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I shifted forward slightly, and he raised his axe threateningly; the enormous butterfly head of the battleaxe easily as large as my torso. Shaking his head to Viconia and I he nodded to the crumbling walls of the fort and the shadow that rested on top of them on my side.
"Do you really think I could afford to let you leave here?" The rumbling of his voice echoed from the depths of his chest and I glanced at the furred figure pointing a bow at Viconia and I. Either one of the hunters or a college in his foul schemes, the Khajiit held the bow at full nock without the slightest tremble of effort.
The tusked grin was savage as he rested the bladed edge of the battleaxe against Aleron’s throat. "Drop yer weapons."
I hesitated for a moment but Kurdan merely pressed the razored edge into Aleron’s neck until a dribble of blood began running down. Growling my displeasure, I dropped Sunchild into the gravel with my dagger following a second later. Viconia looked at me with complete disgust, muttering my name intermingling with curses and drowish swearing as she too dropped Dragonbane.
Grinning even more terribly, face split with his tusks and eyes narrowing, Kurdan moved the battleaxe away from where it was cutting Aleron’s throat and laughed even louder. "Do you really think I could afford to let you leave here? No prey has ever left this island alive, and I aim to keep it that way."
With a gesture to his archer I heard the slapping sound of the bowstring and immediately my instincts and the vampire took over. Faster than what either of them could see I twisted in place, my face drawing tight and fangs splitting my lips apart as I turned and faced the Khajiit. Time slowing to my enhanced senses, I saw the way how the arrow curved with the force provided by the string and the bow, snapping it forward and rustling over the creature’s furred forefinger. With surprising ease I beheld the snarling expression of the cat-person, seeing the way its chest vibrated as it purred with the pleasure of sudden death even as I reached out and plucked the arrow out of the air as though I was merely catching a snowflake.
Time seemed to rush back to its correct speed and everyone, with the exception of the now-unconscious Aleron stared in a mixture of astonishment and horror at how I had caught the arrow. Freshly fed, I felt strong and absurdly fast, proving so when I lowered my arm holding the arrow and snapped it between my fingers.
Kurdan in his surprised dropped the nerveless body of Aleron to fall flat on his face in the dirt and the Khajiit stood like a furred statue, looking between me and his bow as he attempted to comprehend what had just occurred. Viconia however reacted far sooner; twisting and spitting an invocation that forced a headache into the back of my mind while hurling a bolt of lightning into the archer’s chest. With a rumble of thunder the singed corpse of the Khajiit smacked wetly into the gravel, fur smouldering from the discharge but now extremely dead.
In his own surprise Kurdan reacted just how any of his kind did when under stress; he gripped his battleaxe in both hands, dropped his shoulder and charged.
With a dozen metres between us and our weapons on the ground neither Viconia or I moved initially. Instead, reaching up behind myself to where the dark green hilt jutted from between my shoulder blades I gripped it tight in my fists. After cutting a hole large enough for the blade and hilt to sit comfortably I had strapped the Light of Dawn down the length of my spine where I had carried it since. It was the only position that I could comfortably carry the ninety-centimetre blade and not have it continuously caught up when I moved. The hilt sat behind my hooded and coif covered head and the point of the blade reached my thighs but it allowed me to move and fight with no hindrance.
Roaring on the top of his lungs and ejecting a foul mixture of tobacco juice and spit as he charged, Kurdan rushed across the open space with all the force of a charging ox. Instead of meeting his onrushing rush I merely stepped to the side, feeling the breeze of the enormous axe across my face as it cut where I had been only a moment before. Eyes only for me, he swung the weapon in wild blows, spinning it about and holding the entire weighted haft above his head in a block as I drew the gleaming edge of the Light of Dawn and cut down vertically in one single move.
Nothing appeared to happen, and a look of childlike confusion was plastered on his face as he stepped back from me, lowering his axe and staring at the way I held the ancient blade in both hands. I had moved with such sudden and shocking speed like when I had caught the arrow that he seemed unsure of my actions, glancing between Viconia and myself and readying himself for another attack.
"Is that sword made oof airth oo soomeginth..." he slurred, one eye rolling up into the back of his skull as he suddenly appeared to have a stroke. One side of his face twitched and drooped as though it had the consistency of wax before he fell forward and split into two separate halves from forehead to groin. Even the enormous battle-axe split in the centre of the haft, cutting the word Dragol into Dra and Gol.
