Night had truly fallen by the time that I returned to the coaching inn, handing the slightly tenderised goat to the grateful inn owner who immediately went about gutting and cutting up the fresh meat for the evening meals. Viconia noted how that it had taken longer than what was considered usual to return with a fresh kill and I knew that she was fully aware of how I had managed to satiate my darker needs. While imperceptible to others, she was well used to how I carried myself after drinking blood, but this time my self-loathing and hatred was several degrees worse than I could have ever imagined. My vampiric nature was truly satiated with my actions that evening and I hated myself how I felt utterly satisfied and content.

  In vain I told myself that the woman had been deserving of what I had done, and despite the state I had left her in that she had been responsible for far worse in her time stalking the roads. The thoughts of how she had attempted to scrabble away screaming and crying as I tore away at her dress and violated her in every way imaginable filled me with an almost suicidal level of disgust and self-hatred. The intense feelings were only compounded by the way that I knew that I had enjoyed every second of it.

  Viconia and I ate in silence and her eyes bored into me as the evening progressed and my meal and drink remained unfinished and barely touched. For the most part I sat, staring off into space and lost in my own thoughts tumbling through my mind and I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door was slammed open by a panicking messenger. His nervous stammerings of coming across a woman on the side of the road a few short kilometres away, bloodied, ravaged but clinging to life filled the inn with uneasy murmurings. Viconia's eyes had merely burned into my skull with far greater intensity than before, the expression on her face unreadable. Almost drained of blood, violated and left in a comatose state there would be little in the way of answers from the would-be bandit mage. Several of the patrons rose to the feet and left, heading out to assist the messenger in taking the bloodied woman to the city for healing, while the others who remained murmured amongst themselves about the increasing levels of lawlessness on the roads.

  Leaving the unfinished remains of my meal and drink I left the tavern and retired for the evening, pointedly not meeting Viconia's eyes as they stared unceasingly into me. In amongst the self-loathing and hatred I tried not to think of the way that Viconia gazed at me; for it wasn't an expression of fear or detestation but rather one of curiosity and a sense of pleasant surprise that curled the corners of her mouth.

  As soon as dawn rose we left the Brina Cross Inn, mounting our horses once more and travelling in silence and as quickly as we could from the area. My own fear of discovery and the regret at what I had done left me digging in the spurs until my steed was galloping down the road.

  Before us the Gold Coast stretched into the distance, spanning the space between the mouths of the Brena and Strid Rivers. Sparkling like emeralds, the depths of the Abecean sea shone in the morning's light, stretching and consuming the horizon and merging with the golden ocean of grasses that flowed over the hills. Wispy clouds broke the sky in their fragments, swirling in from the south and west where the ancient home of the Altmer hid beyond the scope of any mortal vison. Such a distance between landmasses were only traversable by ships and as we made our way closer to the coastline and our destination such sights were increasingly common.

  As the gateway to the Empire and the largest port on the western shores of Hammerfell and Valenwood; Anvil was the beating heart of nautical trade for the Colovian Estates. Shaped in an enormous U of towering walls that thrust out into the water, the port-city was enormous and even made the Imperial Dock district on City Isle appear tiny in comparison. Dozens of enormous trading vessels could be found in the Anvil bay and the surrounding waters, and the city dockyards ensured that several more were added to their number every year. Every ship fed the city with wealth and as a result it was rich, powerful and the main trading port between Cyrodiil and the Summerset Isles. Ships from throughout the western Empire could be found here, sailing from Stros M'Kai, Daggerfall, Wayrest, and sometimes even Solitude in the far north from a long journey around the continent.

  From our saddles we could see the twinkling jewel of the enormous lighthouse on the south-western corner of the walls, and the squat but formidable castle built into the south-east. The lighthouse was a construction of elegance and ingenuity; the collections of mirrors and light enchantments allowing the enormous edifice to guide in the ships through the darkest nights and even some of the storms that plagued the region in the winter months. The castle was a besiegers worst nightmare. Thick and heavily sloped, the castle walls were impervious to siege engines and built solidly into the coastal waters of the Abecean Sea. With the tidal waters of the sea as a moat there would be no crossing or siege works capable of breaching it, and the long narrow causeway was easily defended by a few well-trained defenders.

