Split (1)

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We continued our stories, finishing our evening meals and sipping away at our flagons as we spoke. Viconia never seemed to have the same drink twice, trying and sampling every one that she could and obviously taking note of the ones that she enjoyed. I stayed with Cyrodiilic brandy, but not once harbouring the thought of attempting to keep up with her. She seemed to have an unnatural ability to drink prodigious amounts of alcohol before its effects could be felt. This was a fact that had won her a significant amount of coins on the second evening at the boarding house after her orcish opponent had to be taken to the healers afterwards.
"So," she said after finishing a story of how she had bested an illithid with such graphic descriptions that two of the nearby patrons were looking somewhat nauseous. "Has there ever been anyone special in your life? A thief of your heart?"
I choked on my brandy somewhat, brushing at the front of my leather shirt where it had spilled. "What?"
"Don’t play coy." There was a hint of amusement in her voice that was filled with her typical disdain. "You know what I ask."
I shook my head. "It’s a legionary’s lot in life to have little in the way of relationships or family. Most usually wait until after they complete their service before settling down."
Motioning with my flagon in her direction where she sat, legs crossed on top of the table I continued. "I would ask you the same thing but Drow don’t believe in love." My tone was sarcastic but she didn’t take offense.
"It’s not something that exists in our world. Relationships are... different in the Underdark." There was a moment where she chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I would almost say that they are more business arrangements, but that would be inaccurate and suggest a balance of power in such a situation. Females choose their partners, and it is not uncommon for particular males to have a few Drow women seeking them."
"From what you have told me that doesn’t sound like the contentions of suitors for a husband."
"Indeed, it is not. Men are nothing but slaves, no different from a good rapier or fine clothes. Sure, some may rise to overseers of the rest of the slaves, or perhaps the lowest rank of cleric in the temples. However, for any male to show their attraction towards a woman was more than enough reason to eviscerate them."
I struggled not the smile at the sudden twitch of movement of a handful of those seated at the other tables around us. Most of the regulars had learned not to cross the beautiful dark elf I had as a companion, and at her words all those who had been glancing in her direction now made active attempts not to anymore. "Men would be claimed, used for whatever purpose desired and then discarded once no longer useful. It was a simple, natural order of things."
"Discarding doesn’t sound pleasant."
"It isn’t." Her eyes glowed with the unusual intensity as they always seemed to do when her thoughts turned to darkness. "For those men who find themselves desired by more than one woman however? That’s a great deal worse in comparison, especially to the ways of the surface. The women would compete, the stronger would be the victor and then once she had gained her fill or the male had outlived his usefulness she would provide the loser with the leftovers."
The darkness behind her eyes grew even more intense. "The accepted way of such a process was to drop the male off at the lesser woman’s lodging. Usually bereft of skin."
Where there had been little interest by those around us there was absolutely none remaining now; a fact that was not lost on Viconia as her lips curled in a savage grin.
It was at this point where I was beginning to feel more and more like prey to the gleaming-eyed Drow that Baurus made his first appearance in the past days. Almost like a shadow he emerged from the crowd and gave us a welcoming smile despite his unease around Viconia.
"You two got a moment?" he asked, nodding towards the stairs and with a serious expression.
We nodded, both standing and following him up after leaving little of our drinks remaining. Once more we found ourselves inside his hidden room, safely behind wards of muffling and secure to talk freely.
"Tar-Meena finished her studies on the books early this morning." He said simply as we had made ourselves comfortable. "She’s quiet pissed off about it all though."
"Pissed off? What happened?" I asked, watching Baurus grin wearily.
"The trick to the books is remarkably simple, and she has spent the last three days looking for some cryptic cypher or riddle within the pages. As a result she failed to notice the most obvious message of them all."
Viconia looked perplexed. "Which was what exactly?"
There was a chuckle from the young Blade. "Every few paragraphs have the first letter stylised and decorated."
"You’re kidding me? That simple?"
"Yep." He handed me a note that I quickly looked over before handing it to Viconia. It simply read; Green Emperor Way Where Tower Touches Midday Sun.
"That’s ridiculous." Viconia muttered as she looked over the note before handing it back to him. "Are they simple-minded?"
