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Ignoring the stammers from the corpulent warden I walked over to the shackled form of the guard and kneeled in front of her, seeing the bruising and swelling of her features under the pink layers of blisters from days of being staked in the sun. My skull was twisting and writhing under the skin, but to all who watched me in fear my features could have been carved from stone.
The lightest of touches against her jaw caused her to moan with pain and delirium. By the way her lips were cracked and the heart fluttered in her chest she had even been denied food and water ever since my feeding, and I mentally tore myself in my guilt.
For a moment her eyes fluttered open and she stared weakly into my own and I remembered the night where I had claimed her for my thirst. The depths of her eyes pulled at me and I froze with the terror of discovery as I knelt before her almost in penance. Expecting some form of recognition, I could do nothing but look into her eyes as she shuddered and began sobbing instead, begging to be released.
By now the crowd had been pushing forward at the sight of my actions, the tiny line of guards and Men-at-Arms shoving back with their shields in the attempts to keep their numbers at bay. I was soon becoming the subject of the crowd’s hatred and anger, the various objects and missiles that they had brought with them to hurl at the stocked woman instead finding a target in my hunched and cloaked form. As the impacts of the poorly thrown objects rattled around me, Viconia finally managed to join me on top of the platform and as I felt something hard and rocky bounce off my armoured shoulder I could hear her spitting curses in Drowish. In a single graceful move she twisted, scooped up the rock from where it had landed and threw it into the face of the original owner with a surprised cry of pain barking out from the press.
Wood crunched as I dug Sunchild into the hinge and levered it open. Not bothering to seek or even ask for the key of the manacles or the stock itself I simply snapped the iron links to release her from the wooden embrace. Losing the one thing that was keeping her upright she slithered from the stock, her body giving out with the pain and exhaustion of kneeling for the better part of three days. Carefully I caught her in my arms before she hit the rough wood, wrapping my arms around her abused body and barely feeling her weight as I stood. There were few raised surfaces on the platform other than the terrible form of a stretching rack long since fallen to disuse and ill repair and I couldn’t bring myself to put her on such an implement of pain and torture. Instead I moved a short distance away from the stocks before laying her flat on the wooden platform itself, stretching her out gently as I looked over her tortured body.
Viconia stepped between me and the increasingly angry crowd as the boos and shouts of anger increased. At the threat of mob violence grew and the guard began implementing more brutal methods to shove the crowd back the number of thrown objects also increased. A chunk of some unidentifiable fruit exploded on a ward Viconia threw up at the last second, and the suddenly fury of the Drow seemed to stab fear into the hearts of all who bore witness to it.
"The next person who throws something will get more than a potato in return." She roared, the ward flickering away into nothingness as she held up a hand wreathed in lightning and containing sinister intent. The crowd suddenly went silent, only broken but the muted whispering and the barely audible curses as they realised that she was deadly serious.
"Whatever you are doing abbil, you best do it quickly..." She muttered, looking about the crowd at the growing waves of anger that were building.
The warden rushed over to us, his sense of duty and the threat of being torn apart by a mob overcoming his unnatural fear of me and the witch-eyed drow standing in front of them. Trembling, the ripples of terror coursed through his considerable mass as he went to stop me or pull me away from the semi-conscious woman laying on her side on the wood. After a moment’s hesitation his hand fell to his side as though he was going to draw the knobbed mace in the metal loop at his hip but the tip of Viconia’s blade suddenly pressed into the softness of his throat.
"Not the smartest idea there Jaluk." She hissed at him, and his eyes wandered between us and the other guards for help as I simply ignored him.
A fearful hush fell over the crowd as I tilted her head gently in my hands, the flowing blue light pouring from the palms of my hands caressing her blistered and sunburnt flesh clear for all to see. The intent in my actions were clear and the sudden instinctual understanding began pricking itself into the minds of the crowd.
"Vampires are beasts that mostly hunt in packs." I called out loud enough for everyone to hear. "But there come times when a single individual, either starving or sickly is forced to hunt prey outside its usual territory. I believe that this particular case is just that; a single one of these predators out of desperation was forced into the city limits to feed."