"Vith." was all Viconia could mutter as she saw the damage that the Light of Dawn could when utilised by someone with my vampiric speed and strength. Even the vaunted protection of orichalcum plate armour had been nothing more than smoke to the enchanted blade.
The island was now little more than a tomb for Kurdan and those foolish enough to get involved in his sick schemes. Aleron was alive for the most part. The beating that he had sustained in the plated hands of the orc usurer leaving him almost crippled and comatose as we managed to drag one of the tiny boats away from the shore. Through pure luck the wind was blowing towards the city and we managed to hail one of the many fishing boats to assist in getting back to Bravil. A gold septim smoothed our passage and with our bloodied and dangerous appearances the threat of any potential swindle or doublecross was removed.
Aleron was left in the capable hands of the priests of Mara in the towering cathedral and despite his age and injuries we were told that he would make it. He would be missing teeth and have a limp for the rest of his natural life but both he and his thankful wife would be able to leave Bravil for the fresh start that she had spoken about. The contract payment, while measly compared to some of the others we had made in the previous weeks was still gratefully received from the overjoyed Ursanne Loche; providing another small collection of coins that went a long way towards allowing us to clean our armour and weapons.
In the evening I completed a piece of personal business that Viconia especially approved of. The story of how Kurdan’s bisected and severed head had appeared at his table in the Lonely Suitor Lodge swept through the city like wildfire. With my vampiric nature it had been surprisingly simple to slide through the shadows and deposit the grisly trophy on the table without anyone noticing but it was difficult to keep the savage grin from my face at the screams and cries as it was discovered. He had been well known for his heavy-handed methods of collecting the debts that he was owed and the fact that he had last been seen boasting about how he was going to "teach the heroes of Kvatch a lesson’ underlined our reputations. For the following days we noticed an obvious increase in deference whenever we travelled abroad in the city. Even the usual collection of pickpockets and cutpurses that shadowed every street corner suddenly began giving us wide berths and keeping their hands visible while in our presence.
Otherwise the city was dull. Choosing to remain in the local chapterhouse where the burning incense attempted to keep the stench of the city outside we spent time within the basement. Located in one of the richer districts on something that resembled solid ground, the chapterhouse was one of the few stone built structures within the city walls. Nestled close to the Cathedral district it was the best of a bad bunch, providing little more than lice free, dry beds that in Bravil was considered a blessing.
Those in the guild were used to performing hunts against bog ogres or hiring themselves out as muscle to the locals in various degrees of legality but the very nature of the city ensured that the members were more martial than most of their brothers and sisters in other cities. There were only the quick or the dead in Bravil, and those who couldn’t defend themselves soon found themselves floating face down in the mud that slid beneath the wooden platforms.
Despite our reputations, for the better part of three days we stayed in the chapterhouse, training against the other fighters. I found myself putting more and more distance between myself and Viconia as her mood continued to sour. Her opinions and thoughts of how we had willingly put ourselves in Kurdan’s trap and the way that I had dropped my weapons without hesitation only seemed to add further fuel to the roaring forge-heat of her temper. Most within the guild soon learned to clear her path as she prowled the chapterhouse’s halls, especially after more than one of them ended up with a black eye or other various bruises as a result.
Stripped to the waist, wielding nothing more dangerous than a wooden gladius I faced off against a pair of the Bravil guildsmen. By now all three of us were sporting red welts where the dulled edges had slapped flesh but I felt proud in the fact that they were suffering more than me.
Vincent Galien staggered backwards with an oath of pain as he clutched the fresh mark across his stomach, twisting away and trying to laugh his way through the pain. With a spin I had managed to slap my training sword in a way that would have left him scooping up his entrails had it been a live blade. Good naturedly he lowered his own sword in defeat as his fellow guildmate was left staggering up as she tried unsuccessfully to fend off a flurry of blows and strikes that left her dropping her sword after I cracked it across her knuckles.
"If you keep beating everyone to a pulp Kaius, then I won’t have anyone to train with."
I laughed as I gave a quick bow that was half in respect and half teasing in the direction of the spectators and the speaker. Between the metallic clangs of training and forging I looked over to the muscled form of the guild smith and gestured to the training ring. "You can always face me if you want."
