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Their weariness was suddenly replaced with terror and shock as I roared with effort, slinging the head by the horn and slamming its full weight into the centre of their table with a crash of broken wood and jingling coins as they were scattered across the floorboards. A pair of legs snapped cleanly, catapulting flagons and their contents over a pair of the fighters as the enormous head simply fell into their laps.
Maglir dropped onto his rear, scrabbling away from the bloody trophy and staring into its dead face. One eye was leaking jelly and its tongue lolling loose in an opened maw large enough to fit his head in. Teeth were shattered in its jaw, shreds of flesh dangling from the severed neck and watery blood had splattered everyone within a metre of where it had landed.
"Contract completed." I growled.
For the night we rested, feeling thoroughly relaxed and completely exhausted from the day’s activities. The farmers and villagers were overwhelmingly grateful at what we had accomplished, doubly so after the pathetic actions of the other members of the Guild. When morning broke there was no trace of the other five members of our party who, after being ejected from the tavern had seen the sense in slinking away in the cover of darkness. We stayed for the night free of charge, many of the patrons attempting to buy us rounds of locally brewed beer and ale. It wasn’t long before an impromptu celebration had formed to the sounds of laughing, singing and dancing with almost the entire village present.
Well after midnight Viconia and I finally managed to disentangle ourselves from the press and manage to get a few hours of rest. The party however continued unabated and it wasn’t long before the enormous minotaur skull had found itself jammed onto a pole in the village square, the last of its blood drying in the sun and flesh already beginning to swarm with blue-black flies. Children laughed and played in the shadow of the skull and men and women alike were already greatly inebriated, all thoughts of death and loss for the moment at least being replaced by hope and merriment.
Roars of appreciation met us when we left our rooms, mugs and flagons and containers of every type being thrust in a toast to our honour. Viconia and I both seemed to be in the same mindset of not enjoying centres of attention but our growing fame as the heroes of Kvatch would mean that this situation would soon be a regular occurrence. In this tiny hamlet in country Skingrad we had further solidified our legend that would begin to grow in a life of its own.
Joocator found us within minutes of leaving the tavern into a village filled with festivities. The village elder and a handful of other officials appearing as though conjured to bestow various honours they saw fit, and thankfully our contract payment that the guild expected. Viconia slapped away hands bearing garlands of pressed flowers and took most of the attention with an ill grace. By the time the tiny chest filled with coins was pressed into my arms I had several wreaths of flowers wrapped around my neck and arms, had shaken hands with nearly everyone in the village and been on the receiving end of kisses from some of the women and hugs around the legs from some of the smaller children. One tiny youngster had to be pried away from my armoured greaves by his mother as he simply refused to let me go.
Alcohol flowed freely, couples danced in the dozens and there would be no work being done this day and probably the next. After such fear and death that had occurred they all threw themselves into the celebrations with gusto and I knew that without a doubt that there would be several new children being born during the following summer. It took the better part of an hour to convince them that we could not stay and that we would have to return to Skingrad but we finally managed to leave, bidding our farewells and chuckling at how the village was already considering renaming itself "Titans End"
Returning to Skingrad was a relatively easy and quiet affair. We simply entered the city, made our way through the bustling streets to the chapterhouse and handed the payment of the contract over to the hulking guild porter for counting and distribution. Most of the payment would be going to the two of us, and one fifth would be used by the guild itself. We were not as overly concerned with money as what we had been forty-eight hours previously and as soon as we found a free moment the two of us found a room to ourselves and sorted through the piles of gemstones and other various treasures that we had acquired from the ruins. There was more wealth in our bags that what I had any hope of seeing for an entire lifetime’s service to the legion, but unless we found a suitable and honest jeweller it was almost no better than having pouches full of coloured glass. For the moment however we both marvelled at what we had accomplished, and Viconia’s eyes shone with an unusual intensity as we sorted through the pile of gems in front of us.
The amount was deceptively small in appearance and had filled only three of our pouches, but was easily worth a king’s ransom. Dividing them between the two of us there was little for us to do and even less of what we could think of to spend it on. Neither of us could come to any decision on what to do with our wealth, so for the moment we simply placed them in our pouches, kept a couple out for selling to the first honest jeweller we came across and otherwise continued on as what we had previously.
