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"No rest for the wicked?" There was a chorus of laughs from the others as we clinked mugs and flagons together.
Their words were troubling but in the light of the increasing daedric power and the overhanging end of the world approaching a single cathedral didn’t seem to be an overly large cause of concern. Darkness was slowly covering the lands of Tamriel but places like Kvatch were proving to be tiny pinpoints of light and hope despite everything.
Viconia and I spent the night in the company of the legionaries and Savlian Matius, filling our bellies with mead and mass-produced alcohol and the roasted meat from one of the several spits that had been set up throughout the plaza. The festivities continued until shortly after midnight when everyone began retiring with a well-practiced routine in preparation of another day of back breaking labour. The legionaries were fulfilling both their military and civil roles in the burnt-out husk of the city; some would patrol the streets, direct traffic and escort caravans of supplies and trade goods to where they were needed. The rest could be found assisting the hundreds of other labourers as they went about their jobs of steadily reclaiming the city’s fire blasted districts. The Legions were not only responsible for keeping the peace and defeating the Empire’s enemies but were also the men and women who had been responsible for constructing nearly every road, highway, aqueduct and watchpost in Tamriel. The engineering skill of being able to build a fortified camp in the matter of hours was put to good use in demolishing and tearing down crumbled ruins, stacking mounds of salvaged building materials and clearing paths for the hundreds of others. Used to a harsh life, the dozens of legionaries were able to provide aid far beyond their few numbers; each soldier able to perform tasks and labours equal to four or five civilians through the daylight hours. Of a night they would drink themselves insensible, crawl into their bedding and awake with the dawn for another day of work and toil.
Keeping ourselves with mostly clear heads come dawn, both Viconia and I rose with the sun and found ourselves bidding farewell to yet another group of individuals aware of our identities and fame. I doubted that I would ever be comfortable in being recognisable and there were many times where I wished I could fade into obscurity with as much ease as my vampiric ability of vanishing into the shadows.
Leaving the blackened city behind us we rode down the winding highway to the west. Snaking through the outcroppings of rock and in some places punching through where teams of men had forcibly carved the highway’s passage we followed the cobblestones towards our destination. County Kvatch was sparse in comparison to the densely wooded forests of Chorrol and mountainous ranges of Bruma, but County Anvil was even more so. Rolling hills and small thickets of woods were scattered as far as the eye could see, and other than streams and creeks flowing south to the Strid River there was barely any break in the landscape. To the south the depths of Valenwood lingered just over the horizon, leaving the distance smeared with greenery on the opposite bank of the massive river when the road rose onto a hill high enough to see that far.
Otherwise the Gold Coast seemed to live up to its name, everywhere autumn dried fields of grasses swayed in the breeze and the proximity between Valenwood and the Deserts of Hammerfell ensured that the temperatures rose and became slightly uncomfortable in our clothes and armour. Only during the cool of the evenings did we find ourselves comfortable, taking the time to shed a few of the layers to rest and I found myself dressed in just my leathers and chainmail for most of the journey.
Each night we stayed indoors, paying for lodging at the coaching inns along the road and being thankful that we no longer had the issues with coin as what we had weeks previously. Each night we stayed in semi-comfortable beds, eating well from the collections of food but I was finding rest more and more difficult to acquire every evening. The thirst that I had so far managed to keep at bay for the past week since a short feed within the walls of Skingrad was growing ever more pressing and I knew that it would not be long before I would have to satiate it lest the beast rise to the surface and take control.
Arriving at the Brina Cross Inn shortly after lunch we decided to stay the afternoon and evening rather than travelling the last handful of hours to reach the city. While the journey would have been short comparatively we decided against finishing it in the afternoon as it would have been well after dark by the time that we would arrive in the port city. We rested for the most part, making ourselves comfortable for the short stay and allowing me to have some time alone in the nearby wilderness.
Under the guise of hunting some fresh meat for the inn I faded into the few copses of birch and waded through the waist high grasses of the hills throughout the area. Game was plentiful in the regions between the cities but the vast tracts of plains of County Anvil made hunting somewhat more difficult than other regions. Anything smaller than a deer could easily hide within the depths of the rolling grasslands and I was never one for hunting the birdlife, preferring boar or venison over pheasant or grouse. For a handful of hours I stalked through the region until the sight of the tall walled coaching inn faded over the rises, the sun beginning to lower over the horizon and cover the land with golden hues.