Tadrose, skin dark as the coals she used to fuel her forge laughed and blew me a kiss. "You wouldn’t be able to handle me baby."
The mutual laughter from the guildsmen on the well-worn joke echoed in the muted basement. Tadrose was a solid woman, hardened from years of swinging a smithing hammer and a blade in service to the guild, but she and Vincent were partners in more than guild membership. In our travels they seemed to be the only couple in any form of relationship in the entire guild.
"Who’s up for something different?" I called out, looking about for any takers for another training session.
After watching me successively beat a quarter of the member’s present there was a little trepidation from the hardened fighters. All morning we had been training until sweat ran like rivers and while I had been taking part in nearly every bout I still felt surprisingly fresh. Everyone had a healthy respect for Viconia and myself and knew that we were hardened warriors even without our growing reputations.
"I’ll have a go." Grunted Skagvur; a nordic wall of muscle and runic tattoos.
"Excellent. Your choice of course."
He smiled, a pink knife-wound of a mouth shifting the braided mass of a beard. "Full armour and training weapons. I don’t need a new scar from that fancy pigsticker of yours."
"Sounds good to me." Excusing my way through some of the watchers I made my way over to one of the rough armour stands that also passed some of its time as a training dummy. Dressed in little more than boots, pants and belt the rest of my equipment hung from the sorrowful dummy frame that looked every inch as battered as what it really was.
Roughly attempting to dry the increasing layer of sweat off my torso with a linen towel I took gulping mouthfuls of brackish water mixed in with alcoholic spirits. Dysentery was rife in the city and even after boiling the water I ensured that a healthy mix of herbs and spirits were added to further reduce the chances of disease.
Behind me the sounds of renewed fighting and mocking catcalls began anew as several of the other fighters took this moment to spar on their own. In good humour the insults and jibes bounced harmlessly off those in the ring, proving that a thick skin was almost of greater importance than a sturdy shield in any martial service. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Viconia walk down the stairs and into the basement, looking about briefly with the usual scowl darkening her features. Watching her carefully I pulled my tunic on, shrugged on my daedroth scale armour and began the somewhat laborious process of buckling on my breastplate.
She gracefully strode through the basement, briefly glancing over to the fighters as the sound of a solid blow and a cry of pain of a solid strike hit home. The laughter and catcalls from the spectators meant that it was far from serious, but then again losing an eye in service to the guild was only considered to be a "minor setback'.
Gliding across the floor with the grace and majesty of a Blackmarsh jaguar the expression on her face was even more dour and humourless than normal. Since returning from Fort Grief I had been subconsciously and yet actively avoiding her as my mere presence seemed to act as a lightning rod to her anger and frustration. Training with the other members of the guild proved to be a useful distraction and it had so far kept me away from any further arguments such as the one in Glenvar County.
Sitting down with a thump I dropped into one of the well-worn and frequently repaired chairs near my armour. The minotaur leather boots rose up almost to my knees and provided the perfect underlayer for my ebony-steel alloy greaves and sabatons protecting the tops of my feet. Pulling the straps tight I glanced up as she strode over and planted herself heavily into another chair next to me, staring intently into my skull.
There was a dark expression of the like I had not seen on her face before, the eyes somehow consumed with anger and sadness at the same time. "I have a confession to make to you." She said simply, the words hollow and devoid of emotion despite the almost imperceptible tremor that coursed through her.
I stopped in mid motion, still holding the thick leather strap that secured the sabaton to my foot in the gap made by the solid heel. "Is this the best time or place for us to have a discussion?" I asked simply, finishing attaching the sabaton and continuing attaching the rest of my leg armour. "It’s not exactly the most personal of places to talk about anything remotely serious."
There was a flash of fire in her yellow eyes and I cursed inwardly as I realised that yet again I had inadvertently insulted her. "I have a confession for you and you decide to be such an ignorant fool." Forceful like a strike of a mace, her anger could be felt in every syllable and I looked back up to her as I pulled a vambrace strap tight with my teeth.
"Look," grunting with the effort to pull the last strap tight I wriggled it experimentally to ensure it was secure. "I’m always willing to talk, I’m just saying how this mightn't be the best time or place if you have anything personal to discuss."