My waterskin found its way into my hand and I pulled the cork stopper from the neck with my teeth. Very gently I washed away the dried blood on her neck and chest, pouring a tiny measure of the liquid at a time between her lips. A glove was pulled off as I held her, running my bare, calloused fingers up the visible vein where I had sunk my fangs. The neck wound was horrible to look at under the circumstances, the greenish-white fluids of infection mixing with the brackish water from the waterskin. I knew that I had not spread my curse to the woman but if left untreated a normal infection could end her life even more effectively than if I had simply drained her dry.
What rose the beast to just under the surface of my subconscious and flesh was the treatment she had received at the hands of the other Men-at-Arms and guards. She had been beaten, whipped with drill canes and I suspected she had been abused during the nights in the stock. At that point I could have slaughtered all in my path but it was only the softest of touches of Viconia’s hand on my shoulder that curbed the beast’s urgings.
"She's not infected, and will not become one of their kind." I called out to the crowd, and the sudden surge of unease floated through them and silenced most.
"Just how can you be certain?!" cried out one of the nameless faces, fear filling every syllable. "Just what makes you the expert on the beasts?"
Ignoring the way that my eye twitched in building rage I stood, turning away from the prone form of the woman and pulling down my cloak, hood, coif and gorget to reveal the pink, puckered bite marks in my own throat. The scars may have faded in the months since my transformation, but the appearance of them in my flesh had the desired effect on the crowd.
"Many months ago, I was bitten by one the creatures. Since then I have hunted these foul creatures and culled all that I can find. I have entered their lairs, burnt them in their holes and slain dozens of the foul crypt-worms." I paused for a moment, looking over the sea of expectant eyes before giving them the best smile I could despite my churning emotions. "As you can see despite being bitten I am still here, and the sun is indeed shining."
The nervous ripple of laughter at my comment rolled from them, and my short speech seemed to put their minds at ease. The whispered murmurs of our names swirled through the crowd as the recognition spread, and so too did the awe and realisation at our actions. The reputation of the Heroes of Kvatch, and our titles of Champions of Anvil were now well known. Slowly spreading just as surely was the more recent tale of my actions in Glenvar county; and the way that two dozen blackened skulls of vampires now adorned the gatehouse of Castle Glenvar. The word that I had also retrieved the Light of Dawn was also reaching the ears of every town, village and city in hushed whispers of awe, spreading through the land like spilled oil on a canvass. While the story of Maegalla and the enchanted blade were one of the hundreds of forgotten tales in Tamriel, it was finding renewed life from the tongues of bards, poets and travelling minstrels.
Such were our reputations, and the threat of Viconia’s unsheathed blade that a majority of the crowd slowly began to disperse, trusting in our actions that the threat of vampirism was removed from their city. Most of the citizens slowly turned and began making their way back to the city and their lives, and other than a handful of the more fanatical or fearful most were already leaving to the relief of the outnumbered Men-at-Arms.
"You can let him go now Viconia." I said as I turned around, and I could almost feel the sigh of relief from the Prison Warden as Viconia moved the point of her sword away from his throat.
Fumbling with one of the few pouches left on my belt, I drew out a small measure of dried Mandrake root and popped it into my mouth. The bitter taste swirled over my tongue as I chewed, crushing it into a slurry before scooping up it out with the tips of my fingers. Looming over my shoulder and reeking of terror, the corpulent warden hovered like an ogre, watching as I smeared and pressed the pulp into the fang punctures in the woman’s throat.
"She needs food, water, and healing." The hiss snaked out of my mouth and I could taste the man’s fear of me on my tongue over the bitter herb. There was no fear that my saliva would spread the taint, not with the disease killing properties of the root pressing into them.
"She is to be cared for, and not treated any further in this disgraceful manner." I loomed over the man, glaring down on him as his jowls trembled in his increasing terror. "You will be responsible for ensuring that she is taken to the healers, and if I hear or believe that she has been treated in any manner that displeases me I will rip your putrid guts out and choke you to death with them."
The pressed finger stabbing him in the flab of his chest was almost enough for him to lose control of his bodily functions as I wormed my will through the depths of his mind. I knew that he would do what I had commanded, the control that I had over him would give him no other choice and quickly he turned, gesturing and ordering a pair of the other prison guards to carry her to the apothecaries and chapel healers. The patron divine of Leyawiin may have been Zenithar with the enormous cathedral built in his name; but like all cities and large towns there would be a smaller chapel to Mara within the walls.