For the next couple of days, it was quiet. Maglir had vanished, seemingly deserting the guild and its responsibilities while the others had decided to make themselves scarce. They showed their faces in the guild from time to time but never lingering and sleeping elsewhere in the city. The word of our success was spreading and it would not be long before more contracts would find their way to the local Chapterhouse. For the meantime we found ourselves once again with all too much free time to occupy ourselves with.
The day after returning I made my way through the city, leaving Viconia to haggle and deal with a pair of jewellers with a handful of our recovered gems. We had discovered very quickly that she was the best to get deals with any vendors or merchants due the combination of her exquisite good looks and hard personality. Being able to haggle extremely effectively through mild seduction or by sheer intimidating presence ensured that we soon had a healthy collection of coins jingling in our purses. Making my way through the market district and the mass of shouting vendors and their prospective clientele I followed my nose in the direction of my goal.
Every major city and nearly every town and village worthy of the title had their usual collection of fellmongers and tanners. The demand for leather was one of the major trade goods for the empire; being used from everything from clothing, bedding and book bindings but the disgusting process for curing such materials ensured that they almost exclusively located in the poorest of districts. The stench of a horrid mixture of urine, faeces and rotting flesh was enough to turn aside all but the most determined of citizens from living or working anywhere close to where the tanners went about their work.
I made my way there as a customer, carrying the considerable hunk of pelt of the Minotaur lord over a shoulder as I went to the small collection of stalls and shops in amidst the tanning pits and tanks. Skingrad may have been one of the richest cities in the Empire but there was no hiding the fact that the area around the tanning pits and fellmongers workshops was almost exclusively the poorest of boarding houses and shacks. Judging by the smell that felt potent enough to strip paint I didn’t blame anyone for not wanting to live anywhere downwind.
Introducing myself to one of the apron clad tannery workers I soon managed to find myself discussing prices with the tannery owner as he ran his fingers over the roughly hewn pelt. A craftsman and artesian like any blacksmith or engraver, the foul-smelling fellmonger had extreme pride in his job and having an amount of such material placed before him was almost intoxicating. He ran his fingers over the jagged and frayed ends where I had cut it from the minotaur’s back and I knew that in his mind he was thinking of what crafts he could make with such a rare commodity. Minotaur leather was one of the most sought after of leather goods in Cyrodiil, if not the empire. For this man to find himself looking over such an amount of unsurpassed quality was something most tanners would only dream of.
Our discussion of price was almost half hearted and he was more interested in knowing what I wanted fashioned from the hide so he could calculate how much he would have left over for further profit. Any of the scraps would fetch high prices for him after selling pieces to high-born nobles or the exceedingly rich. The price that I had bargained with him and his leatherworking colleague for custom made boots, gloves, cloaks and hoods for Viconia and myself was ridiculously cheap as they both had their minds set on having the left overs more than my custom.
We were deep in conversation when my own instincts flared and I saw the leatherworker suddenly start as though he had been hit with one of Viconia’s bolts of lightning. His eyes widened, staring over behind me at the mild press of workers and citizens going about their daily business and I twisted without thinking. A sound like tearing silk ripped through the air over the background noise of thousands of people and I found myself facing a strong, harsh faced Nord woman with a dagger of gleaming obsidian clenched in a tight fist.
The craftsmen staggered away from my knife wielding assailant and in less than a second I realised that this was no simple robbery but an attempted assassination. She cut and sliced away at me with a suspicious and alarming dexterity and I found myself twisting and moving in the attempt to keep her at bay and to make an opening where I could draw Sunchild. Whoever she was, she was too experienced to let me arm myself with a weapon of superior make and reach than her own and kept close. She harried me with vicious attacks that left my cloak and clothing shredded in places and my skin intact only by the sturdy make of my chainmail.
Despite my armoured form she was potentially deadly, stabbing whenever the opportunity presented itself in an effort to defeat my body’s armoured protection and never relenting in her attack. To lose the initiative in a fight against an armoured opponent was tantamount to suicide and she was determined to finish me quickly to not only stop me from being able to fight back but also before the screams and calls for assistance drew the city guard down on her. Her attempt to stab me in the back had been thwarted and there was a minute, if not less before her escape was cut off.
Cutting and slicing with the obsidian dagger of a make I was all too familiar with I blocked with my armoured forearms, feeling the jarring impacts deep in the bones as I tried everything I could think of to fight back. Unable to draw any of my own weapons I began throwing punches and kicks trying to open a gap between us.