She scowled, but still looked around at the dozen fighters who were all standing around the training floor and shouting approval and advice to the few pairs sparring.
"Do you recall my tale of when I first arrived on the surface," She asked, purposely ignoring the sudden yelping from one of the recruits as another blow was struck home. "and of my story of the farmer and his son?"
I felt the shiver of apprehension as I remembered how cold she was as she discussed what had occurred to her in the tiny farm near Bruma. For a moment I was returned to the forest south of Chorral, staring over the flickering campfire as it spat twirling embers into the sky and the threats she had made with the story’s telling.
"It is... difficult to forget." I replied. Carefully rising to my feet, I strapped my pauldrons to my shoulders, feeling their comforting weight press down as I reached out for the padding and chainlinked coif.
"Then you should forget what I had said as it is nothing more than a lie."
I stopped in mid motion and looked down at her serious and hardened expression. There was a deep burning anger within here and I was struck dumb with a feeling of shock and significant amount of confusion. Looking over her and the way that she was forcing herself to remain expressionless, the only hint to exactly what she was feeling was the swirling feelings deep in her eyes.
"Lied? About what part exactly?"
"Almost all of it." Leaning back with a sigh she folded her arms and innocently began checking her strangely perfect fingernails. Despite everything we had been through and the sheer amount of travelling and fighting we had taken part in I couldn’t think of a single time that her nails were ever cracked or otherwise ruined. "There was the farmer and his family, but the story of how they took me prisoner, used me and then buried me alive was completely untrue."
Her lack of emotion and the way she was forcing herself to remain appearing effortlessly relaxed was an act. Inside, I could see that she was almost tearing herself apart.
"You see, what had really happened was that he and his son did not force themselves on me. It was I who used them. I laid with him several times for my own needs and did so willingly. It was only his wife who drove me out, and set the Bravil Guard upon me. Like a Succubus I have whored my way through everything, taking what favours I could get. I have used everyone I have met on the surface, and you are no different."
At first jealousy sunk its claws into my heart and mind and I could feel the rising wave of heat and clenching ache that accompanied it. The heat soon began burning more fiercely, bringing with it the rage of being used and having my emotions torn with. There was depression deep in my soul, but the white-hot heat of anger and lust for more than just blood suffocated it for the moment at least.
Tingling, every bone in my jaws seemed to squirm under my flesh with my increasing emotions and it took all my willpower to ignore the way how every letter wormed its way into my brain. Struggling to regain a cold level of detachment I forced myself to rethink over everything she had ever told me, remembering the stories she had told me of the Underdark and her home city, the bloodcurdling rites demanded by the spider queen and the horror of her everyday life.
I also thought of how she had come to the surface, the story she told me of the darkness and pain and torture she had endured. There were lies threaded through her tales of suffering and through her histories and deceit was as much a part of her as her beautiful, scarred flesh. She watched the surge and turmoil of emotions running through me with an enforced smirk of arrogance on her beautiful features and something in my mind clicked.
Burd; my old friend from the legion and now Bruma’s captain of the guard entered my mind. He had told me even before Viconia and I had first spoken of how she had been arrested for murder. How she had burned a farmer and his son alive but that he somehow believed that she had cause to do so. A succubus of duplicity and lies Viconia might be, but my old friend? Old Stonewall? He wouldn’t have been able to tell a lie if his life depended on it.
Thundering realisation of the truth slammed into my mind with an almost physical force. I mightn’t understand her reasons for doing so, but I no longer heeded her words as truth. I forced my treasonous features into a neutral expression, looked over how she sat before me and shrugged.
Surprise; pure and undiluted surprise consumed the expression of haughty arrogance and inherent challenge and her jaw dropped. Of all the reactions she was expecting from me, indifference was definitely not one of them. For several seconds she sat there blankly, trying and failing to release the hold her throat had on the words until the familiar burning hatred and anger rose once more.
"Why aren't you disgusted by this?" she spat, loud enough to draw the attention of several of the spectators from their entertainment. "Turn from me! Spit on me and curse my name damn you! Why don't you despise and hate what I just said?"
My eyes travelled the entirety of the room and the handful of inquisitive faces of the guildsmen as they looked at us while whispering amongst themselves. Viconia's outburst was enough to draw their attention away for the most part and there was even the slightest hesitation in some of those sparring.
