spheres packed in straw. Adjacent to this particular storeroom was an even greater mystery; a pair of rooms, perfectly hewn from the rock with white tiles covering every inch of the walls and perfectly black tiles across the floors. There was nothing of note in these rooms other than a single table in the exact centre, a simple dish sitting on it and the smell of potent alcohol filling the air to such extent that a few minutes inside was enough to make me feel dizzy. Burz was the one who noticed that the doors to these rooms had been built to the same precise specifications. Not only were the interior of the doors covered with the white tiles as well, but when they closed a combination of their exact dimensions and the layer of vellum around the edges ensured that they sealed with no airflow.
For what purposes these rooms served would remain a mystery for the time being, and I soon found myself leading Burz towards the central shrine. The base of the towering ziggurat was a slaughterhouse of the dead, and even Burz was stopped in mid step at the sight of so many corpses.
“How in oblivion did you manage this?” Burz murmured as he simply strode through the bodies with the sounds of breaking bones and squelching of organs echoing through the space. He had no fear of death and barely even glanced at the remains where some of the other fighters hung back looking distinctly pale and sick.
“Nearly all of them were unarmed, and none were trained or able warriors.” I made my way up the stairs, picking through the human refuse and ignoring the faceless corpse that had been stripped of nearly all of her flesh from gnawing fangs.
“Still…” he seemed suspicious for a moment, before shrugging and following me up the stairs. He had decided that the answers to his questions were probably not ones he really wanted to know.
The rest of the group scattered through the rooms and corridors, searching and securing as they went. I returned to the sacrificial stone, seeing scattered about it a handful of Viconia’s effects and retrieving the gleaming Dragonbane from where it lay in amongst the ancient bloodstains.
“Well this is going to be boring. You didn’t leave anyone for us.” Barz looked somewhat disappointed that he hadn’t been able to put his mace to use.
“I don’t like doing things half-arsed.”
He laughed at that, watching as I slid the ebony and silver scabbard into my belt and making to return back down the stairs.
As I went to step back down the stairs I stopped, looking over to the stone dais where Mankar Camoran had been delivering his sermon and laying eyes on the massive tome sitting on top of it. It was a hideous thing, wrapped in what could only be human skin and daubed in horrific runes that seemed to twist and writhe of their own accord. The sheer throbbing power of such a book was easy to see, and I knew that this could only be the Mysterium Xarxes; the fell writings of Mehrunes Dagon.
Carefully I wrapped it in a torn strip of tapestry that I clawed from the walls, feeling the horrid sensation of the book even through the fabric. It squirmed in my grasp, feeling disgustingly alive even as I pushed it into my pack.
“Think you can handle it from here?” I asked the orc as he watched me wrap up the loathsome thing.
“It’s a babysitting duty, and I just realised that I didn’t bring any ale.” He nodded once and clapped me on the back. “We’ll be fine until the Blades rock up. Best be getting you back to Cheydinhal and that pretty friend of yours I suppose.”
Returning to Cheydinhall I was glad to have found myself in the strangely cosy walls of the Fighters Guild chapterhouse. The ride to and from the caverns was shorter than the time it would have taken to march that distance on foot and Barz kept me company for the return. Twelve veteran fighters would be more than capable of fending off any serious assault for the foreseeable and while they begrudged the boring nature of the task they were not going to complain about the serious amount of septims they had gained for such an easy contract.
Barz and I chatted on the way back, telling each other brief stories of past adventures as I attempted to take my mind off the fact that I was aggravating all my wounds again. He knew how much I was hurting and the pace on horseback was only barely faster than walking pace which was a fact I was exceedingly thankful for. The stories that he told were a mixture of side-splitting hilarity and sober tales of friends long lost to the flames of battle. I soon discovered that Cheydinhal was the only chapterhouse that was doing well for itself in Cyrodiil. The tides of change and luck were not providing the guild with well-paying contracts and soon many of those who would normally be members had moved on; either leaving Cyrodiil entirely or taking up arms amongst the competition. The Blackwood Company in the south was making its presence felt by undercutting contracts and elsewhere the growing unrest throughout the lands seemed to be bringing out every sell-sword and retired legionary to be hired as guards or muscle instead of their patrons seeking out the services of the guild. Cheydinhal was lucky for the time being that the Count’s bounty on any goblin heads delivered had allowed the guild to gain something of a monopoly but it wouldn’t be long before competition would arrive.