Dressed in simple clothes and appearing like nothing more than an ordinary labourer like the hundreds of others in the city there was nothing other than the dagger that identified the woman. A face weather-beaten and lined with experiences rather than age, she would have been unnoticeable in a crowd. Cowskin pants laced up the sides of the legs were tucked into sturdy, mass produced boots covered in a fine layer of dust. A simple wool tunic was pulled taut by a belt and single button doublet covered her torso and her blond hair was fashioned into a series of braids that ran from her scalp to the shoulders. There was nothing to reveal the hard eyed assassin that lay underneath the plain, unassuming exterior as she tried to gut me with the gleaming blade.
I lashed out and narrowly missed her, feeling the bouncing impact of the dagger once more on my arm and feeling a handful of links part. Her own confidence was building with every strike she managed to slip through my defences and while I was still armoured she was using every weakness to her advantage. A single, powerful strike from her free hand sent stars bursting in my eyes and my jaw exploding with pain as the punch struck home. Blood filled my mouth with an unfortunately all-too-familiar taste of copper and metal and I spat out a tooth knocked free from the hit. There was a grin plastered over the cultists face as she saw me scowl from the pain with teeth stained arterial pink, but the pain had merely sharpened my senses and started releasing something that neither of us really wanted set loose.
My own punched rocked her back with a stunning blow delivered with such speed that her grin of triumph barely had time to be replaced with surprise. Nose broken and bleeding she staggered backward with the red liquid staining the front of her shirt, slicing with her dagger to keep me at bay while she regained her bearings. Chanting foully and gesturing with her free hand her body suddenly began disappearing under the familiar armour of the Mythic Dawn, spewing out from the pores of her skin and hiding her injured face from view. A longsword of corrupted daedric metal sprung to existence in her hand, complimenting her dagger with reach and providing her with nearly 80 centimetres of deadly edge capable of slicing through my armour like paper.
There was nothing to be seen of her face behind the black, scowling mask but the sudden laughter from her was loud enough to be heard over the screams of panic from the dozens of people around us. Workers, labourers, citizens and shopkeepers backed away from the sight of the black armoured cultist facing me; the unnatural appearance of the conjured armour making it clearly evident that this was not a fight anyone wanted to be near.
The laughter from her continued as she began slicing and twirling her twin weapons with remarkable ease, but the fight shifted suddenly as Sunchild appeared in my hand with a rasp of metal on leather and parried the first strike with a clang. It was obvious that I faced an experienced swordsman, the Mythic Dawn finally realising that to send someone after Viconia and I required more than just simple chaff to be cut down in our strides. Her slices and attacks were perfect, footwork expertly done and twice I found myself nearly losing grip on Sunchild as she tried to neatly disarm me. As good as a swordswoman she was, she had invested all of her skill and attention into my own weapon and was obviously used to sparring an armed opponent. As such she was totally unprepared as I stepped forward and engaged her with my free hand rather than relying on the blade.
There was a crunch of metal and bone as I busted my knuckles on the strange metal of the mask, feeling the shattered cartilage of her face grind from the impact. Gasping and choking she staggered backward, blood suddenly frothing through the tiny slits of the mask and swinging her sword wildly. Metal clanged as I parried a desperate cut of her daedric blade, taking steps closer and backhanding her across the face again with enough force that she staggered backwards and fell onto her back.
Involuntarily wailing with pain, the dagger dropped from trembling fingers as she raised the hand to ward off my punishing blows. The impact a metal on metal echoed above the screams and cries of alarm from those huddling masses around us as I kicked her in the chest, keeping her from regaining her balance and rising to her feet. Heavier, and now much stronger I took the iniative, kicking her hand in her sword arm and stomping on her hand until her broken fingers released the grip on the serrated weapon. Another kick left her winded, clutching at her wounded hands and moaning through the mask and being completely unable to resist as I grasped her by her armoured gorget, hauling her up and stabbing down with the point of Sunchild.
The tug of fleshy resistance was short-lived as the blade sheared through daedric fabric and her mortal clothing underneath. Sliding the gleaming edge of Sunchild into the thinner part of her armour where the metal plates of the mask met the gorget and pauldrons I speared it deep into her chest. Her eyes widened, staring hopelessly at me as the blade continued its short, but quick passage between her throat and collarbone, not stopping until the hilt came to rest against her skin and the flood of gore. The tip of Sunchild was somewhere in the depths of her chest, the blood spurting out hot after slicing through throat, lungs, heart and guts in its passage.