Standing much taller than her in her seat and now fully armoured, I leant over and pressed a gloved hand against the back of her chair. Staring deep into her eyes I could smell the familiar intoxicating perfume of her flesh over the smell of oils, leather and unwashed bodies within the training hall. I continued to lean over as she refused to shy away, not budging an inch in a combination of refusing to show weakness or cower to me or anyone else. Almost close enough to press our lips together and kiss once more I could feel the simmering level of heat from within her body through her clothes and armour. Despite the obsidian colouring of her skin I could see the blood rushing through her face and darkening it noticeably as her anger rose at my proximity.
"Why? The reason is very simple..." I said, my lips only a few short centimetres from her ear. "You... Are... Lying..."
Her head flashed around and she stared at me with such intensity that I was momentarily taken aback. With the loud scrape of wood on stone she got to her feet, knocking the chair over and glaring at me with rage.
"Bastard!" she yelled so loudly that she caught the attention of everyone within the room and stopped the training fights in mid blow. "Stubborn bastard! Why must I trust you!"
Turning on her heel, her white-blonde hair whipping around her she threw the chair across the room with such force that it shattered into firewood on impact. Her rage was dangerous, and with a strength that was a match to mine she radiated a dangerous aura.
"Viconia!" I called out, kicking a table aside and overturning it with a chatter of metal and equipment. "Viconia!"
I stumbled after her, catching up to her before she had even gone a dozen paces towards the stairs and grabbing her by the arm.
Faster than what I could follow, she twisted in my grasp, spinning so quickly that she blurred in my vision and the impact of the blow sent tears to my eyes. The stinging impact of the slap had almost knocked me off balance, staggering me with the impact and yet I somehow managed to keep hold of her right arm.
"Let me go jaluk!" She hissed, throwing an open fingered strike at my face that I neatly blocked with my left arm despite the tears of pain in my eyes. Already my face was swelling, blood rushing to the growing hand imprint across the right side of my face and my mouth was filling with the familiar taste of copper.
"You're not going to get rid of me that easily." I said to her, blocking another pair of powerful jabs at my face and ribs. "I'm not going to let you push me away."
With fire in her eyes she suddenly twisted in my grasp, wrenching my wrist around and throwing me off my feet. In a similar movement that had left an Orc in a coma she rolled and used my larger mass and higher centre of gravity against me, leaving me sprawled on my back and winded.
I could hear the excited and nervous chattering of the Bravil Fighters as everyone within the basement moved in a position to watch Viconia and myself. Ignoring the way my ribs protested I rolled and pushed up with my arms, throwing myself to my feet and narrowly managing to dodge the next two blows.
Her rage was leaving her skin burning to the touch, and my senses were picking up the rapid pulse of her heart as she began cursing at me in Drow. Although she had caught me the extreme basics of her language and I barely understood one word out of every three, the emotion behind the words was all too clear.
"Ori’gato uns’aa alu dos fa’la zatoast!"
I ducked and blocked two more strikes, even managing to catch one of her fists in my own before she repaid my hubris with a powerful right cross. This was no friendly bout or training session; she was fighting for real and intended me harm. Sparring her was one thing, fighting her for real was something else entirely. Even the nature of our full contact spars was subdued from the mere fact of lacking deadly intent. Now that all restraint had been removed from her mind I found myself almost completely on the defensive and seriously disadvantaged. Without the will to do her harm as she intended for me I could do little more than soak up her punches and blows and look for an opening to subdue her.
Unable to bring myself to injure her in any form despite the seriousness of the fight she quickly turned it to her advantage. With one fist trapped in the palm of my own she twisted it around, popping my fingers open as though levered and punched me with full force in the mouth. Again I felt my lip burst, blood splattering across the floor as I spat wads of gore and fragments of teeth. While losing teeth or having them cracked was no longer a permanent injury for me it was still not a pleasant experience. As I struggled to remain on my shaky legs I felt the rolling waves of agony flow through my jaws from the shattered nerve endings.