"Unfortunately not. If it was too difficult for potential recruits to find their main lair, then they wouldn’t have been able to recruit such numbers as they have. The trick to it all is only when you have all four books together and by thoroughly reading each one do you find the message. The exact location of their base is only found by being at a specific place at a specific time."
"Which we have to go find tomorrow."
"Ha! I like your initiative but I’ve already done the legwork for you." He pulled out a separate piece of parchment when he had hurriedly scrawled out a surprisingly accurate map of Cyrodiil. A cross in the eastern province towards the border of Morrowind was easily visible. "That’s your copy. I’ve already sent a report back to Cloud Ruler containing the original so expect that the Grandmaster will deploy some Blades to meet you."
"What about yourself? Will you be joining us?"
There was a moment of disappointment that creased his face. "Unfortunately no. The Old Man had sent orders that once the location of the cult had been found that I was to tidy up any loose ends in the city and return to Cloud Ruler. It appears as though most Blades within Cyrodiil are being ordered to return to defend the Heir."
"But don’t worry." His face broke out into a grin and he laughed. "As much as I want to see this through to the end, I’ll be nice and comfy and thinking of you both while you go wandering around County Cheydinhal."
"It would’ve been good to have your sword with us." I admitted honestly, before turning and looking at Viconia. "Guess we’re leaving tomorrow then."
"Lovely." She replied, looking somewhat less-than-pleased.
For the rest of the night we slept in our lodgings, retiring shortly after our conversations and questions to Baurus. He knew little more than what we did but the map was very specific. North east of Cheydinhal within an easy day’s march of the city lay the waters of Lake Arrius, and our path led directly to this remote place. The lake itself was in fact two lakes separated by a sheer rise where the ground split and cracked as it rose from the Niben into the towering height of the Jeral Mountains. A waterfall continuously cascaded down the sheer drop all year round, its waters fed by the hundreds of minor streams and tributaries and several underground springs. Melting snow in the spring and the yearly storms of the mountains flowed into this region. Despite its relative proximity to Cheydinhal and the location of a series of ancient aqueducts leading from the higher portion of the lake to the city, it was rarely visited and few people had cause to travel so far into the depths. A handful of roads lead to the lake and the waterfall to ease the passage for maintenance parties inspecting the long aqueducts but otherwise it was dangerous and rarely travelled.
The map that had been provided as part of the clues to the cult showed that their lair was somewhere near the waterfall and where the two levels of the Lake met. While far from accurate it provided enough clues that Viconia and I had decided that whatever the cult’s base was, it was likely to be underground and hidden in such a way that only those seeking it would be able to find it.
As we rose in the morning and prepared for the journey Baurus found us and simply handed us a message that had travelled from Cloud Ruler during the night. Such was the speed and efficiency of the Imperial Message System that his message to Jauffre had arrived within hours of leaving the Imperial City the morning previously and Jauffre’s response had made it back before the following morning had even begun. A journey of over two hundred kilometres had been made in less than half a day, and allowed us to know that a dozen Blades had been tasked to join us at the joining of the lakes. They would be waiting for us there, and would be fully prepared to burn out the cult and retrieve the Amulet of Kings.
Dressed and ready in our armour, with travelling supplies and equipment packed we said farewell to Baurus and made our way along the road to Cheydinhal. Returning on the same barge and retrieving our horses we started along the road towards our destination, with every step feeling strangely more and more familiar as the Niben merged with the eastern Jerals and the Northern Valus Mountains. This was the gateway to Morrowind and the home of the Dunmer. The forests of the highlands here were a different, darker variety compared to the lush greenery of the Great Forest of County Chorrol. There was no heightened ceiling of towering redwoods here, just the increasingly thick, dense forests that turned into impassable jungles the further you travelled south. This was where the tundra of Skyrim met the fungal plains of Morrowind, and the impenetrable depths of Blackmarsh encroached against all before it. In such a place the peoples mixed in similar ways, the solid stonework of the Nords being shaped in familiar constructions that would not have looked out of place on Vvardenfell itself.