Her gasps and screams died with her, the gushing fountain of blood that washed out of the wound in her throat ceasing shortly after and leaving me with the strange yearning that always filled the core of my being when seeing and smelling blood. The hot coppery taste of blood in my mouth was only heightened by the amount of the stuff slowing to a trickle from her throat, a smell that could not be overpowered by the daedra-stink of her armour. I could feel myself salivating at the sight, until thankfully my attention was drawn to a new source of commotion making its way through the press of witnesses and onlookers to the fight and death in their midst.
Alerted to the chaos in the tannery a handful of armoured guards came running, swords unsheathed and held in experienced, if somewhat nervous hands. They pushed and jostled their way through the crowds giving me and the dying assassin a wide berth, arriving just in time to see the woman finally succumb to her injuries and the horrid black plate start to dissolve from her flesh. The guards of Skingrad were quick and professional, ordering me to drop to my knees, place my weapons on the ground and remain still while they secured the area. Within minutes they had detained individuals as witnesses and efficiently went about their job of piecing together what had occurred.
Even before the would-be assassin’s body had begun to cool I had been cleared of any wrongdoing. The young prefect in charge of this group of guards being told unanimously that the woman on the ground had attacked me without warning and had been intent on my murder. Everyone who had been asked from the crowd had spoken in my favour, stating that I had acted wholly in self-defence and while they were not overly happy about how a body had been left staining the cobblestones they were not going to press charges or throw me in dungeons. The fact that not only that dozens of people including themselves had seen the way she had been clad in daedric armour certainly helped.
In less than an hour the guard covered the body with a cloak, set up a cordon to keep the gathering crowd at a respectable distance, asked the necessary questions and then let everyone to go about their business. For the most part it was almost like nothing untoward had occurred. Labourers went back to their jobs, deliveries were continued and bartering recommenced even if most were still unnerved at the death in their midst.
The leatherworker and tanner were thankfully still close by and the pelt of the minotaur hadn’t been stolen or otherwise lost in the confusion. It took a lot less time that I was expecting to finish closing the deal with the two of them, their hearts were no longer in the trade after witnessing me almost casually slaying a would-be murderer with as much emotion as they would swatting a fly. After handing over a handful of silver and copper septims I left them to collect their thoughts and return to their occupations while I effectively vanished in the crowds outside of the tannery.
Walking through the crowds gave me time to think and also to feel the swelling on my face from where the assassin had punched me. The gap in my mouth where one of my molars once sat was aggravating and I idly poked at it with my tongue and feeling the steady pulse of blood from the injury. My eye was starting to feel the swelling as well and I knew that the bruise would be livid by the time I returned to the chapterhouse. It irked me in a way that it was the first injury or scar that I had suffered that was an actual loss. All other injuries I had sustained over the years were scars across my skin and thankfully I had not lost a digit or eye or something worse during my time in the legion. The missing tooth felt almost as though it was the beginning of the end, and signified that perhaps from this point onward I would begin to lose parts of my body instead of receiving more scars instead.
What was concerning me more however was the way I had fought. From the moment that I had turned and narrowly missed having a knife plunge between my ribs to stabbing her in the neck I had been completely emotionless. My heart had not raced, adrenaline didn’t make itself felt and not once did I feel as though I was labouring from the effort of the fight. I had not even started breathing heavily, nor felt any fear or concern while someone was actively attempting to take my life. Even as I stabbed deep into her flesh and took her life there was no remorse, no pity and not even the slightest feeling of regret or disgust with my actions. I had simply battered her into a pulp, and took her life without even a second glance or thought to the contrary.
In the later seconds of the fight she had gone from a threat to being helpless and it didn’t hold me back in the slightest. I could have easily disarmed her, taken her as a prisoner to be handed over to the guard but instead I had taken her life. It chilled me to the core in the realisation that unlike the numerous times I had fought during my service to the Legion there had been no fear, no exhilaration or unease. Instead I was a hollow vessel with no emotions to fill it. Only when the vampire surfaced did the empty hollow of my soul become filled but instead of fear or terror it was instead filled with darkness, the cloying depths of hatred and the pleasure at taking lives and inflicting pain. Against the minotaurs I had felt something barely recognisable as wariness but there had been no fear. In the Mythic Dawn Shrine there had only been anger and rage, mixed with fear of Viconia’s safety that had filled me with the burning fury and the strange gratification of slaughtering dozens in the most brutal ways possible.