Staggering backwards I saw her slide a foot across the ground and drawing her opened hands across her chest in a move that belied extreme focus and agility. What little I had seen of her fighting unarmed was almost terrifying in comparison to what little the legion taught its soldiers. Suddenly thankful of all the fighting and tavern brawls I had experienced I punched my own fists out in front of me, holding them out front with elbows bent. With one fist hovering near my sternum and the other pointed towards her and twisted so my knuckles faced her vertically, I spat another wad of blood and part of an incisor.
By now all the guildsmen within the training room had ceased their activity and crowded around this impromptu fight. Tadrose had moved away from the forge, leaving the latest of her works to cool from being beaten back into shape and Skagvur stood in his full Nordic plate, somewhat disappointed that he wasn’t the one fighting me. Almost all of them were watching intently as Viconia and I fought, watching with smirks and grins as she went about beating me into a pulp after I had spent the day effortlessly flooring them all. Several of the members were already taking bets on the outcome of the fight which my enhanced hearing allowed me to feel annoyed at how they didn’t favour my chances.
Encircling the two of us, the fighters were still giving us a wide berth in a large semicircle that left Viconia and I almost with our backs to the wall. As she had fought I had managed to work my way between Viconia and the stairs leading out of the basement; a fact that she quickly realised. Shrieking with rage she launched into an attack, lashing out with bone splintering kicks, strikes and punches that I could do little more than roll with or try to take on the thicker protection of my armour. Several times I found myself thanking my luck that I had been preparing for a fully armoured fight with training weapons as if I had remained unarmoured I would have already been down with serious injuries. Every strike slammed through my defences with incredible force or I somehow managed to dodge quickly enough that I felt little more than the wind off her limbs.
Like her skill with a blade she fought with a mixture of solid fists and outstretched strikes with her fingers, twirling around and flowing one move into another until she became a whirlwind of attacks. For once in my life I fought like a legionary rather than a forester, blocking with my forearms and fists, turning blows aside and soaking up the punishment as I did little in return. If I truly had intended her harm as she did to me the fight could’ve been different but instead I was left with nothing else to do but wear her down and exhaust her.
All the way she spat curses swore at me in her native tongue, her words flowing like her attacks I almost felt as though her words were stinging more than her successful blows. Lashing out with a savage backhand she struck at my face as I hunched down to protect myself, which allowed me to twist my arm and catch hers in an armpit. Locking down the limb I suddenly found myself closest to her than what I had in several days, feeling the burning rage within her skin despite the fact that I was fully armoured and she was dressed in her clothes and daedroth scale shirt. The intensity of her anger and rage almost felt strong enough to singe my skin.
Despite effectively locking her in a position that most people would never be able to break free, I had again misjudged her skill in fighting. Using my own strength and centre of gravity against me and locking a knee against my breastplate, she used my armour as a springboard to kick herself upwards and smash the other knee right under my jaw. Again I was left staggering backwards and forced to release the hold on her arm, unable to do anything as she turned the leap into a spin before smashing me across the face with a minotaur leather boot.
For a second I was airborne until I came down hard on one of the nearby tables that immediately transformed into firewood and kindling. Plate, cups, cutlery and someone’s unfinished meal were hurled through the air in fragments and in an explosion of pottery and metal I found myself once again on my back and winded.
Rising to my feet I cast the battered half of a table and leg off with a roar of building anger. Unbidden, the vampire began lending its strength to me, filling my arms and body with power. The ruined chunk of wood shattered against the wall into a shower of splinters that left several guildsmen cursing. Even as I hated myself for succumbing I knew that without the vampire there was no way that I could be a match to the lightning-fast drow.
"You're not going to get rid of me Viconia!" I yelled, my throat growling out the words as the Vampire within tightened my vocal cords from the strain of the fight.
"Inbau vithus!" She spat, eyes darting about before tearing a dagger from a nearby weapon rack and hurling it at me.
Just as the time in Fort Grief time seemed to slow and I felt the vampire take control. The blade seemed to curl its way out of her fingers, tumbling end over end as it passed through the space between us. Twisting out of an adrenaline fuelled reflex I turned at the waist and felt, rather than saw the way how the dagger missed me with less than a handspan of air between it and my chest. If I hadn’t moved it would had sunk to the hilt in the space just above the armoured gorget, and would have been a killing strike.
The sudden surge of vampiric adrenaline left me readied for the next one, as a second found itself pulled from the walls and thrown shortly after the first. This one looped through the air, drawing circles with its hilt and blade even as I reached out, twisting my fingers and hands and instead of catching it, redirected it away and behind me.