During the three-day journey we camped alongside the road, making idle conversation and passing the time in a more pleasant manner compared to the silent marches of the previous weeks. Travelling by road and on horseback we made our way through the dozens of farmsteads and past the recently barren fields where wheat had been harvested and their winter crops of other cereals were being prepared. Cheydinhal was one of the breadbaskets of Cyrodiil, and between the enormous quantities of grains and crops grown here and the herds of cows, pigs and oxen bred for their meats there was few places that could match the quantity or the quality of its products. With winter approaching most of the locals were preparing for the snows that would gently blanket the rolling hills and freeze the streams and rivers solid as they cut through the jagged cliffs and steep rises. While nothing like the snows of the North it was still enough that preparations had to be made and care taken that herds and crops were not devastated by the sharp frosts that were known to strike on occasion.
Viconia was now by far a more amicable travelling companion, her appetite whetted she now sought to learn and understand more of the surface. Questions were asked every few kilometres, and I began to teach her as much as I could of the ways of surviving in the wild. From the best ways to track game, the construction of simple snares all the way to identifying useful herbs, plants, mushrooms and other flora for the use in potions, poultices, and poisons. She listened intently, learning all that she could and regaling me with her own knowledge and descriptions of similar such ingredients from the depths of her birthplace. The journey was otherwise uneventful, making good progress at a steady pace and after two nights sleeping alongside the road we found ourselves outside the walls of Cheydinhal.
With the distance between the city and Lake Arrius we decided that it would be best if we left our horses at one of the several stables outside the city. By making the rest of our way on foot it would draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. Sore and weary from even the light travel in the saddle, the decision to make our way the rest of the journey on foot was an easy one, especially after staying a third night within the Coaching Inn where we had stabled our horses. With evening approaching it would not have provided us any benefit trying to make the journey on foot, especially how the increasing chances of a fight was becoming ever more likely with every step we took.
Four days since leaving the Imperial City we once again rose, exchanging saddles and saddlebags for boots and packs and making our way along the rarely travelled path to the north. Little more than a track hewn through the gradually increasing forestry there were no cobblestones underfoot or milestones to border it, but the packed soil ensured that we made good progress nonetheless.
The Lake itself was an impressive sight, cutting through the rising slopes and jagged cliffs of the lower Jerals and as long as the Imperial City was wide. The twin lakes cascaded over the slopes, the roar of the waterfall heard over the gentle birdsong from the forest as it encroached on the sand and gravel shoreline. Towering above us, the ancient moss clad aqueducts ran from the top of the cliff and the channels carved into the stone, connecting together into a thicker raised waterway four stories tall, and wide enough for a wagon to roll along the edges with little fear of slipping off. Being fed with little more than gravity the aqueducts travelled the dozens of kilometres to the South East and fed into the well and fountain system that helped supply Cheydinhal with water. During the summer months these aqueducts ensured that the city did not want for water and Viconia and I gazed up at the towering stone arches, looking over the canal’s that sat on top as we followed the path carved into the side of the cliff.
"I thought that the Blades were supposed to meet us here." Viconia said as we made our way to the top of the carved staircase. The uppermost section of the cliff was where the dozens of metre wide channels flowed water into the minor conduits that connected to the wider aqueduct.
"They were." There was something about the area that had me on edge in such a way that I couldn’t believe was just down to the fact that we were close to the Cult’s lair. "I doubt that we managed to arrive before they have."
Somehow my bow found its way into my hands as some sense of danger pricked at the back of my mind. Used to hunting the wilds alone and surrounded by potential danger it was a familiar feeling that was almost comforting. Carefully I strung my bow, feeling the fletching of an arrow between my fingers at its notched end rested on the string and looking about the area trying to pinpoint the source of my unease.
The upper level of the cliff was sharp and flat, the ancient stone worn smooth by countless years of flowing water before Imperial Engineers redirected a significant portion of the flow. Where the waterfall had once poured over an area several dozen metres wide, it now was contained to a smaller outlet, ten metres wide and easily over a metre deep. A sheer drop to our left was blocked only by a series of moisture-softened pegs with frayed and continuously damp ropes suspended at thigh height. Between the cliff to our left and the lapping waters to our right there was barely enough space for a trio of people to walk side by side. The entire lake tapered to this point, the wide body of water hundreds of metres across compressing into a space of grey slate and slowly decaying wood less than forty metres wide.
Forests of dense pines crowded the life bearing waters of the lake, their roots digging into the rocks of the mountains and breaking it into dense soil that was covered by a thick layer of needles. Winter was approaching these mountains but these evergreens would ensure that even under the heaviest snowfall there would be spaces of colour.