Stammering an overeager reply and bowing as deeply as his protruding stomach let him he scurried away from me and the fire that burned within my eyes. As a statue I watched the warden and his two selected guards carefully pick up her unconscious body and lay her on a stretcher, and only when they had carried her off the platform in the direction of the main gate did I too jump down and allow our escorts to take up positions again.
Viconia briefly ran her gloved fingers down my arm in an extremely awkward gesture of affection, something that she was not used to doing in the slightest. "I hope you will explain all of that later." She whispered as our escorts began marching alongside us in the direction of the castle. The six of them were sharing glances of concern between themselves at my actions and the way that Viconia and I had managed to disperse a crowd with a combination of words and the threat of overwhelming violence.
My breath caught in my throat and I trembled with barely restrained emotions. "Repentance." I replied, not able to meet the scrutiny of her eyes.
The doors to the castle were open, and surprisingly inviting for such a construction. Built for war and defence in mind I had always assumed that all castles were imposing and terrible, but even before we had made it a couple of paces inside I was shocked at the sight that awaited us. The inside of the Keep was lovingly furnished and filled with the collections that had taken over twelve generations of Counts to acquire. Banners and Battle Standards hung from the walls, depicting the long and honourable service of both the City Guard, the Castle Men-at-Arms and the various Imperial Legions and their casta’s that had served in the region since their founding. Rows upon rows of viewing cases lined the walls under the hanging banners within the entry hall, each filled with artefacts and wondrous treasures that made Viconia’s and my collection appear little more than a handful of trinkets. Over fifty metres wide and a ceiling that reached high above our heads and almost lost to shadow, the hall was an impressive sight. I couldn’t help but notice that it had originally been designed this way on purpose, not as a museum or trophy room, but to create an open space to allow the castle defenders to crush any attackers in sheer numbers as they were funnelled through the front doors.
Flickering lights of dozens of lanterns and lit torches failed to remove the gloom, but cast everything and everyone in a flickering half-light that only seemed to enhance the gleaming edges and dozens of reflective surfaces scattered about. Resplendent in their chainmail and silken surcoats, stern faced guards were stationed alongside every door and especially valuable artefact to protect from the inevitable thieves and robbers.
Our escorts left us shortly within the hall, informing us that we would be called shortly to present ourselves before the Count in the throne room. With time to kill I decided to wander slightly, looking over some of the priceless treasures and artefacts with curious eyes. Weapons of every type imaginable, armour from every race and age throughout Cyrodiil and Tamriel and jewels, trophies and gleaming Ayleid artefacts filled viewing cases from one end of the entrance to the other. I couldn't help but wonder that if this was the standard of the treasures that they left out in the open, then what would they have filling the Castle Vaults?
High above my head enormous banners from military units hung from the high ceilings. A mixture of shapes, designs and colours gently floated in the still castle air, representing every race and culture in Tamriel and even some from beyond. There was even an ancient and crumbling Akavir banner placed on the wall inside a glass case. Humming with enchantments struggling against the march of time I could still see the blood stain where it had been cut from the owner’s back. Many other the other banners were battle honours from the Imperial Legions that had been stationed in Leyawiin or that had defended Leyawiin during several wars through the ages. Some were very obviously captured standards from Elsweyr and Blackmarsh; a few so old and faded that all their finery was only mere decades away from dust. Right in the centre of the chamber hung the enormous banner depicting the Leyawiin emblem; the rearing white stallion, circled in gold weave and with a longsword striking through the background as the symbol of Leyawiin’s military strength. I noticed with some thought how the banner, which was at least ten meters long and five metres wide must've taken several years to make and consisted of materials that would've been worth enough to outfit an entire Imperial Legion of soldiers for a year.
Looking about the room, I thought over everything that I had seen and knew about Leyawiin and the Count. It was a rich city, and the Caro Line had grown rich from generations of rule. Normally such a show of abundant wealth was prideful and showed nothing more than corruption within the highest ranks of society especially in such cases as Bravil and the Terentius Family. The Counts of Leyawiin had a long history of kindness and fairness in their rule, even as far as traditionally reduced taxes. This wealth arraying the walls of their castle was the result of their inspiring leadership; not from claiming the hard efforts of those under their rule.