Twirling the blade in the palm of my hand with little more than a pair of fingers I spun on my heel, using my own momentum and the force of the dagger to flick it off at the wall. There was a crunch of masonry and the tiniest hum of quivering metal as it lodged deep in the stonework and mortar, leaving the room utterly silent at not only my speed, but the way I had parried a thrown dagger.
"Viconia! Please stop!"
Several the guildsmen had been considering stepping in to break up our fight, especially some of the more senior members. But now that the room had suddenly begun playing host to flying knives and my own abilities in dodging and deflecting them put that idea to rest. With indecent haste they began rushing for the exit, several of their number covering each other with shields as another knife and even a shortsword spranged off the floor and walls.
She was no longer merely intent on storming off, the battle rage that I had seen on occasion during our travels surfacing and matching my daedric intensity in its terrible power. Looking into her eyes I could only see the burning desire to do me harm; to shed her fears and internal torments in my blood. There was a dangerous insanity bubbling to the surface that I felt a strange, twisted kinship with.
The feeling of familiarity didn’t help me in the slightest as she grasped a hilt of a steel gladius from a rack on the wall, tearing it away with a sizable chunk of wood with a roar of effort. Now armed with a live blade the dynamic of the fight shifted yet again and I felt the first hints of fear in my belly.
Slamming with a resounding boom, the door to the upper levels closed as a handful of the more senior guildsmen made the decision to let Viconia and I to finished sorting out our differences. Only when the noise in the training hall stopped did I expect them to return and now that there were now witnesses I released my darker side further. With Sunchild being a little too deadly and several metres away with the last of my equipment, I too ripped a sword from the wall mounted racks. Against a typical steel blade, the danger of hurting Viconia was too great but I couldn’t help feeling a tingle of nostalgia as I found myself wielding a legion sword once more.
Sparks filled the air and I felt each jolt run through my arm as I blocked and parried her moves. She was like water, flowing in and around my guard and it was only by fully embracing my darker side that I was not impaled on the spot. The bones of my face restructured themselves once more, and I could feel the dozens of pops and miniature crunches as my cheekbones seemed to push out of my face. My single intact fang pushed my lips apart in a lopsided smile and almost as though a lantern had been lit in my mind I suddenly found myself being able to keep up with her.
I could see my eyes in the reflection in her own, and she too seemed to be changing into her own darker side. I had always known that as a Drow, she had a darker side to her soul that matched the world where she had come from, but I never realised how profound it really was. Her skin seemed to take on a darker shade of Ebony and even her eyes changed colour until they were burning with a yellow brightness that matched the sun itself. They shone with a powerful intensity and soon we were both trading blows that the others would've struggled to see let alone counter.
We danced all over the training hall, hacking, slashing, parrying and cutting almost with a wild abandon. Thousands of years of a brutal culture that had ensured that only the strongest survived to create the next generation had created a race unsurpassed within the bounds of existence. Such a cultural legacy ensured that despite her nature as an ex-priestess she was capable of not only holding her own against a daedra-infused vampire, but was almost nearly winning. The clashing of metal on metal soon grew in strength until it was almost painful on the senses but we continued on unabated.
"I will not let you push me away!" My words were little more than hisses as my remaining teeth began their tapering into spikes of bone. The madness in her expression was still there but there was the tiniest waver in her arms, a chink in her mental and emotional armour. "I would rather die than see you come to harm."
She had not spoken a word in common since throwing the daggers, her curses and ranting sentences continuing without pause. By now I had also begun to noticed tears streaming down her cheeks, and hers eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot around her intense yellow irises.
"Lu'oh kuuv dos morfeth uns'aa khaless dos!" She spun neatly but as she swung her sword I caught the blade right on its back with my own, twisting sharply with a speed that only a vampire could have performed. One second she was spiralling out with a blow aimed to slide between my ribs, and then the next her long sword was left imbedded and quivering in the ceiling.
Twirling around she performed a graceful ballet, ripping the sword from where the stones entrapped it and cutting down as though she was going to cut me the same was I had with Kurdan. In a second she had leapt and sliced downwards before her sword came to a sudden and abrupt stop.

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