A growl rose unbidden from my throat as my steps echoed from my marching feet on the numerous boardwalks, the sense of unease growing stronger despite nothing untoward being visible. There was nothing in sight that seemed to warrant the sense of danger growing in my mind except for the fact itself that there was nothing in sight. No animals, no birdlife and especially no sight of any of the Blades that we were expecting to meet in the area.
Viconia’s voice snapped me out my narrowing gaze and intense scrutiny of the surround area and hearing her call me by my name sent shock and a strange tingle of excitement up my spine. My strange feeling of contentment was extremely short lived as she held up both her hands, one with her palm facing me and the other holding up what could only be a katana. The sword was still locked away in its scabbard, filled with water from where she had plucked it out of one of the water channels where it had been stuck just below the surface. Her other hand though was covered in a slightly damp but quickly drying and flaking red-brown substance that I could instantly identify and smell as blood.
I took a single pace towards her, the distance between us being little more than half a dozen metres as we both realised what it meant. There were no Blades waiting for us as there were no longer any Blades left in the area. The smell of blood slowly began to make itself known to my mind as the deepening sense of wrongness increased dramatically. We had found ourselves not only at the site of a short lived battle but also the obvious, if uneconomical location of a trap.
Before either of us could react I suddenly heard a click-thump of a crossbow’s mechanism and the near-instant snap of taut sinew releasing tension. There was no time to react, or dodge or move away from the thin walkway that we were standing upon before the first bolts began to fly. I had barely even begun to move in the direction of our ambushers as I watched with a sickening horror as a bolt punched right into Viconia’s chest, followed by another that imbedded itself in her stomach.
Time slowed, her eyes widening at the intrusion of the bolts as they ripped through her armour and into the flesh underneath. Both bolts had been shot with the significant force afforded to them by the weapon’s design, tearing through metal, chain-link and leather with ease before coming to rest with several inches of metal and wood stuck inside her body. She made no sound, grimacing at the pain and growing pale with the shock of the sudden impact of the bolts even as she folded over in agony. There was no time to react, no time to do anything but watch as she simply fell face first, dropping the dead Blade’s Katana with a clatter as my instincts took over.
My bow was drawn back to the ear even as I turned with all the brutal strength of the vampire. There were still little traces of our enemies but my enhanced senses picked out the wrongness in the forest’s edge no less than thirty metres in front of us. Using enchantments or spells of invisibility the small number of attackers had been lying in wait almost in plain sight, waiting for us to make it halfway across the bridge before launching their surprise assault. As they moved their shimmering forms were suddenly clear to my eyes but I knew within seconds that this was not going to be a winning fight. Over a dozen forms of our foes moved in amongst the pine needles and burst into existence as their glamour’s fell away.
Roaring with anger and frustration I loosed my first and only arrow of the fight, watching as one of the red-robed cultists bursting from the trees in their distinctive armour was thrown back with a scream of pain. I didn’t even have time to reach back and draw another arrow from its quiver as his companions levelled a collection of crossbows at me and fired a volley of bolts that I had no hope of evading.
The first stuck me through the left shoulder, the steel-tipped head punching out my back and leaving the bolt imbedded to the fletching in muscle and meat. The second scraped past my cheek, tearing a gash and getting caught in my chainmail coif. The third and fourth hit me square in the chest, denting my breastplate, staggering me with their sheer force but robbed of their power enough by the steel that the points merely scratched at my flesh. The impacts alone however were enough to throw me backwards, my feet scrabbling for purchase on the moss-covered, slippery wood and stone. For what seemed to be minutes but was little more than heartbeats I teetered precariously on unsteady legs, before tripping on the ropes and falling over the edge of the cliff.
I fell like a stone into the churning waters of the lower Lake, the breath being forced out of me as surely as being tackled by a minotaur. The impact cracked ribs and tore the wound in my shoulder and pushed the bolts in my breastplate deeper into my chest, filling my world with agony even as it was consumed by Lake Arrius. The solid impact of the water on my back nearly knocked me unconscious with the jolt alone and within seconds my mouth, nose and eyes were filled with cold snow melt from the upper Jerals. My mind was overwhelmed, the pain extraordinary and within seconds I found myself drowning as the heavy weight of my equipment and armour began dragging me to the bottom. There was nothing I could do as I felt myself lightly press into the silt where the waterfall had carved out a deep pool from the stone. My right arm was broken, several ribs cracked and lungs filling with water as I vainly struggled to rise or swim or simply breathe where there was no air to be found. I was drowning and there was nothing that I could do about it.