Farms were rare, and only a handful of minor settlements could be found scattered throughout the county. Agriculturally poor, most of the wealth could be found on the coast where the bounty of the oceans could easily be attained. Fishing villages dotted most of the coastline, intermingled with various saltworks that produced sizable quantities of the mineral for packing and curing. A significant amount of the population was found within a few hundred metres of the Abecean Sea and only a few hundred braved the depths of the county.
Finally coming across a small herd of hardy Colovion goats that without my vampiric senses I would’ve struggled to locate I managed to down one with a deep tanged broadhead. The impact of the arrow threw it to the ground bleating piteously and loud enough that I could hear it even without my vampiric hearing from two hundred yards away. The rest of the herd scattered it all directions, fleeing into the depths of the swaying grasses and vanishing, leaving the wounded one to finish bleeding out in the dusty soil.
With my fresh kill draped over both shoulders, bow unstrung and in its leather carry case I strode through the grasses as they caressed my armoured thighs. Dressed in my chainmail and leather I was soon sweating in the autumn heat, the salt stinging my eyes and reminding me of the deep aches and creaking muscles of dragging the head of the minotaur lord for several kilometres. The goat, while heavier than my armour and equipment combined was barely enough to slow me down or even give me a sore back. As dusk began to drag the sun down towards the horizon I found myself breaking into a mild jog as the vampire embraced the gloom and lengthening shadows, my chainmail jingling across the flagstones of the highway as I made my way west back towards the tavern.
At this hour there was little traffic on the road, the pounding of hooves absent as messengers and traveller alike began to prepare themselves for the evening ahead. Nearly all were settling indoors or putting the final preparations on their campsites if they found themselves too far from a tavern or stable.
Steadily my armoured boots pounded into the surface of the road until my lungs finally began to tighten and the bouncing impacts of the goat carcass against my shoulder made themselves felt. For the most part the roads were deserted, which allowed me to chew away at the distance between myself and the inn but as I made it to the final stretch I had to slow my pace to a crawl as a single individual made her way the opposite direction. Normally the passing of strangers on the road was a frequent occurrence, but to come across a lone individual this close to evening, travelling in the opposite direction to the nearest tavern was enough to make me uneasy.
Dressed in a finely made, but well-worn dress that flowed with every step I watched as she made her way down the road without the slightest concern with the descending night. The dress was ankle length and made for lengthy travels along the road, but did not appear as clothing that one may find on someone travelling by foot. A simple travellers bag was slung over a shoulder, fashioned like a handbag that was hanging by her hip and other than a simple dagger in its leather sheath she wore little else. My wariness was only further increased by the distinct lack of any other baggage or travelling items such as a bedroll or waterskin and while possible I found it difficult to believe that she was simply out for an evening stroll. No one in their right mind or without purpose would be alone and a handful of kilometres between the closest building at this hour.
Moving towards her I studied her closely, seeing the determined expression as she stared at me and the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked at me. She was tall, finely featured and somewhat attractive in the way that all elves seemed to be. While not comparable to Viconia, the Altmer strolling down the road towards me was considerably good looking; long legs, luscious hips and a body that most men would not mind warming their beds for an evening. The level of arrogance, so typical of Altmer seemed to be infused into every gesture and step she made as the distance between us closed until we found ourselves with less than a handful of metres between us.
"Good evening." She said sweetly, looking me over and staring distastefully at the bloodless corpse of the goat slung over my shoulders.
"Good evening." I replied, feeling my arms tense from where they were holding onto the goats by the legs. Every instinct I had, both human and vampiric were screaming at me now and I was struggling to keep my face neutral, even as she drew her dagger with an experienced hand and smiled wickedly.
Whatever thoughts were going through her mind it was obvious that she had mistaken the expression of weariness on my face as fear or surprise. "I'm afraid your journey ends here, traveller."
"Can’t a week go by without someone attempting to rob or stab me?" I muttered, not quiet loud enough for her to hear. The bones of my skull were tingling, and I pressed my mouth closed in a grimace to hide the fact that my incisors were beginning to lengthen.
"I'll be taking whatever you're carrying."
"You have chosen the very worst person to rob." I said simply, shifting my weight imperceptibly, and tightening my grip on the goat carcass even as she laughed.
"This isn’t a usual robbery." She replied, and a hovering spike of ice appeared in the palm of her hand with a simple gesture. Even from the distance of four metres I could feel the sudden shift in temperature as she called upon potent magicka. Whoever she was, she was a powerful mage and my unease grew stronger. "I do hope you have more on you than the last few had. They were most disappointing."