There was little doubt in my mind that I was losing myself piece by piece. My soul was being dragged into darkness and there was nothing I could do to stop the increasingly rapid slid to damnation. What was beginning to terrify me however was that I was no longer sure whether I wanted to stop myself from going over the edge. I was beginning to enjoy the darkness and the power that it offered.
Viconia was already at the chapterhouse by the time I arrived, sorting through a small collection of coins that represented more money than what I would’ve seen in a lifetime of legion savings. Her eyes were alight with the same strange glow that appeared whenever she looked upon wealth or trappings of power and influence, and I could see that she had spent some of the money already to gain better clothes.
For the moment she was dressed in a central Nibeanese dress; a flowing garment of silk and silver threads that was completely at odds to the worn leather and chainmail she had worn for the previous months. Once again I felt the pang of the attraction I had for her suddenly knife me in the gut, seeing all too well that the flowing silk did nothing to hide her beauty and only seemed to accentuate it. A simple belt clinched it around her waist, and it hung freely from her shoulders, leaving her forearms bare and a short slit down the front revealed a considerable amount of cleavage. A strange sense of remorse filled me as the ghostly white trails of scarring could be seen across every inch of dark flesh, showing a networked history of pain that had been etched into skin.
She looked up as I entered, the sound of the door and my booted footsteps on the stone floor announcing my presence. She caught my eyes in her wolf-like gaze which seemed to turn cunning and predatory for an instant before an alluring smile smothered it.
"I was wondering when you would return." Rising gracefully to her feet she floated over to me with her sandalled feet making no sound.
As she moved closer she saw the red swelling of my jaw and eye and raised an eyebrow. "It seems that I can’t leave you to your own devices."
Reaching up she tilted my head to the side with the back of her hand, gazing over my fresh wounds. The touch and feel of her skin against mine almost made me sigh with pleasure but I clamped down and ground my teeth instead. There was no doubt that she was toying with me, even as she stepped back with an amused twinkle in her eyes and folded her arms.
"I got into a fight." My reply was simple and only made her pout slightly.
"That much is obvious dos’wael. Was it anyone interesting?"
"A cultist." My grin was still somewhat shocking as my teeth still slightly pink with blood. "She tried to stab me in the back."
"And yet here you are darkening the doorway looking like you were struck in the face. They must’ve been incompetent or had terrible accuracy."
"Ha. She was a pretty good fighter actually. Got a few good hits in before I managed to finish it." With my free hand I gestured to her as I placed the coins I had left over from my visit to the tannery on the table. "I see that you have managed to procure some new clothes."
She flicked her hair back slightly to get it from her eyes. "I grew tired of wearing those rags I have been stewing in for weeks. While we’re in town at least I thought I would wear something more comfortable instead."
The expression that filled her face was all challenge as though she was daring me to say something against her spending the money on non-essentials. Truth be told with the amount of wealth we had found ourselves in possession of I doubted that she would have been able to spend the entire amount in less than two days.
"It... It looks good." I stammered, feeling my heart suddenly racing. From the lack of emotion that I felt during a life-or-death battle this situation felt alien and left me feeling somewhat nauseous in comparison.
Her smile grew broader in a combination of pleasure at my poorly attempted compliment and in an all-too-familiar expression of predatory hunger that I was becoming too accustomed to. It made me feel as though she was a spider and I was an insect stuck in her web for her amusement and appetite.
"The dress? Or me?"
The smell of the perfume she had applied was thickening the air around me and I suddenly found my mind wrapped in cobwebs. At that point anything would have been a welcome reprieve from my own nervousness and the growing lust consuming me. If an Oblivion Gate had opened outside the door at that very moment I would’ve thrown myself into it without hesitation.
"Uh... Both?"
She laughed, her voice suddenly musical and still managing to be sensuous. "You have such a way with women abbil. They must fall by their dozens at your feet."
"I have never been that lucky." I replied half-jokingly.
"Well, by what I have seen these past weeks on the surface I’m surprised and somewhat appalled at what you surfacers consider courtship. Powdered and perfumed, weighed down with wigs and cloth and not one using any form of skill or what little natural grace they were gifted with."
I suddenly found myself uncomfortably close to her as she stepped forward until she was less than a daggers length away. Fully clad in my armour and gaining a couple of centimetres in height from my leather boots she seemed so tiny and petite, almost appearing fragile until one saw the steel-like cords of muscle threading through her limbs. The scent of her flesh wrapped around me as I looked down into her yellow eyes, feeling my desire growing almost like that of my thirst for blood.