The vampire within me was not troubled by such trivial things as pain and lack of oxygen. It rose up from the depths of my mind, barging my conscious self aside contemptuously and took control of my body. The surge of incredible, undeniable power that suddenly flooded my limbs forced my shattered body to rise and began clawing its way to the surface. My conscious self was left as a spectator as my head broke the surface, my left arm gripping the stones scattered around the base of the pool and despite my injuries I was hauled up onto one of the only spaces not submerged in the waterfall’s spray.
What little remained of the man that I was had been consumed by the vampire’s instincts and refusal to die. Ribs cracked, a crossbow bolt lodged in my left shoulder, right forearm snapped where I had bounced off the cliff face and a chest already beginning to swell with bruising I was barely in any condition except to lay down and sleep. The vampire however was not going accept such a fate and running purely on instinct it began to treat my various wounds.
With a sicking snap of bone and the sensation of splintered ends being ground together it forced my right arm out straight, the forearm crunching together from the muscles forcing the bones to lock back into place. If it wasn’t for the chainmail and padding underneath the jagged edges would have likely pierced the skin, but instead the arm had appeared as though I had grown a new elbow joint a few centimetres above the wrist. An intense burst of magicka set the bones, eased out the tension in the muscles and repaired the numerous severed blood vessels. With the full use of that arm returned it allowed the vampire to grip the bolt in my left shoulder and tear it out with a mighty heave, pulling the bodkin tip out with a spurt of blood.
The wound in my shoulder was burning, feeling as though a massive infection had set in or the wound had turned gangrenous. This was an obvious sign of the bolt being poisoned. There was a slightly leaden feeling in the shoulder that had little to do with the injury, and a similar one where the other two bolts lodged in my breastplate had scraped the skin. Some kind of paralytic had been applied to the bodkin tips which meant that the cultists had not intended on killing us but capturing us instead. Whatever concoction had been used however was not effective on me due to my curse, and instead seemed to merely aggravate my vampiric side even further.
Bursts of restoration magicka knitted wounds and stopped bleeding, the spells being far greater in intensity that what I would normally use due to the risk of sustaining permanent injuries and mutation. There was little time and no inclination to rest for even a second longer as the vampire merely swiped the last two bolts away with a dagger. Carefully with the point of the knife it dug the bolt heads out as best as possible to ensure they weren’t pressing into skin before beginning to rummage through my equipment to take stock of the damage.
My bow was gone; the second I had lost in just as many months which was a fact that infuriated both me and my vampiric nature to no end. My quiver was empty, my pouches and equipment entirely soaked with water and blood and most of the contents of my pack and pouches were waterlogged and ruined. Most of the tiny clay bottles that I kept in my pouches with their wax stoppers were broken and their contents useless, but a handful did manage to survive intact. One was immediately torn open, the small collection of roots poured onto the surface of the damp boulder and ground into a paste with the hilt of a dagger. The small amount of mandrake root, collected along my travels was an incredibly useful herb despite its toxicity. Used to create tonics and poultices that could cure diseases and stop wounds from festering it was also useful as a mild sedative when mixed with other ingredients. A tiny amount of salvaged Cairn Bolete was also added to the slurry before I scooped up as much as I could and rubbed it into my gums with a finger tipped with a three-centimetre talon.
I tried to ignore the fact that my body was purely running on instinct and that the vampire had fully come to the surface now. My face was elongated, every tooth in my mouth taped to a point and the muscles of my body were swollen and throbbing with a strength that could’ve allowed me to wrestle an ogre. I was hurt, angry and despite suffering injuries that should have killed me my blood was up and I was looking to murder something. The crushed paste of Mandrake Root, Cairn Bolete and a few of the other surviving ingredients immediately made its presence felt as it soaked through my gums and noticeably dulled the pain throughout my injured body.