"And I hope that you will simply turn around and forget you ever saw me." The beast was growing stronger now and its urges were not going to be simply crushed aside for much longer. In the gathering twilight she was unable to see how my jaw and brows began to tighten and skin grow as taut as a bowstring. "I can give you a head start, otherwise your life is forfeit."
"You really don’t understand the situation you are in... Do you fool? I am going to be taking everything of value you hold, and you of course be dead when that happens."
"Not if I kill you first." My grin was ferocious and there was no mistaking the fact that my incisors had grown long and pointed even with the distance that separated us. The sudden look of fear that crossed her features was glorious to behold to my darker nature and for a moment her spell flickered as her concentration wavered.
Mouth opening wide in horror she instinctively realised my true nature, flinging her hand forward she threw the magical spike of ice at me as though it was a throwing dagger. The frozen blade narrowly missed my chest as I twisted aside with unnatural speed, feeling the frigid passage flow over my exposed face even as I swung the goat in her direction.
With a cry of surprise, she fell backwards when the full force of the thrown goat knocked her onto her rear. The level of horror and fear that was flowing from her pores was only inciting the beast consuming my sanity to push further from the depths of my soul. I could sense her heart beating in her chest, feel the panicking breaths as she dragged them into her lungs and hear the mumbled incantations as she struggled to call upon every ounce of magical ability to save her from me.
A wave of frost and blasting ice flowed from her outstretched hand as she threw the goat off, and I felt the full force of the icy blast strike me right in the chest and send shivers through the core of my being. With the full force of a storm rolling in from the sea of Ghosts I felt my teeth chattering, even as I staggered forward with my head down as though I was simply marching head first into the heart of the storm. The level of power flowing from her fingertips was staggering and within seconds I was concerned for my chances. Sunchild was still tightly clasped in its sheath, the growing layers of frost crackling over my chainmail freezing it tight in the scabbard along with all my other blades. Each step suddenly became laborious as I had to physically tear the soles of my boots from the growing ice shards erupting and consuming the ground under me and the tingling of my jaw and skull was soon replaced with what felt like the onset of frostbite.
The beast however was unconcerned like it always was with the difficulties of the flesh, instead flooding my muscles with warmth and unnatural strength that allowed me to simply batter my way through spells that had every right killing me in a single step. Scrabbling backwards one handed she roared her frustration and utter terror to the sky as I simply came on through the spell, armour cracking and sleet pouring from my leather and chainmail as I reached out with blackened talons and caught her hand.
Shrieking in pain as well as overwhelming terror she struggled, pulling and trying desperately to free herself from the beartrap of a grip I had caught her hand in. What little control over her spells was soon gone as I crushed the fine bones of her hand and wrist, leaving her fingers broken and twisted even as she shrieked in utter agony.
"You should have run." I growled, and through the haze of terror and pain she gazed into my face that was now wholly consumed by the daedric vampire. The horror on her elfin features was struggling through the pain as she grasped at her ruined hand, twitching away from me even as I drew myself even closer until my hot breath was rustling the hair framing her face.
Releasing my grip on her mangled hand I gripped her tightly by the jaw until my talons drew tiny droplets of blood from her cheeks and throat. The fear in her eyes was intoxicating and my desire for her blood was thundering through my mind as I leant over her, running a tongue up the curves of her throat and tasting the tiny droplets of the ruby fluid leaking from the scratches. I could taste the sweat and lingering traces of excitement and arousal that she had felt leading up to what she had considered to be an easy mark and the eventual taking of a life. Like the beast controlling my actions she enjoyed death and inflicting pain on others but had never contemplated that one day that she might be on the receiving end of such actions.
Shudders wracking her body, she soon realised that the beast would not be simply satiated with her blood. When my distorted lips pressed against her own and my tongue began snaking into her mouth, the sounds of her dress being shredded were lost to her screams of horror and realisation.
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.
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 Drow 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 drow.
Azzan twisted around, his jovial expression changing into a mask of hatred and determination in seconds. He glanced between the two of us and Rhano, seeing the handful of other fighters appearing from other doorways as they heard the announcement. The level of horror, fear and shock at the words was evident on all our faces but within moments there was a flurry of activity.
Bellowing orders on the top of his lungs, he strode through the hall as Viconia, myself and every guildsman present began hurriedly arming and armouring ourselves. My hauberk was shrugged over my shoulders and arms, shaking it into place with the jingling of metal as its comforting weight made itself felt. Pulling straps tight as quickly as I could I pulled the breastplate onto my chest, linking the armoured faulds covering my thighs to the breastplate and locking the pauldrons into their places. Vambraces, boots, greaves and every piece of armour that I owned was quickly attached to my body and as the growing din of screams, howls and thunder grew in intensity. Within minutes I found myself surrounded by two dozen similarly armed mercenaries and sellswords.