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Viconia’s face alighted when I returned, which appeared to be a combination of my appearance and the fact that Dragonbane returned to her possession once more. We sat together in the darkening afternoon, talking for a while and having naps several times until night finally fell before I retired to my own room for a proper night’s sleep. It would be several days before she would be healthy enough to travel and in that time at least we took the opportunity to rest while we could.
Recovering our strength would take days, and in Viconia’s case possibly even weeks before we were fully fighting fit once more. My curse soon left me healed a lot sooner, but the massive amount of bruising would cover my body in the sickly yellow-black stains for a while to come. I spent my days mostly by Viconia’s side as she gradually forced her unwilling body to haul itself out of bed and start down the faster road of recovery paved by spite and determination. A few rare times I wandered through the city, restocking what equipment and supplies we could afford with the last of our coins but it soon became obvious that one way or another we would have to return to Cloud Ruler soon.
With Viconia still not able to travel the distance between Cheydinhal and the home of the Blades it was her suggestion that I assist the local Guildsmen and fulfil some contracts. While the pay would be measly, it would be enough to get us the few items we needed and would at least keep me busy instead of, in her words; “dotting about her like she was a sick pet”.
Burz gro-Khash seemed pleased at the offer of the assistance, making me a ‘temporary’ associate of the Guild and sending me on a handful of missions. Between the handful of weapons deliveries and the couple of goblin patrols that I joined I soon received at least enough septims to replenish our supplies and equipment and finally allow me to regain a new bow. On that I hoped I would be able to hold onto for longer than a few weeks.
By the time a week had passed Viconia had healed enough to be able to climb into a saddle once more and walk, albeit stiffly for further than the front doors of the guild. I could see the pain and disgust that she held herself in for such weakness, and I knew that being so helpless was eating away at her in ways that she would never show to another soul. But as soon as she was able to ride I knew that it was time for us to leave the county and return with the news of our failure and the fate of the Amulet of Kings.
Thirteen days after arriving at Cheydinhall and the ambush at the Lake we once more mounted our horses set off for our return to Cloud Ruler Temple. Barz and several of the other fighters escorted us to the stables where our mounts had been well cared for during their stay and most genuinely seemed sorry to see us leave. My few patrols and the general assistance I had provided them leaving a lasting impression with the handful I had worked alongside. Viconia was still very much an enigma to them but as they were all tough and experienced warriors they respected her highly and despite spending most of the fortnight bedridden they could see her determination not to simply lay down and wait. The few times that she had managed to sneak out of her room she had been caught training, forcing herself to practice with her sword and exercising until he wounds began to split and bleed once more. The members of the guild had no illusions about her effectiveness in battle and knew a dangerous adversary when they saw one.
Bidding our farewells we made our way to the west, following the highways in the direction of the towering heights of the Imperial City and White Gold Tower visible many dozens of kilometres away. Each night we made camp alongside the road the times we were unable to make it to a coaching house, village or inn. Despite Viconia’s complaints of not needing such comfort and the awareness of our dwindling money I still ensured that every opportunity possible she was able to rest in a real bed rather than the hard ground. Each time I would mostly ignore her complaints of wasting valuable money or forcing her to give in to weakness, but I did detect the slight traces of gratitude when she retired for the night in a room. The two nights we stayed indoors I ended up sleeping with my head on a table or retiring to the piles of hay in the stables to rest as best as I could.
On one such night I learned even more about my growing vampiric powers, deciding to try to slake my growing thirst before I lost control over it. It had been over a week since my gluttonous feasting in the Mythic Dawn’s Shrine and while I believed I could have held off for a day or two more I was not willing to take the chance. So, in the darkness of the stables as I listened to the drunken singing of the coaching inn’s patrons grow in volume I stalked the young stable hand as she went about blowing out the handful of lanterns on the walls. She moved carefully, not at all alarmed or aware of my presence in the deepening gloom behind her as she carefully opened each lantern in turn, blowing out the candle within and ensuring that the horses were secure for the evening.