Dripping bloody water that pooled beneath my feet with every step I made my way back up the carved staircase to the top of the waterfall. I was tattered and torn, armour hanging off me in places but I was still alive and able to fight. Sunchild was gripped firmly in my right hand, the spiking waves of pain from the forcibly set and healed forearm focussing my mind somewhat from the predatory instincts of the vampire.
There was no trace of any of the cultists or especially Viconia which was even more troubling. The use of poisoned bolts revealed that they would be taking her back to wherever they made their lair. While they may have been able to ambush us with the use of invisibility potions and spells, there was no hiding the fact that they were very lax and inexperienced in covering their tracks. Confident at my death from the fall over the edge they had not even bothered to come and ensure that I had not survived, instead simply taking Viconia and the cultist I had shot in the chest away with them.
Their foot prints and the trail of blood from their wounded or dead associate left a trail so easy to follow that a child could’ve done so. That I was suddenly blessed with senses far beyond a mortal ensured that I could’ve followed their trail by the scent of blood alone as it weaved its way into the forest on the northern side of the lakes. The hills were broken and rocky but there were hundreds of tiny cliff faces and sheer drops scattered amongst the pines. It wasn’t long before I came across the darkened mouth of a tunnel hidden away in a thick copse of pines where an ancient stream had cut into the stone.
In the darkness my vampiric nature increased, the lack of light sources suddenly allowing me the shift and weave through the shadows. Folding them unnaturally around myself like a cloak I knew I was suddenly invisible to all mortal eyes, moving across the ground almost without touching it and travelling so swiftly that only a man sprinting would have been able to match my pace. The overwhelming sense of power was intoxicating and I struggled against my own vampiric self for control, flitting through the tunnels with not even the tiniest swirl of dust from the floor or other sign of passage behind me.
A few dozen metres into the cave lights burned from torch sconces mounted into the crudely carved stone walls. Less than a dozen metres wide and opening into a rough V shape, the tiny cavern was unremarkable except for the wooden door built into the far wall, framed by the pair of flickering torches and a pair of tapestries mounted to the ceiling. Each tapestry hung to the floor, coloured the same deep red of congealing blood and emblazoned with a stylised golden sun making its way over a horizon. It was a symbol I had seen several times since deserting the Legion and it had been on most of the cultists and the unholy books written by their master. What miniscule doubt I had was gone in the face of such symbols of the cult responsible for so much death and suffering.
Alone and leaning back in a chair purposely designed to be uncomfortable a single robed cultist sat, leafing his way through a personal copy of one of the Commentaries. He was obviously not expecting any visitors or intruders and the tunnel leading to the surface had been scattered with a considerable amount of gravel in a cheap and easy method of detection. The crunching of gravel would echo through the tunnels at anyone’s approach, at least if they were mortal. I seemed to float over the ground with not a single noise announcing my presence. Between my unnatural silence the shadows concealing my movement he wasn’t even aware of my presence until it was far too late.
Some form of instinct alerted him to danger and he looked up from his book, frowning at the darkened tunnel mouth in front of him. There was no sound on any approach, no movement in its darkened depths and he glanced around the tiny cavern for the source of his unease.
When his head turned in the direction of the door to his left he suddenly found himself staring at the sight of something from the worst of nightmares. I was standing less than a metre from him, staring right into his eyes and snarling though a mouthful of fangs. From his point of view it must’ve appeared as though I had simply grown from the shadows, congealing into his sight in a way that no magicka or mortal art could’ve replicated. I towered over him in the gloom, a face elongated in a facsimile of a Khajiit, every tooth in my maw resembling that of a slaughterfish, muscles rippling with unworldly power and dripping with gore and river water. Sunchild’s gleaming beauty reflected the feeble torchlight where I grasped it in hands clad in shredded gloves, blackened ivory talons erupting from the flesh of my fingertips where the bones had simply chosen to grow and taper to a point. I was the stuff of nightmares even for a group of daedra worshippers.
With a sudden, startled cry he fell away from me, throwing his book aside and tripping over onto his back as his legs tangled into those of the chair. My appearance as well as how I had appeared as though from the air itself left him shuddering with terror.
"Where is she?" I snarled, my fang filled jaws hissing the words out threateningly.
I stepped over and hunched down until my breath fluttered his hair and blood and water dripped onto his face.