  The city itself was well protected with its stout walls and towers, and despite the bay appearing open for an amphibious landing, any force seeking to do so would have to sail their ships through a gauntlet of missile fire. Over a third of the wall's total length jutted into the water, their lower sections covered with muscles and urchins and along these sections enormous towers containing various engines of war were placed. Trebuchets, catapults and ballistae could hurl their deadly array of munitions into any attacker foolish enough to come within range, and any ship that dared to approach through the bay to land at the docks would be quickly smashed into kindling.

  Around the base of the walls, sprawling masses unable to find space inside built their own homes and businesses in the shadow of crenulations and weapons of war. While not as packed as cities such as Cheydinhal or the Imperial City, there was still a sizable collection of houses and workshops outside. Unlike other cities I noted that there was a distinct gap between the walls and their nearest outside buildings, a space thirty metres wide and kept permanently clear of all constructions to allow the guards and defenders a clear killing zone for bolts, arrows and thrown projectiles. There had not been a war in most provinces for decades, if not centuries and for the inhabitants of Cyrodiil such strategic measures were far from minds accustomed to peace and safety.

  Anvil itself was something of a jewel; wide city streets and clean gutters, houses showing the cultural amalgamation of the Redguards, Colovian and Bosmer of Valenwood. Flowers bloomed year-round in every garden, pot and windowsill due to the temperate climate. Shutters creaked and rusted open from the sea air and other than the smell of brine permanenting everything there was no hint that over a hundred and thirty thousand people lived within its open expanses. Skingrad, Bruma, Cheydinhal were all clustered hovels compared to the wide-open spaces and lovingly tended gardens of the port city.

  Due to my enforced pace we arrived well before noon, stabling our horses and making our way through the concentrated members of the city guard and the higher numbers of Imperial Tax collectors ensuring that no coin went unnoticed. My smile was darkly grim as they ensured that we were not smuggling any enforceable goods such as Dwemer artefacts, raw ebony and collections of void salts greater than forty grams. The influence of the Blades in the battle against the Mythic Dawn had now spread to all corners of the Empire and our mission to gain the support of the Fighter's Guild was surely going to start paying dividends in the coming weeks.

  Trailing our way through the city we couldn't help but feel the undercurrent of unrest and fear that was flowing through the crowds like a plague. Half caught conversations of the recent events in the cathedral and the destruction of cities at the claws of daedra travelled like wildfire and everywhere frightened glances were cast at all individuals who appeared as though they didn't belong. Viconia and I were recipients to a large portion of the looks by being dressed in our worn leathers and jingling chainmail, festooned with weaponry and showing the scars for our journeys. Travelling adventurers and buccaneers were common within the city but for the most part they kept themselves to the Dock districts and the cheaper taverns and houses of ill-repute there. Most of the city's trade relied on the travelling sailors and merchants from the western empire but for many of the permanent residents, travellers were treated with an ill grace like unwanted pets.

  The local guild was an opposite of the Skingrad and remined me greatly of Cheydinhal and the semi-professionalism of the members under Burz gro-Khash. Azzan, a solidly built Redguard who seemed to sleep in his steel plate led the three dozen members here and had spent his life sailing most of the waters of Tamriel. Choosing to spend the rest of his life on dryland but unable to retire to a life of peace and idleness he had instead found himself as the local guild commander. While mostly friendly, he was uncertain why we would've found our way to Anvil as it was one of the more smoothly operating Chapterhouses in Cyrodiil. Contracts were mostly plentiful, if a little on the cheap side. There was a distinct lack of threats in the region such as goblin tribes but there always seemed to be a ship travelling to Stros'Mkai, the Summerset Isles or south Valenwood that needed a few extra hands to deal with pirates. For the most part the local fighters escorted merchants and trade caravans along the Gold Road, performed the usual animal control for the rare cases of lions coming too close to civilisation and dealt with thieves and break ins where the guard failed to do anything. Some days they could even be found on the docks, assisting in the unloading of stores and supplies for some of the merchantmen for enough coins for a round or two in the evening.