As the last flickering light fluttered and died she turned around and went to make her way out the door but stopped in midstride, staring uncomprehendingly into the darkness where I stood with less than a metre between us. The vampire had surfaced and I was struggling to control its primal urges as we looked into each other’s eyes. To her I would have been nothing more than a hint of a shadow, a frightening suggestion of something terrible that remained elusive to her sight even as she leaned forward to gain a better look.
I could feel her distress growing, the desire to run and flee into the light and safety that the tavern a dozen metres away offered. The smell of her growing fear was potent and stronger than alcohol to my mind as I breathed it in, but as I carefully moved closer to her I could feel that fear dimming. My mind seemed to worm out of my eyes and into her own, clouding her thoughts and quelling the throbbing fear that clutched at her chest. As I shifted myself out of the folds of darkness encasing me there was none of the usual fear and terror that my appearance had solicited over the previous weeks. Other than the way that her heart suddenly started beating harder there was nothing to show on her face as she finally managed to catch a glimpse of my features. The smell of her fear was powerful as she gazed at the tightened skin of my face, the glints of my pointed incisors and the way that the bones of my face were contorted in an unnatural way but there was no cry for help or scream of fear.
Instead there was a soft sigh as my clawed hand reached out and caressed the side of her face, allowing me to feel the shudder of disgust and arousal ripple through her body. With nothing more than my willpower I held her there in my gaze, drawing her closer and carefully moving us into a nearby portion of the stable where no horse had been placed for the evening.
She was wholly under my control now, and there was no resistance as I lowered her into the hay and gently held her by the hip and the back of a neck in a foul parody of a lover’s embrace. I could feel her youth and humble beauty under my palms, feeling her writhe under my bodyweight even as I pressed her into the hay and ran my lips slightly up the side of her neck. With my breath on her throat I could feel the sudden unnatural desire for me increase until her own hands were running up my armoured spine, feeling the hundreds of chainmail links and the leather straps holding the metal plates covering my arms together. Carefully my tongue snaked out, tracing the vein of her throat and feeling the tiny goose bumps prickle her skin even as I opened my jaw and sunk my fangs into her.
The feel of the sudden intrusion made her twist in my grasp, groaning slightly as she gripped the back of my head with something approaching pleasure. There was no desire for her body within my mind even as she writhed like a lover under me as I gulped down her coppery blood with the utmost satisfaction. I could feel her heart racing and the growing shudders as it began to flutter and weaken. Before I had fully drunk my fill and especially before I had drunk too much from her I pulled away, pressing my fingers to the tiny holes in her throat and quickly calling on a tiny portion of my willpower to seal them with a burst of magicka.
Carefully and with my enhanced sight I looked over her, ensuring that there were no traces of my feeding, leaving nothing more than a pair of tiny pink bumps that would fade over the coming days. So miniscule were the wounds that they would be mistaken for fleabites and as I helped her to her feet I somehow knew that my will over her would leave little memory of what had occurred in her mind. She would be lightheaded and weary for the coming days, but I also knew that what fuzzy fragments she would recollect would lead her to believe that she had had some form of intimate liaison with a stranger in the night.
She made her way back out of the stable, wandering confusingly for a handful of paces as my control fell away. For what appeared to be an age she stood in the night, staring up at the tavern with a lack of comprehension about what had happened before she shook herself as though waking from a dream and returned to the light. I stood in the shadows, once again invisible and feeling the vampire return to the depths of my soul. For several minutes I stood there with my toes at the border between the dark depths of the stable and the flickering light coming from the tavern, waiting as the last vestiges of the beast had left me as a man once more.
There was no one in sight as I collapsed into the hay, my anguish at what I had become forcing me to hunch over with fists pressed to my temples, crying and dry heaving until sleep finally took me.