"Where... Is... She..."
I could feel myself growing drunk from the man’s fear at my unnatural appearance. "She’s inside! Preparing the initiates for the latest sacrifice!"
My taloned hand snaked out and grabbed him by the shoulder, sinking my claws into his flesh and digging deep enough to scratch bone. His groans of terror were replaced with moans of agony as I hauled him up and slammed his back into one of the tapestries.
"The Dark Elf you bastard!" I spat, ignoring the fact that he was scrabbling at my hand as I held him off the ground with no undue effort. "The one you and your friends just captured!"
"The Shrine!" His wails of fear and agony were growing louder now and I suddenly found myself worrying about his fellow cultists hearing him. "She’ll be at the shrine! Ruma is going to use her as the initiate’s sacrifice!"
Weeping he slid down the wall and I pulled my talons out of the meat of his shoulder. Blood was staining his robes now, flowing between his fingers as he tried to staunch the wounds with his good arm. The feel of the power over the man was almost as intoxicating as the taste of his blood as I absentmindedly licked it from my claws.
"Daran!?" the door creaked open as another cultist came to investigate the disturbance. "What in oblivion’s name are you playing at?"
The man at my feet suddenly panicked, attempting to scrabble away from me as my attention turned to his fellow cultist. "Harrow! Help me!"
I reacted without thought, swiping away the bleeding cultist’s face with a fistful of talons and leaving him to gurgle uselessly through what remained. Both eyes, his nose, and most of his cheeks and jaw were suddenly gone from the savagery of the attack, leaving nothing more than a shattered jaw and twitching tongue as he went about dying horribly.
The other cultist; a tall Dunmer stepped through to see the sight of a nightmare flicking away the goblets of flesh and crushed eyeballs from its talons while the ruined features of his dying comrade screamed incoherently on the floor. His shock was his undoing as I picked him up, slamming his head into the rock wall and crushing his skull like an egg. Blood and brains sprayed everywhere and the corpse slumped to the ground, leaking grey matter and arterial blood from the pulp that had once been its head.
With the two cultists dead I sprang into action and disappeared past the door into the home of the Mythic Dawn. The vampire was in control, instinct fuelling every action as I folded the shadows around myself and raced through the tunnels. I was hunting now, not just for Viconia but also seeking death to those who had thought to capture and sacrifice us to a daedric prince. My vampiric sight allowed me to see in the darkened depths and hunt purely by the sound of beating hearts.
Several cultists died without even knowing of the danger the darkness held. A throat was cut, another crumpled as my dagger punched in behind her ear and another died of a broken neck after I had twisted with such force that their face was left looking over their shoulders. The poorly lit tunnels and rooms became blood soaked slaughterhouses as I cut, stabbed, wrenched and tore life from everyone in my path. Some even slaked my thirst for blood as I tore throats out with my fanged maw, sucking down their blood with wild abandon even as they struggled and tried to remove themselves from my grasp. Individuals were left lying where they had died, and in what I guessed to be a barracks or sleeping quarters seven cultists died bloodily as I eviscerated with Sunchild and my bare hands. Before the last of them fell I was gone, disappearing into the shadows and leaving a trail of carnage behind me.
Deeper and deeper into the tunnels I travelled, the crudely carved stone slowly changing into ancient stonework worn smooth by countless ages. Lit braziers and torch sconces stripped me of the protective shadows that forced me back into visibility but not reducing my lethality. Another trio of cultists died messily as I gutted the first, stabbed the second in the heart and crushed the thirds windpipe with a taloned hand all before I could draw breath. They were the last cultists between me and my destination and I had found myself in the very heart of their lair.
Thirty metres high, over a hundred long and built by long-forgotten people the shrine of Mehrunes Dagon had been hidden in the depths of the world for millennia. Shaped like a reversed amphitheatre, the smooth stone floor from the entrance rose up sharply over a pair of raised levels where the most loyal and rewarded cultists would stand. All, no matter their position and rank would face the highest level where a raised stone block was placed at the foot of a horrific statue to their daedric lord. Fifteen metres tall, horned and horrific to behold, the statue extruded a terrible potency into the air that made me pause momentarily at its sight. All four arms were raised to the sky, an axe gripped by its upper arms as though it was swinging it down to hack the block at its feet in half. Even my vampiric nature was held aback momentarily at the sight, as whoever had chosen to create such a foul statue had nearly succeeded in emulating the terrible majesty of the Lord of Destruction.