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  Viconia and I found ourselves settling in quickly, and after the dealings with the less-than reputable members of the Skingrad guild Anvil was almost a holiday. We trained, joined some of them in their various duties but otherwise it was a quiet and somewhat peaceful time. Anvil was somewhere I could enjoy living after my years in the frozen north, the temperatures, while enough to leave me sweating after any form of exertion were better than shivering under a bodyweight's worth of furs.

  The first three days were uneventful, leaving both Viconia and I to our own devices for the most part. We assisted the guild in foiling a series of break-ins in one of the many trading posts in the docks district but otherwise we once again found ourselves exploring the streets and training. The city had a pall of death hanging low over it like a fog, the deaths within the Cathedral and the unholy nature of such an attack was more than enough to cause those in the city to fear of what may happen next. As far as we were able to discern over three dozen had lost their lives in whatever had happened and while rumours were as varied and wide spread as everyone's opinions there were a handful of similarities between the tales. The central shrine to Dibella had been desecrated, the bodies of those unfortunates present during the event being used to daub runes and other blasphemes across every surface imaginable. What exactly had occurred was for the most part a mystery as the Countess had ordered the great doors to the chapel barred and closed to all but select members of the city guard.

  The situation was slowly worsening, and fights and other unrest was frequent on the streets. Tempers were high, moods low and despair was steadily snaking its blackened tendrils into the hearts of the populace. It was this situation that we found ourselves in and I too was struggling with the clutch of depression on the depths of my soul. The darkness of my vampiric nature and what I had done to that bandit on the Gold Road hung heavily on my mind, and there was nothing I could do to shake off the hatred I had for myself.

  Nearly a week after arriving at the city I sat uneasily in a chair in the dining hall of the chapterhouse, idly swishing a half-drunk flagon of weak beer that had long since grown stale. Viconia had been sitting across from me for the past hours since lunch but had her nose buried deep into a book for the entire time. The mood between us was sombre in comparison to Skingrad and especially so since our brief stay at the Brina Cross Inn. There was no doubt that she had an inkling of what had occurred that evening and there was a strange twisted series of emotions that bubbled to the surface whenever she looked at me. I couldn't help but shiver at her cold yellow eyes as she looked at me with what was unmistakably pleasure and approval.

  "Whatever answers you are seeking won't be found in the bottom of a cup."

  Azzan strode over to us, his armoured footfalls sending tremors through the wooden floorboards and the table where I rested my feet. It was rare to see him outside of his plate armour, and even less likely to see his massive Warhammer further than a metre from him at any time.

  "I'm not seeking answers. Not today." The flagon thumped to the table and Viconia looked up from the pages with a slight hint of annoyance.

  "Well, there isn't much reason for sitting there looking all melancholic. You look as though someone took a shit in your sweetroll."

  "I've just been thinking about the things that I have done."

  He seemed to smile at that, dragging a chair over with a groaning shudder of wood before thumping down into it. "Ah, so an existential problem?"

  "Something like that."

  Swiping the half filled flagon he tossed the liquid remnants into a nearby pot where some long neglected fern had long since given up on life. "Let me guess." He said simply, pouring a fresh amount of the pungent beer from the pitcher before blowing the layer of froth off the top. "You are sitting here, looking utterly miserable because you are thinking back on all the things you have done and all the terrible crimes you have committed on the whims of some superior or for a handful of coin?"

  Glancing over to where he smiled with foam sticking to his rough beard I shrugged. "Yes and no. The shit that I have done in service to the legion was terrible and some still gives me nightmares but it doesn't haunt me as such."

  "Every soldier has nightmares and faces the terrors and darkness of their own souls. It is only those regret their actions who are haunted."

  A spare flagon was not too gently shoved across the surface of the table in my direction and I caught it before it spilled its contents into my lap. "Do you have regrets?" I asked simply.

  There was a flash of pain in his eyes that was quickly stifled by the smile on his face. "More than the fleas on a dockyard whore's crotch."

  "And how do you live with it?"