A young courtier appeared at the top of the short flight of stairs in the centre of the hall opposite the entry. Dressed in the finest of silks and clothing he looked almost swallowed up under the weight of cloth. In such tropical heat it would have been impossible for the young man to have lasted any more than half an hour outside in the sun, and only by remaining in the cool stone interior of the caste was he able to hide from heatstroke.
"Master Desin, Miss DeVir? Follow me please."
Side by side Viconia and I made our way across the lush carpet that covered the stonework from view. Thick and expensive, it matched the rest of the castle’s finery despite the way it had almost been worn smooth and threadbare by countless feet over the years since its creation. From the entry hall we made our way up the short flight of stairs, and I could feel the nervous sweat beading across my body and trickling down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature and humidity outside. Never comfortable with authority outside of the ranks within the Legion, I drew Viconia’s confused expression as I laughed softly to myself. I would charge daedra and throw myself into Oblivion, hunt minotaurs and Vampires with only the slightest trepidation but the idea of leading others or meeting someone such as a Count left me trembling and hands shaking.
The throne room beckoned, and I blanched at the fact how there were dozens of individuals lining the great hall chatting amongst themselves and generally waiting in place. After believing that we were only just going to be meeting the Count and Countess and a few of their closest cronies, the fact that it appeared that every noble and person with authority in the entire County awaited us did not ease my nervousness.
With a start I found myself concerned with the level of attention and the protocols of meeting such individuals, trying desperately to remember what little that I had been taught in the Legion. Another thought punched its way into my mind and I looked over to Viconia as the courtier motioned for us to wait for a moment while he moved ahead.
"Please don’t kill anyone in there." I mumbled softly to her, and she turned her head with yellow eyes filled with amusement.
"Don’t worry yourself about me Mrannd'ssinss." The seductive chuckle that curled from her throat sent a shiver of pleasure up my spine in direct competition to the nervous goosepimples I had under my armour. "Judging by the way you are sweating and shaking in your boots it’s you that we have to worry about. Calm your mind. This is something that is surprisingly familiar to me, even with the reduced likelihood of someone being stabbed or poisoned by the day’s end."
Forcing in a deep breath before carefully blowing it out again I struggle to find a measure of calm at the sight of dozens of powerful men and women of the Empire. The way Viconia held herself and carefully ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it over her shoulders and folded coif and hood spoke of a level of experience that initially surprised me. it was difficult to remember that this beautiful dark elf who had travelled by my side for over four months could be considered nobility in any sense of the term. Her upbringing as the DeVir priestess and tutelage under her mother had gifted her a knowledge and the experience of navigating the social circles of the rich and powerful that I doubted I would ever have. Her very nature and race also ensured that no matter the duplicity and treacherous nature of politics, there was little on the surface that would ever match the overwhelming experience and skill of the Drow.
There was a moment where the courtier looked about the room and the growing hush of expectation at his presence, before he cleared his throat softly and called out with a voice that echoed through the room.
"May I present master Kaius Desin and miss Viconia DeVir; Heroes of Kvatch, Champions of Anvil, Warders of the Fighter’s Guild."
Steeling myself as though marching to meet an enemy with blade drawn I stepped forward with Viconia close beside. Our footsteps were muffled in the layers of carpet under our boots, leaving nothing more than the faint sounds of jingling chainmail, the swish of our cloaks and the slapping of our scabbards against our armoured thighs. Upon entering the hall, I felt my mouth go dry as the sight of the dozens of people in the room, all separated from us and leaving a path cleared by a pair of parallel ranks of Men-at-Arms. These particular soldiers must have been the Count’s bodyguards, as they stood perfectly in order and without the slightest blemish or mote of dust on their gleaming armours. Halberds gripped tight in mailed fists, they stared forward at their opposite on the other side of the path and barely even blinking.