"I have seen you look at women in our travels, but they have never seemed to have retained your attention for more than a glance." Unbidden my enhanced senses suddenly allowed me to feel the warmth of her body, and hear the steady pulse of her heart beating in her chest as my nervousness was building more than just my desire. "There were times I wondered whether you were a eunuch or otherwise enfeebled but I have also seen the way you look at me."
A finger traced a pattern up my steel breastplate and despite the layers of greased leather, cloth, chainlink and steel I could have sworn I could feel the caress of her fingertip as it wove a pattern. "I know all too well how to stir your emotions and there are none in this world that deserve anything that you have to give."
For a heartbeat I felt sure that she was about to move even closer and kiss me, or touch me or do anything but instead the hand withdrew and she stepped away. Every nerve ending was aflame with overwhelming desire and couldn’t tell whether it was my nervousness, inexperience or self-control that kept me as unmoving as a statue.
There was a moment of disappointment in her eyes before it became satisfaction, leaving her tapping a finger against her chin in thought. "Tidy yourself up abbil, and wipe that expression from your face. I don’t think it will be a good idea to show everyone that you are standing straight by drooling from both sides of your mouth at once."
Turning in a flurry of fabric and silk she scooped up the pile of coins into the tiny chest we had procured for our stay, looking over her shoulder to where I still stood dumbfounded. "I will see you for dinner. Don’t be late."
After she ghosted from the room with liquid grace and the door closed behind her alluring form I remained rooted to the floor. Thousands of thoughts were running through my head and I wrestled with them all. I had never felt so confused in my life and while I felt somewhat angry and insulted in the way that she teased and played with my emotions and feelings I couldn’t help yearning for more. My body and soul yearned with a clenching fire for even the hint of the slightest touch from my alluring companion.
Instead, after finally collecting my thoughts sufficiently enough to be able to remember how to breathe properly I simply sat in a chair, staring into the wooden wall and trying to understand just exactly I had found myself in since deserting. The mood between Viconia and I bordered on outright flirting and some not-so-subtle teasing from her. Not knowing what to do I simply chose not to react, which in turn only seemed to encourage her to continue. It was maddening and in so many different ways I was finding myself being lost to the various changes eroding my soul and personality.
The fortnight we remained in Skingrad became steadily more productive, receiving and fulfilling a handful of contracts in the local area. Each contract seemed to increase our growing fortunes despite our best efforts to spend some of it, and by the time we would have to move on we were both more suitable attired and prepared. New leathers and more expensive cloth covered our bodies, and each of us kept more comfortable attire for our stays in towns or cities. My hauberk had been repaired and adjusted to be more a second skin and to suit my physique as well as leaving the necessary space for when the vampire took over and filled my muscles with its strength.
Viconia no longer dressed in what was comparatively rags to her beauty, instead even her armour had been chosen not only for its protection but the way it looked while she wore it. Every buckle, piece of cloth and chainlink was of the best quality that she had managed to procure and soon pieces of jewellery found its way into her possession. Rings, necklaces and a headband of Stirling silver soon became permanent decorations that only seemed to highlight her natural allure while not appearing ostentatious or making her a target for thieves.
Several new contracts arrived fo the guild to fulfil and we found ourselves busy with clearing a nearby silver mine of goblins, rescuing a daughter of one of the town burghers and a few other minor errands that usually revolved around some form of animal control. Otherwise we trained and spent time around the city. Due to her interest in several of the books I had acquired I soon found myself teaching her to read what little I knew of ancient cyrodillic and Dunmeri. In return she began teaching me Drow; something that she seemed impressed with how quickly I managed to pick up the basics. Spending such time in close proximity did nothing for my confused feelings for her and the uncertainty of our relationship, but it was pleasant nonetheless.
Over a week since our battle against the minotaurs Viconia and I were in the training yard outside the back of the chapterhouse. Skingrad was one of the most densely built cities in Cyrodiil; houses, taverns, workshops, chapels and all other types of buildings built up against each other with narrow alleys splitting them. There was no sense of an overgrown slum; every building had been erected to exacting specifications and every city street had been placed in the most economical of positions. In recent years the Count had governed with extreme adeptness, ensuring that no space was wasted in the city and that gardens and trees were placed in every conceivable position.