Viconia, like me was dressed in every scrap of armour that she owned and standing before the towering form of Azzan as he hefted his enormous Warhammer in both hands. While I was more heavily armoured than what I had been since the fight against the Minotaurs, Azzan made me feel underdressed. A full suit of plate armour ensured that every inch of his body was covered with metal, and under that were layers of chainmail and padded leather. Easily weighing more than forty kilograms it was the sort of armour that Knights could’ve undertaken jousts in but he moved with little hindrance, looking over us all with a face framed by thick padded leather and encased in an open visored armet.
"Right then. Let’s do this."
Turning on his heel he marched out the door, the Warhammer clasped in his hands and almost the full force of the Anvil Guild following. Viconia and I found ourselves following closely in his footsteps, most of the other members of the guild hanging back somewhat as we exited the chapterhouse’s front doors and found ourselves in the midst of a nightmare.
Wracked with red and yellow savagery, the sky was tortured and roiling with ethereal clouds and crackling energies. Freshy ripped into our world, the upper sections of the roaring oblivion portal could be seen peeking over the walls and towers of the city’s main gatehouse. High above us, the streaks of clouds were being pushed and shredded by the ever-expanding shockwave of the portal’s explosive birth, leaving the churning energies of oblivion to darken the sky with unnatural twilight like the focused shadow of an eclipse.
Screams echoed from the sprinting rush of panicking humanity, as hundreds fled from the unnatural maw of the portal beyond the walls and the death that it signified. In a trampling stampede of panic and terror, men, women and children pushed, shoved and beat at each other in an effort to flee deeper into the city to whatever safety they perceived throughout the press the cries of pain of those unlucky to fall beneath the stamping feet were lost to the maelstrom of noise. Every bell within the city tolled relentlessly, and the mournful howls of dogs added to the inescapable din with their cries of horror and instinctive awareness of what was coming. Birds of every kind and flocks of seagulls cawed, flapping in clouds of wings and feathers as they too fled to the south and the open ocean, choosing the emptiness of the sea to the unnatural rent in reality.
The sight of so many heavily armoured and armed men and mer didn’t rate a mention to those fleeing from the walls and the city’s great gate. Instead our group appeared to be little more than a rock lodged in a stream. Those in front like Viconia, Azzan and myself were jostled and bumped by dozens of terrified civilians as we shouldered our way through the press. Roared orders from Azzan to clear a path and drowish epithets didn’t make the slightest impact to the hordes, but it wasn’t long before they began to thin and we found ourselves in the shadow of the primary gatehouse.
A huddle of clearly terrified and nervous city guard were there, armed with polearms, swords, maces and crossbows and clearly wishing to be anywhere else. From the walls barked orders struggled to be heard over the sounds of screams from those unlucky enough to be caught outside, and hairs rose all over my body as the guttural roars and shrieks of daedra could be clearly discerned.
The gatehouse had been slammed closed shortly after the terrible portal had breached Mundus, both gates grinding closed and the portcullises locking into place. Already those few guards on the walls were running back and forth, most wielding various hand cranking crossbows that they were aiming and firing over the parapet at the unseen foes. Enormous thumps of siege engines firing were felt rather than heard as the handful of engines situated with clear angles of attack hurled their missiles at the foe. Rocks from trebuchets, ballista bolts the size of saplings and oil filled pots were sent through the air, but from our position near the gate it was impossible to discern what effect they had.
Together, our group of guildsmen joined up with the huddling cohort of mailed guardsmen, the sensation of fear being all too readily identifiable. While numerous and outnumbering the guild easily eighty to one, not all of the guard were on duty at the same time. The off duty members of the city guard would be scattered throughout the city, and it would take time before they could prepare and organise themselves. Even if the thousands-strong guard and the castle men-at-arms were fully deployed and ready for the sudden and surprise daedric assault, there were a rare few amongst their number that would have any form of combat experience. These were not the highly trained, professional soldiers of the Imperial Legion, but a collection of craftsmen and ordinary citizens banding together with the blessing of the Countess to help patrol their streets, arrest thieves and fight fires. The most combat or fighting most of them would have seen would be breaking up drunken brawls in the city taverns and the occasional bandit who was dumb enough to try to rob someone. They may have been well equipped from the castle stockpiles but their chainmailed surcoats were worn by increasingly scared men and women, and weapons held in sweaty, loosening grips of those suddenly faced with their own mortality.

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