To the sound of a light, building applause we continued on, trying to keep my own anxiousness at bay and forcing myself not to flinch as thuds echoed as we passed each pair of guards in turn. With impressive precision each straightened their halberds against their chests, slamming the fist gripping the wooden hafts against their breastplates against their hearts while somehow retaining the appearance of statues.
In a physical representation of the Cyrodiilic government, the arrayed groups of nobles and leaders clustered together in groups around us. From the Count down, his authority flowed to the dozen or so Barons arrayed about the room, and they in turn were surrounded by a collection of other minor lords and other leaders of their regions. Aediles, burgomasters, and patricians represented each of the tiny hamlets, villages, and towns scattered about the County, and several of them would be under the rule of a single Baron who ruled and guided his tiny region at the behest of the Count. While somewhat unwieldy it had been a system set in place and maintained for the better part of two thousand years and had so far allowed the Empire to form and claim power over Tamriel.
In the back of my mind I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before cracks in the system would begin to form with the death of the Emperor and his sons. Each member in the room who was a Baron or equivalent and higher held seats in the Elder Council, and as such their voices held incredible power to those seeking to claim the Ruby Throne.
While filled with the rich and powerful, the power of the minor nobility utterly paled in comparison to the Count rising to his feet from his throne. The power that this single man wielded was matched only by the Legates of the Legion, the provincial governors such as Skyrim’s High King, and the position of the Emperor itself. The fate of a portion of Cyrodiil was in his hands and those of his descendants; for good or for ill.
Count Marius Caro rose to his feet in front of his throne enthusiastically clapping his own hands together in such a way that the more sycophantic of the minor nobility joined in. There was a look of pleasure in his eyes as he gazed upon Viconia and I making our way towards the raised platform, and with sweeps of his arms he encouraged the applause to build until it drowned out all other sounds.
Balding, slowly wasting into fat and at least twice my own age he wore his robes strangely enough like a second skin. Literally born into his role he commanded the entire room with his presence, despite the way how I suddenly found a smirk growing on my face at what he wore. The rich expensive robes were also pressed hard into his chest by a breastplate of such immaculate design that I wondered whether the entire thing would crumple by merely rapping my knuckles against it. Either designed by himself or someone of his court who had never seen or experienced battle it was ridiculously useless but for those bluebloods around us I supposed that it went a way to impressing such individuals. A gladius was clasped to his side, the hilt studded with such jewellery that I wondered whether it even been drawn at all, let alone in anger.
His wife; Alessia Caro hailed from far to the north and County Chorrol. The daughter of the Countess of Chorrol, their marriage had been arranged to strengthen the two counties and I wondered if there was anything in common between the two of them. While the Count was easily twice my age, the Countess was several years my junior by a noticeable margin. He stood and had a look of pleasure at our presence in his castle and she sat as the perfect image of civility and nobility with her eyes churning with weary resignation and boredom. Viconia and I drew her attention for a moment as it did everyone’s in the weeks since Anvil but it was nothing more than fleeting. Feigned interest covered her porcelain features before she returned to wandering the room with her eyes, lightly tapping the back of her hand with a pair of silken gloved fingers.
Viconia and I came to a halt at the base of the steps leading up to the thrones. The trio of stairs were wide and flat, but still managed to lift the Count’s head almost a metre above my own from our positions on the lower level. As one, and with all eyes firmly on us, we bowed together.
My fist thumped into my chest as I bent over at the waist, lowering my eyes and gazing into the first step a metre in front of my toes. Viconia somehow managed to turn a bow into something elegant and complex, gesturing with a wave of her hand before placing her swordarm into the small of her back. Knowing what I did about the Drow there was probably some significance of having her hand as far from a blade when greeting someone while simultaneously protecting their spine.
"Rise," he was soft spoken for a man of his position, strangely quiet and yet his voice carried through the room with the sheer level of his authority. "Please rise. Heroes of your renown shouldn't bend a knee to anyone, even one such as myself."
The cloak of gold threaded silks brushed down each stair as he walked from his throne. Apparently not one for remaining aloof and untouchable in his position in society, he walked until standing a pace in front of us, arms wide and welcoming and a smile of pure enjoyment.