The chapterhouse’s twenty-metre-wide training yard was bordered by several gardens of nearby houses and a tall, steel barred fence. For the few times that we had trained outside we had gained something of a following from a handful of locals who would stop for a few minutes to watch us. They would stand, leaning against the fence or in the case of the handful of curious children; pressing their faces between the bars to stare in amazement as we fought in a way that few could match.
Viconia was lightning fast, each attack snaking out and only barely blocked or parried by my own blade. Whichever way, it was never an easy win for either of us for any of our sessions. From time to time I would find the tip or edge of her blade resting up against my throat, under an arm or lightly tapping against the inside of my thigh. The rare few occasions I would win she would find herself swept off her feet literally as I used my larger size and mass to take her down, or tap the point of Sunchild against her chest or throat.
"Nicely done." She said, as she allowed me to pick her up from where once again I had managed to grapple her and sweep her legs out from under her. "You have at least some form of skill."
"Do you think I would have survived this long if I didn’t have some ability?"
"Ha. For the surface you have been a combination of skilful and exceedingly lucky." She held Dragonbane out in front of her with a somewhat low guard, appearing deceptively open to attack. "But for the Underdark I would give you a life expectancy measured in days. Maybe a week at the most."
I swung Sunchild in a somewhat deceptive feint for her throat, watching as she simply swayed aside and didn’t even bother blocking or parrying. Instead she snaked out her own blade, forcing me to twist the slice into a sweeping downward strike that left both blades ringing. "Vvardenfell was not a walk through meadows."
"That I have no doubt." The blade flashed again and again I found myself stepping back from her attacks that were always perfect at gaining the initiative. "But the Underdark was not for the weak, and although you are resourceful and strong you would be like a child to the followers of Lloth."
"I seem to be capable of holding my own against you." With a grunt of effort, I forced her back with an ungentle punch to her stomach that left her briefly winded. The first time we had sparred I had pulled my punches and attacks in fear of hurting her. After the way she had beaten me bloody as "punishment’ I had soon realised that she saw it as a grave insult if we didn’t fight to the best of our abilities. Neither of us pulled punches and after our more serious of training sessions it was not unusual for us to be left bleeding from minor injuries such as cuts and gashes.
"That you can." She returned my punch with a spinning kick that used the momentum of her twisting away from my blade to smash me across the jaw. "But I am far from a trained drow warrior."
Spitting blood and shaking my head I looked over to her, feeling the worn cobblestones under my palms and knees. "You could’ve fooled me."
With a sinuous grace she strode over to where I knelt and watched as I staggered to my feet. "I am... I was a priestess of the Spider Queen. While receiving some form of training in the martial arts it was not what we specialised in."
Sunchild gave birth to a handful of sparks as I dragged it from where it had lain. "I’ve seen the things you can do, and between both of us we have achieved things that should have been impossible."
With a twist of the wrist she flicked the humming edge of Sunchild away with a deft parry. "But you have your nature, I am just what I am."
Another series of blows filled the air with the sounds of clashing metal and ringing blades. "My nature is the only way that I can even contend with your skill and abilities. I am faster, stronger and more resilient than most mortals. Hell, it’s even letting me regrow lost teeth." We staggered apart and I found myself idly I poking the space where the cultist had knocked out the tooth with the tip of my tongue, feeling the sharpness of a new one pushing through the gum. "It frightens me somewhat knowing that not only do your kind exist, but there is a way that they can reach the surface."
Her silence was deafening and for a moment she hesitated, her sword suddenly having the tiniest of trembles course through it. "The way I came here is not a path that others can follow."
Both of our guards lowered as we mutually ended the bout. Sunchild was returned to its scabbard as I handed her a waterskin filled from the city fountains and silence filled the air as we quenched our mutual thirsts. For several minutes we stood still, feeling the autumn breeze cooling the sweat on our skin and our hearts slowing their thunderous charges in our chests.
My breathing returned to normal, and I wiped at the sweat trickling down my forehead as I watched her carefully stretch out her arms and legs. In the previous months it was rare that I would be left feeling the pain and exertion from the training sessions, and since my corruption it was only Viconia and Belisarius who were able to make me sweat. After drinking my fill I wandered near the edge of the training area, lazily swinging my arms and stretching out the tiny aches that heralded training cramps and concentrating on controlling my breathing. Some of our sessions had been lasting for a couple of hours at least the previous weeks, but as I prepared for another bout she sheathed Dragonbane and sat on the stairs, looking dangerously lost and frail for the first real time since meeting her. Unbidden I walked over to her, sitting close enough for support but not too close to make it uncomfortable for either of us.
