Chapter 2 - A Vampire, a Draugr
and a Priest of Arkay Walk Into a Crypt
Come!
The Master called. He must respond.
A bright flash. Cut.
He stood in front of the Master. Silent. As ever. The Master bade him never to speak. He never spoke.
The Master snatched his arm, his steel-tipped nails drawing blood. The Master smiled. The Master began to lick the blood trickling down his arm. He stood rigidly silent until the Master finished.
As ever
A bright flash. Cut.
The Village. Houses blazed. Villagers fled in terror.
A brown-haired woman screamed pitifully as he caught her up in his arms. The Master demanded fresh blood. He must respond.
A bright flash. Cut.
The Master stood on a high rise overlooking the village. The Master had a smile as wide as the River Niben. The Master’s fangs dripped crimson.
The Master bade him to feed on the woman. He did not wish to feed. He remained silent. The Master demanded he feed. He would feed.
The brown-haired woman lay below him, barely conscious. As The Master looked on with a river-wide smile, he bent down to the woman and opened his mouth wide.
Ecstasy.
Falkreath Hold, 13th of Hearthfire, 4E 201
A quick spasm of pain wracked his mind as Gaspard awoke with a jolt. Vampires had no need for breath other than for speech, but he drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. He lay in bed, unmoving except to breathe deeply as he tried to calm his roiling mind. He dreaded opening his eyes, but knew from experience it would be better to get used to the pain early than wait. The nightmares seemed to be getting more frequent, and an intense migraine always accompanied them. Luckily the migraines usually went away fairly quickly. Usually.
Gaspard opened his eyes. That was a mistake. He closed them again for a moment before trying again, this time concentrating on a smallish black spider spinning its web in the rafters above. He watched it for a few moments as his headache eased. The creature was very meticulous in its craft, placing the strands in a measured manner that was in the process of creating a beautiful mosaic. It was too bad that this spider’s much larger and better known cousins gave other arachnids a bad name in Skyrim. Frostbite spiders were a danger to most travelers on the roads, though. They killed travelers; they didn't make intricate artwork.
Gaspard took a final breath and let it out, his headache dissipated. He sat up slowly to make sure his headache really had ended, and reached for a boot beside the bed. Dead Man’s Drink was quiet this morning. Many of the revelers had gone home, though there were some that were likely still snoring in their chairs or keeled over a table with their face in a pool of mead. Vile stuff that, especially the local brews. He had never developed a taste for anything other than Surilie Brothers wine. A good Surilie Brothers 399 was a treat that had still managed to delight his palate, even after his change.
Of course that vintage was impossible to find now.
He thought again about the nightmare. It had been different this time. It was difficult to remember very many details of the nightmares, but the village always played a part. This time though there was a different woman. This one had looked like Arissa. He shuddered and forcibly put the nightmare from his mind. He could not afford to think about that.
Why did I tell Arissa about my past last night? Gaspard hadn’t really told her much more than a few lines regarding his time as a Knight and his fall, but now she knew more about him than just about any other being on Nirn. He hadn’t told that story to anyone in a long time. The last? Well, best not to think about that either. He sighed. Seriously, what got into me last night anyway? She was undeniably pretty, but it was an equally long time since his head had turned for a pretty face.
The door opened and Arissa bounced in, her loose braid bobbing around as she moved. She had changed her clothing. Last night she had appeared to be a soft mark in her crimson blouse and pretty face, the kind of mark he occasionally sought when the hunger burned for too long. Today she was all business in a hardened leather jerkin and boots; a solid-looking steel blade at her hip. Gaspard realized that she was quite good at showing others exactly what she wanted them to believe.
She flounced into a padded chair next to the bed and beamed, “I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to wake up, sleepyhead. Morning awaits.”
Not for the first time Gaspard wondered why he kept daytime hours like a mortal. He sighed and thumped his finger on his chest, “Vampire, remember.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she responded with a snort. “I saw you outside in the sun yesterday before I marked you, so I know you can stay awake in the daytime if you want to.”
Gaspard twitched. She had marked him? He had thought she seemed like a mark yesterday too, though for a different type of end game. Either they were both poor judges of character or he was better than he thought at appearing non-threatening. He deliberately avoided responding and set to pulling on his other boot and setting his other gear right before rising from the bed. Deep breaths. Just need a few more.
Arissa shuffled in her chair impatiently, but waited a few moments in silence before asking, “So where are we headed today partner?”
“Brittleshin Pass up north of town. I agreed to do a small task for the local priest of Arkay.” I wonder if there will be wolves in Brittleshin Pass? What do I do about this vision? It wasn’t just the nightmare that had him rattled.
“Ooh, a cave. What’s inside?”
For a moment Gaspard wondered if she was mocking him, “A journal. I spoke with the priest, Runil, for a while yesterday when I was visiting the Hall of the Dead. He asked me to retrieve it and promised a bit of coin for my troubles. Our troubles.”
“Really? You visited the Hall of the Dead? Isn’t that the start of some famous joke up here?” she chuckled. “A vampire, a draugr, and a priest of Arkay walk into a crypt…” The smile on her face was full.
“Now I know you are mocking me. You do not have to come with me,” he started to walk out into the taproom. Perhaps it would be better if she left him now. That nightmare…
“I was just having a little entertainment at your expense,” she pouted artfully. She did that well. “I want to come. Really. It should be fun. Besides I owe you remember?”
Gaspard stopped in the doorway and turned back to her. She appeared sincere, but he already had decided she was a good actress. Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little nicer if she was intent on staying with him for a time, whatever her reasons. “I apologize Arissa. I am a little out of sorts this morning. I did not sleep very well this past night." She appeared to be holding in a grin once more as he looked down at her. He asked, "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing. Just so many things I could say and none of them entirely appropriate. So anyyyywaaay," she drew out the word slowly as an obvious change of subject, "What are we getting paid for this little 'task'?"
"I am not sure. I did not ask the priest. I would assume at the very least it will pay for a few nights at the inn and a fair meal or two." Arissa raised her eyebrows at this so he continued, "Not that type of meal."
She eyed him for a moment, looking irritated, "No, I knew what you meant. You really have a lot to learn about negotiating tactics." She sighed audibly. "All right, let's go."
Chapter 2
Art Credit:
Comments
Posting the chapter at midnight was just a coincidence though. That's just when I finished my editing and finally managed to get all my presentation in line.
Glad you're enjoying it.
The next chapter will be...NOT Gaspard.
Yep, older characters can be fun, and at least they have a legitimate reason for being experienced. I remember a book I picked up for a dollar on Kindle where the main characters were 12 year olds who acted like they were 30. Two... more
I can see Arissa's personality very much. Hehe, poor Gaspard, doesn't k... more
That's part of what I'm going for. He may be a vampire and 200 years old, but he still has his problems with everyday life. His types of problems are just different.