To my surprise the Count gripped me in an enormous hug that made me feel as though I was being consumed by the volume and richness of his clothing. In a combination of his age and his natural height, he only just reached my nose, and I felt incredibly awkward in the embrace. Judging by the looks of some of his guards and his wife, they too had concerns, albeit of a different nature.
"For weeks the tales of your exploits have reached our ears, and for once the gossips finally managed to do the stories justice." He pulled away from the embrace, gripping my pauldron in a surprisingly strong grip and giving me an appraising glance. "You have the look of a man who would spit in the eye of Molag Bal if given half the chance."
Patting me on the shoulder with a hand covered in signet rings he turned and focussed his attention upon Viconia. There was a look of childish awe that flowed over his face as he took in her beauty, the lust in his eyes evident to both Viconia and I.
"The rumours of your beauty have been greatly underestimated." He said simply, bowing his head ever so slightly and bringing the back of her hand to his lips as though she was a Countess herself. "Without seeing you in person it was difficult to understand how someone of such incredible beauty could be clad in an adventurer’s cloth."
Completely ignoring the daggers in Viconia’s eyes that foretold great pain and suffering at the unwanted touch he instead straightened and smiled. "How many times have you got this one out of trouble?"
Viconia followed the Count’s gesture and showed a rare moment of humour. "Almost as much as the wael gets himself into it."
The swell of amusement ripped through the crowd and by now everyone in the room began to slightly relax. Except for the stone-faced guards who seemed to be made of steel.
Behind his back the Countess was internally seething with rage at her husband’s actions and the looks that he had at Viconia’s incredible beauty. While she was highly attractive in the way that women of noble birth seemed to be, there were few that were capable of matching Viconia. I wasn’t the only one who could see the Countess’s rising jealousy, Viconia too had identified it and noticeably began to toy with her by shifting slightly and accentuating the way her armour clung to her natural curves. There was still a darkness in her eyes though, as though she wished nothing more than to draw Dragonbane and castrate the Count for the mere act of kissing the back of her hand.
"Having such esteemed adventurers and may I say, heroes in my home is almost unprecedented. Many great warriors and men and women of renown have graced these walls with their presence but there have been none in centuries that can hold a candle to your accomplishments. You have the look of god-killers about you both, and there are hundreds within the Empire and Cyrodiil whose lives are in your debt."
Casting his gaze about the room and the faces of the County’s nobility he raised his voice until it rung from the walls. "The deeds of these two have been heard throughout the Empire. From Vvardenfell to Highrock, the Summerset Isles to the depths of Blackmarsh there are few who have not heard of their exploits. From entering Oblivion not once, but twice before the walls of Kvatch and Anvil you succeeded in something that took the entire Order of the White Stallion to accomplish. With little more than a handful of city guards and sell-swords you saved Anvil from destruction, and that was only after you closed a Gate completely alone! From fighting alongside the Legion at Kvatch, hunting the greatest of Minotaurs seen in decades in Skingrad and cleansing County Glenvar of its vampiric menace you will have the bards and poets singing your praises for years to come!"
Clapping his hands together he once again began the rolling crescendo of applause from the gathered nobility and I shared a glance with Viconia that shared our mutual unease at such acclaim. Once again we had found ourselves being honoured by some of the most powerful individuals in the Empire, and we were both obviously wondering where this would lead us.
Slowly the applause died away once more, and Count Caro turned and gestured to one of the several armoured figures standing behind the expressionless line of Men-at-Arms. The armoured individual stepped through the silent ranks, softly clanking as his gleaming plate armour shifted around his muscled bulk.
"May I introduce Sir Gailer Ramauld; Knight Commander of the Order of the White Stallion."
A softer applause echoed as the knight stepped forward and out of the mass of nobility. There were a couple of other such individuals in the room of the more militaristic nobles and Barons, but Sir Ramauld was no blueblood. A couple of fingers taller than me in height he matched me in muscle kilogram for kilogram, body fit and powerful from years of training and fighting. Duelling scars and the jagged wounds of claws marked his face from an ancient injury and I could clearly see where a blade had gashed his cheek in a strip of white that underlined his right eye. An overwhelming confidence in his abilities infused every step as he moved over to us, stepping lightly as only an experienced swordsman could before thumping his fist into his chest with a clank.