"I was a priestess of Lloth in Menzoberranzan, one of the few allowed in the Temple for the primary rites." She said simply, looking down at the cracked cobblestones in between her feet while hunching over slightly. "Each house was represented with a single priestess and their matron, and only us few were allowed to perform the necessary sacrifices that Lloth demanded. I was house DeVir’s priestess. My mother was the house Matron."
All thoughts and queries that I had were put aside for the moment as Viconia began speaking of her home and family. This was not something that she had even mentioned or hinted at during our time together.
"Our duties were surprisingly simple compared to the complex rituals that the acolytes of the Nine perform. There were no sermons, no hymns and no overly complicated steps that they had to follow. We would simply choose from the slave stocks or any recent prisoners taken by the soldiers, drag them into the temple and sacrifice them on the altar. Depending on what was demanded it could be as simple as cutting their throat or cutting their heart from their chest, or as difficult and as drawn out as slowly cutting them apart while keeping them alive for days."
The almost hidden tremor began to grow and I saw how she began to fret and fidget with her fingers as though she was pulling apart a piece of fabric one strand at a time. "One day, House DeVir was chosen for the daily sacrifice, a responsibility that fell to me to complete. The sacrifice this time was a young infant, weeks old at the most and for the first time I could not bring myself to do it. It wouldn’t have been the first time that I had killed the very young but there was something in me that simply refused to stab down with my dagger. I found myself frozen there, fighting against myself and being the first Drow in living memory to fail to complete Lloth’s bidding."
She sighed sharply and I was more chilled to the core not at her words but the way that she portrayed no emotion other than the tremble running through her. "Mother stepped forward, snatching the dagger from my hand and finished what I could not. Her rage was so terrible at me but it paled in comparison to Lloth’s indignation and wrath. The other houses present sensed my weakness, and the weakness of my House and over the coming days their plays for power would become ever present. Lloth withdrew her favour, and soon it was all out war between us and the dozens of minor houses within the city. Our slaves were captured or killed, our holdings burned and almost every drow in a position of power was killed or simply disappeared. My mother and I tried everything, using the last of the house’s influence and dwindling finances to undertake sacrifice after sacrifice but it was all for nought. Mobs were baying outside when mother decided that it was only my blood that would appease the Spider Goddess and she decided that only by sacrificing me would House DeVir survive."
"She obviously didn’t succeed then." I added as humorously as I could manage.
I was rewarded with a brief, short lived smile. "Yes. She failed. But not because of incompetence or through any actions of my own. At that moment I had given in to what I believed was my fate, and went willingly to the altar. Valas however, had different ideas."
Glistening with the tiniest amount of tears, her eyes glanced over to me before she suppressed her emotions once more. "Valas was my brother. He came for me right before the end, choosing to stand with me and against our mother and Lloth. He used what magic he could to free me, and even slew mother when she resisted. It was all for nothing however."
"What happened to him?"
She leaned back on the stairs, looking up over the tiled rooftops of the buildings surrounding the training square. I knew that at that moment she was imagining how it would have looked if the sky was a towering ceiling of stone instead of a white-streaked ocean of blue. "Lloth happened. Her displeasure was so great that she came as House DeVir fell to the hordes. As he tried to protect me she cursed him without as much as a glance. Death is too little of a punishment to those who displease her, he was turned into a drider; cursed to live for the rest of his existence as a half-spider, half-drow aberration. He will live out the rest of his days trapped in a physical shell of a monster, unable to control himself and witness to all the horrors that he will wrought in Lloth’s name."
Somehow her hand found my own and despite the darkness of her story I couldn’t help but feel pleasure at the sensation of her fingers intertwining with my own. Even when her grip made my knuckles creak from the vicing pressure.
"They captured me. I do not know which house finally took me as their spoils but it was by Lloth’s decree that I was not to die. My punishment was to be kept alive for the whims of the goddess until she grew tired of me. I don’t remember or even know how long I was trapped in the slave pits, but the pain still remains fresh in the mind."
My mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton and I squeezed her hand in an awkward display of support. "In Cheydinhal I was told that there would be few within Tamriel who has suffered as you have."

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