The Shrine however was filled with cultists, over three dozen stood at various places or on the ziggurat holding the statue. There was little ornamentation to the temple to their god, only a few handful of the same dawning sun tapestries scattered about and no seating for the dozen of more cultists standing at the shrine’s base. In the darkness I looked around warily, seeing that all but two of the Cultists were standing with their backs to me facing the statue and none had noticed the fact that three of their members were now corpses on the floor.
One of the cultists stood before a stone dais on the highest point of the ziggurat, holding his hands aloft and staring into the sea of upturned faces with what I could only describe as holy rapture on his face. He was tall, even for an Altmer and beside him stood a young woman whose resemblance to him showed that she was his own flesh and blood. He was bare headed, high sloped forehead and sharp angled features appearing sunken and shallow in the flicking light of the braziers lighting him. Unlike the others his robes were a deep blue, edges picked out in shimmering gold thread and clasped around his waist by a belt that showed that there was no fat on his frame. With sheer force of personality alone he held their attention as he moved with all the grace of a masterful orator, each gesture and syllable perfectly chosen and timed and never once making a mistake.
"Dawn is breaking!" he cried as he stepped forth and beheld the dozens of his followers below him. "The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings!"
"Praise be!" The words rumbled forth through the scores of throats in the shrine, movement flickering as they each bowed their heads in supplication for a moment.
"Praise be to your Brothers and Sisters! Great shall be their reward in Paradise!"
"Praise be!" they all replied again, and I ghosted my way slowly ever closer to the turned backs of the congregation. While well-lit around the tiered layers of the ziggurat there was little light at the lower level. This allowed me to move close enough to smell the unwashed bodies of the cultists between me and their leader.
The tall Altmer, resplendent in his blue robes raised his eyes and arms to the ceiling, the sleeves falling back to reveal forearms that were strong and free of any scarring or blemishes. "Now, hear the words of Lord Dagon! When I walk the earth again, the Faithful among you shall receive your rewards: to be set above all other Mortals Forever. As for the rest: the weak shall be winnowed. The timid shall be cast down. The mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon. Your reward, brothers and sisters: the time of cleansing draws nigh!"
Carefully he turned and nodded to the young woman standing at his side. She gracefully lowered her head, holding out a satin cushion with the gleaming gold and ruby Amulet of Kings seated upon it. The perfection of such a jewel was marred by its proximity to the terrible sight of the statue of Mehrunes Dagon but it was comforting to see its presence after all that had occurred.
My eyes continued searching the room and now that I was so close to the congregation I could see over their heads and the details of what lay behind their leader’s back. The stone block at the feet of the statue was sacrificial in nature, the stains of countless lives having been lost and discolouring the surface until there was no removing the traces of such gruesome acts. With sudden realisation I saw that the block was not empty; the darkened form of Viconia lay motionless upon its rough surface.
With both the Amulet of Kings and Viconia in sight I barely heard the rest of the sermon as the darkness shifted from me and left me standing in full sight of all within the room. With their backs to me, and their leaders’ attention drawn to the Amulet no one realised that they had just gained a new spectator who’s desires and emotions were vastly different in nature.
Mankar Camoran; leader and demagogue turned with the Amulet of Kings held aloft in both hands in a sickening display of reverence that was corrupted by his allegiance to a Daedric Lord. His mouthed words didn’t reach my ears as I was filled with a terrible bloodlust and savagery, I stepping closer to the ranked cultists and roaring on the top of my lungs.
"Camoran!" I bellowed, saliva stained with blood from those I had feasted on spraying onto the backs of those standing in closest to me. At the shouted word he was cut off in mid-sentence, turning and casting his eyes downwards even as those on the lower level turned with rage on their faces at whoever dared interrupt their lord. Their anger turned into shock and terror at my appearance in their midst however, but Mankar Camoran and the young woman holding the pillow didn’t seem concerned or even surprised at my arrival. They did however move with an unseemly haste, Mankar pressing the Amulet to his chest in a closed fist and stepping away from the dais even as his followers reacted.

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