"My greetings to you both." He rumbled, accent thick and alluding to the frozen north of Skyrim. "It is always a pleasure meeting such individuals of skill and bravery."
Bowing his head slightly he stepped back and clasped his hand in front, revealing a barrel chest that seemed constrained by the layers of chainmail, plate armour and surcoat. The grin on Count Caro’s face could not be wiped away in the presence of such individuals as ourselves but was completely oblivious to the way that the three of us were mentally sizing up each other.
"Twelve years ago, with Sir Ramauld's assistance I founded the chivalrous Order of the White Stallion. Its ranks have been filled with the warriors known for their skill at arms, their bravery in battle, and most importantly; compassion, mercy and the quality of their deeds."
With a sudden sinking feeling that I couldn’t identify I found myself staring at the beaming Count. "For some weeks now I have listened intently at every tale of your adventures, hearing how you have come from nothing, appearing from nowhere and embarking on quests throughout the bounds of Cyrodiil. From the stories of your battles against the daedra to wandering the world helping all in your path, every week seems to bring further tales of your victories."
"So, you can expect the excitement that I felt when I heard that you had arrived in my city." he flashed the two of us a bigger grin that reminded me of an excitable toddler and I struggled not to laugh. "Two of the greatest heroes of the Third Era walking the streets of Leyawiin? It was an opportunity that I had hoped for but never truly expected."
Slowly he walked about the base of the stairs, hands clasped together and suddenly sombre and almost melancholic. "Fighting, while in the service of the common good is noble and is the highest of callings. I do however find that brawling; drunken or otherwise is morally reprehensible and I cannot abide such in my city. It came somewhat as a surprise when I had to order the house arrest of the Blackwood Company and the Fighters Guild after the events in the Marketplace a few days ago. Such individuals such as yourselves to be mixed up in a such a scuffle was difficult to believe, but it amazed me when my guard commander informed me of the nature of the brawl."
He held up his hands to the assembled nobles, all his fingers outstretched but his thumbs pressed into his palms. "Eight Blackwood Fighters, all armed and armoured in their magnificent plate accosted these two as they explored the sights of our great city. For reasons I still struggle to understand those veteran fighters started a fight with these two individuals before us and soon realised the folly of their actions. Not dressed in their magnificent armours but in simple clothing, they disabled and defeated eight armoured, veteran mercenaries with nothing more than their bare hands!"
There was another ripple of surprise and astonishment at the Count’s words from the crowd. The details of the fight had been the talk of the town until my unsuccessful feeding the night after the brawl, but most had obviously assumed that it was a fight between equal combatants. The elite of Leyawiin were hanging onto his every word now, listening intently and studying us ever more closely as we wilted under the attention.
"However," He said, raising his hand and signalling for silence once more. "any one of us will know from the tales of your exploits that your fighting prowess is beyond question."
Carefully he turned and began to pace around the base of the stairs, hand lifted under his chin thoughtfully as he spoke. "I knew of your abilities long before you arrived within Leyawiin, but something that I have listened for other than your skill at arms, is your nobility and your compassion for others. As is to be expected, this is always difficult to ascertain from tales and rumours and while there has been considerable evidence of your fame it is difficult to judge the nature of an individual without meeting in person."
"Anyone can fight," he continued, gesturing to the room and everyone within it. "and some can fight well. The rarest of all individuals can fight both well, and with honour and chivalry. Between the stories and the knowledge that you both are members of the Fighter’s Guild initially led me to believe that you were both nothing more than sellswords interested in little more than fortune and glory."
The smile increased even further, and he turned and looked between the two of us, pulling a sheet of parchment from within the depths of his robes and holding it for us to see. "With my brief communiques with Vilena Donton and the other heads of the Fighter’s Guild in Cyrodiil, I have learned much about these individuals standing before us. Numerous times I had learned these two have put their lives on the line, undertaking contracts that most within the guild would never consider doing. The example of the Minotaurs of county Skingrad is easily the most well-known of their momentous successes, but it was the smaller stories that also interested me. Time and time again in the letters from the Anvil, Cheydinall and Chorrol guild heads contained stories of these two undertaking even the tiniest of contracts and sometimes even forgoing their rightful pay from those who struggled in poverty."