  Leaning forward with the creaks of oiled leather and metal he looked me dead in the eye. "By trying to live a better life than what I have done. By doing everything that I can to help those who need it and not punish anyone who doesn't deserve it."

  My arm stung as he gave it a friendly slap with a gauntleted palm. "That and copious amounts of booze."

  Viconia lowered her book and looked at both of us. "You surfacers seem to have some strange ideas of what constitutes 'morality." Carefully she closed the book shut and sniffed lightly. "especially what you believe is evil."

  She gestured to the book, and I saw that it was one of the many volumes detailing the long and ancient history of the various Cyrodilic Empires. "There is not that much difference between yourselves and the Drow when the thin veneer of civility is stripped away. Burning villages to destroy the food stores of the enemy army, inflicting scorched earth on your own lands to stop an invader? Slaughtering an entire town and putting it to the torch so that the others know that to stand against you risks more than just losing their lives? These are tactics well known to me and my kind."

  "I think that Kaius here is discussing individuals and situations outside of war."

  Her eyes flashed with anger and it was as though the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "Life is war. War is about those doing whatever they can to win. Whether it be slaughtering a town of men, women and children, or cutting the throat of a downed adversary, those who do not do whatever they can to secure victory are not fit to continue breathing."

  "You really do have a dark attitude in life Viconia." I said simply, and she looked at me for a moment with annoyance before she realised I was not teasing or insulting her.

  There was another creak of metal as Azzan shrugged and took another swig of beer. "But she's right though. By the Eight you haven't seen what the Crowned and Forebears have done to each other, or what happened during the War of the Bend'r-Mahk."

  "Aren't you a little young to have seen what happened in that war?" I teased, and Azzan smiled.

  "I'm old enough where it counts."

  "Are you two quite finished?" Viconia's eyes were hard again, and both Azzan and I looked back in her direction.

  She swore something in velmer under her breath and briefly combed her hair with her fingers. "Everything we do is for victory and survival. If you find yourself in a fight, then you do anything you can to win. What you all consider to be darkness is nothing more than a tool to be used. Murder, is a tool. Fear is a tool. Rape..." her eyes burned holes into mine. "Is a tool."

  "If someone assaults you, you remove their ability to do so again. If they strike you, then you strike them so hard and viciously that no one else will consider doing the same. You break them, gouge out their eyes, shatter their fingers, tear their guts out, raze their homes to the ground, poison the wells and burn everything into cinders. Until they are no longer a threat then you do not stop. An enemy with no will to fight is an enemy already beaten."

  Her eyes glowed with menace and I knew that there was a warning directed at me in their yellow depths.

  Azzan coughed slightly, looking between us looking somewhat concerned. "Remind me never to train with you Vic."

  "I'll pull my punches if you're afraid." The grin that grew on her face was one of predatory amusement I was all too familiar with.

  The three of us chuckled despite the dark nature of our conversation but before Azzan could reply a shudder flowed through the floor and up the soles of our boots. Glass rattled in window frames and drinks filled with ripples as an impressive boom rolled from the heavens. For a moment it was quiet, before every dog and animal within the city began crying distress into the sky, and the chorus of birds taking flight echoed from outside.

  "What in the name of the Eight was that?" Rising to his feet and placing the half-finished flagon onto the table Azzan looked about the room, mirroring our expression of confusion at the sound.

  "Is there a storm coming?" I asked, rising to my feet and unable to shake the sudden feeling of dread that was overwhelming my depression.

  "Not humid enough." He replied simply, peering out of one of the few windows in the dining hall as I felt my hand tighten on the hilt of Sunchild instinctively. "Hopefully another whaler hasn't exploded in the docks again."

  One of the doors leading to the chapterhouse's entry was suddenly kicked inwards with considerable force. Rhano, one of the Guild's veterans slapped the door back from where it had bounced from the force he had opened it with. He was looking extremely pale for a Redguard.

  "What's happened?" the expression on the younger Redguard's face was all too apparent; Fear, gut churning and soul consuming fear.

  "The daedra are here!" he stammered, clutching at his chest from the short but panicky run he had just made. "An Oblivion Portal has opened outside the walls!"

  Viconia and I exchanged glances before mutually swearing loudly in velmer.