The expression from Viconia directed at me was easy to understand. She was remembering the times where I had paid for the contracts out of our own pockets upon their completion. To her it was an insufferable weakness and possibly even a personal insult. If we were to undertake any form of activity or job, especially one that had any form of personal peril then she expected that we were to be paid accordingly.
"Your latest exploits in County Glenvar are what have me truly interested though. Seeking out and slaying a coven of vampires in their lair is something only the greatest of warriors would consider. Not only did these two successfully slaughter over a dozen of the foul beasts and remove their taint from the land, but they also retrieved a priceless relic from their clutches."
Turning, he looked over the both of us, glancing between the hilts of the swords at our sides. "The sword." he asked softy. "May we see it?"
Slowly nodding, I reached up and pulled at the leather straps where I had attached the scabbarded Light of Dawn down the length of my spine. Carefully, and with the most grace I could muster I let it slide out from under my cloak, before holding its black and silver length reverently in the palms of my hands.
The scabbard alone was unique and the collective hush of surprise that filled the room as everyone could see that it was no regular blade. Holding it there horizontally, with the curve of the Scabbard rising in a slight arc in my grip there was barely a whisper to be heard.
"The Light of Dawn." My announcement even drew the attentions of the guards, eyes glancing in their steel nasal helms in the vain attempt of seeing the weapon while unable to turn their heads.
The look of childlike awe on the Count’s face returned, and I watched as he reached out with a trembling hand. With his gaze upon the blade and my hands open to allow him to grasp it, I was somewhat surprised when he pulled his fingers away a few short centimetres from the hilt. Somewhat sorrowful he chose not to touch the ancient blade, instead giving me a grim smile. "My Grandfather told me stories of the Vampire Hunter Maegalla and the legend of this sword. I always believed that they were nothing more than children’s’ tales. A weapon forged from the very stuff of sunlight and bane of the undead."
The silence that followed lasted for several moments as they gazed at a sight that they could tell their children for years to come. Artefacts such as the Light of Dawn were impossibly rare; perhaps even more so than Daedric Artefacts. Carefully I placed it back along my spine, pulling the leather straps tight and feeling a strange trepidation come over me at the expression on the Count’s face.
"In this past hour, these two have continued their actions of honour and compassion. As you are all undoubtedly aware, three nights ago this city played host to the most terrible creatures of the night. One of my own guards became prey for a vampire, was bitten and even accused of willingly consorting with the foul creature."
The collective gasp of horror and the rolling level of repulsion hit me in the gut and I struggled not to show the guilt that I felt. Viconia continued staring at me, although her gaze had softened somewhat into something almost bordering on concern.
"The poor girl was obviously wounded in the attack and weakened by the creature’s bite. Since the attack I have struggled to decide her fate and determine whether she was infected or not." A steeled edge entered his voice and I quailed at the sight of the sudden anger building in the Count. "It appears as though that decision has already been made for me..."
The guilt was replaced with a sudden unease at what my actions with the wounded guard signified. I had taken the law into my own hands, and countermanded the orders of the most powerful man in the County.
"Paying no heed to the laws of the County or my authority; Kaius and Viconia braved the crowds of concerned citizens, ignored the commands of my own personal guard, and released her from the stocks."
The growing mumble of concern throughout the room reached my ears and where I had been merely nervous before I was now growing steadily more terrified. This was not a fight that Viconia and I could win with blades.
"Kaius Desin and Viconia DeVir. You both flouted my authority, and that of my subordinates. I am within my right to order your arrest, and I’ve hung people for less."
The silence that followed his statement and in the face of his simmering anger I felt my eye twitch, chewing on my lip nervously. Trying to ignore the way that Viconia had stiffened and her hand began to subtly drawing magicka into herself I nodded to the Count. "Yes my Lord."
"Every action breeds consequences, and even for individuals such as yourselves you have to accept the consequences, whatever they may be."
Fully expecting his guards to fall upon us at the simplest gesture or command, I was completely unprepared for the hulking form of Sir Ramauld stepping forward and looking me dead in the eyes. "The Count and I would like to induct you into the ranks of the Order of the White Stallion."
Viconia stopped her twitching and I felt my jaw drop in amazement. "What?"

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