Story of a Breton Farm Girl from Cyrodiil, Ch.04, part 26

• Posted by Eviltrain September 14, 2012 - 969 views

  

  29th of Hearth Fire, 4E201

  There were clothes everywhere, dozens upon dozens of them. Shoes strewn about. Shoes lined up. Shoes thrown into dark recesses of the cave. Shirts, dresses, pants, gloves, and hats were scattered throughout the chamber. Numbingly, every one of them was neatly folded and showed signs of being deliberately placed, as if the people they once belonged to had entered the cave, carefully disrobed and then continued on their way.

  Nephili leaned over at the sight and heaved up parts of her dinner in revulsion. Her mind buzzed as it was sucked inward for a moment. An odd burning sensation washed across her body as she wiped what she could of the bile coming out of her nostrils and mouth. Clenching her teeth, she helplessly breathed in the over-sweet stench of rot from a hole that had been dug nearby. The smell oozed like hot grease and flies, wriggling its way into everything.

  Bent over in this nightmare, the young Breton suddenly felt like laughing. Her reaction to all this carnage was not, different and realizing this, she gave thanks to the Divines.

  . .. ...no blood is left... .. .

  Remember why you're here Nephili.

  The woman that had confronted her in Morthal had turned out to be someone named Alva. She was a vampire, and the young mage had never even considered the thought until the monster had brought her lips right up to her ear. In contrast, this complete stranger had easily determined what she really was despite her best efforts. Not since the moment after her transformation had she felt such fear of herself. After the initial waves of shock had worn off, Nephili realized that she could no longer leave Morthal without first... ...speaking to this woman. She had shown her hostilility, but she had not attacked her as all the others had done. Her hands were surely tied by her own circumstances and she might be willing to speak to her if they were to meet again she thought.

  . .. ...just to talk to her, of course... .. .

  Morthal had settled in for the night and the young mage had snuck out of the inn. The town was small and just by observing the things around each home, she was able to find the vampire's residence in short order.

  . .. ...stale blood smells odd... .. .

  Cloaked in the shadow of the eaves, Nephili worked the simple door lock until it gave under her rudimentary guidance. The skill was not advertised by the College of course, but when investigating the world, sometimes it was needed. Keys were often long lost or buried with the dead after all. Beyond the door, she discovered a typical Nordic home and two beds, one occupied. The mage Adept froze for a second when she realized the sleeping figure was not Alva. It was a Nord male and still very much alive.

  . .. ...so unguarded... .. .

  The man was called Hroggar and in a few moments, Nephili would learn that name and also learn that it was a thrall, one whose mind had been bent to serve and protect it's vampire master. Such an art had not even been noted in the available literature inside the Arcanaeum and its revelation disquieted the Breton.

  . .. ...power... .. .

  All this came to light once she had discovered the basement room. Within was... ...a diary lying inside a coffin. Leafing its pages revealed a great many things. In addition to thralls, it mentioned plans concerning the people of Morthal and newly made vampires for a coven in the moors. Most importantly, the journal revealed the name of the one responsible for Alva’s condition. The name was old; and it was one that Nephili recognized.

  During her time spent researching her condition in the Arcanaeum, the mage Adept had come across a book written by an anonymous author. It spoke of vampire tribes and their traits and about a hunter who had learned a great deal about them. Seeing this name in Alva's diary staggered the Breton as a tiny voice burst into her mind. This Old One, he might know.... Taking the diary, Nephili quietly exited the home and crept out of town and into the moors.

  *     *     *     *

  Lydia saw the body of an Imperial man lying next to a table in the cave. She crept over to him to examine the cause of death before suddenly turning her head to look down the next tunnel. Her Thane was bent over in the dim lamplight expressing her disgust. A redguard lay in the dirt by her feet, but it was a very familiar smell that had caught the war orphan's attention. She remembered it from combing the rancid battlefields that existed in her youth and then she noticed the other significant detail. That one was an unfamiliar sight, but it brought to Lydia's mind where she was and what her Thane had come to find.

  Her charge stood back up and seemed to study the exit out the other end. Looking down at the Redguard then into her satchel, she stood very still and performed a breathing exercise. It was something she often did to calm her mind right before a struggle. The young mage disappeared into the next tunnel, an unstoppered potion in her hands.

  The housecarl waited four beats then following after. Quickly passing the horrific spectacle, she dove into the following passage and crept up to the first corner for a look-see. The tunnel itself had grown tall and scaffolding erected against one side to allow access to a sort of mezzanine, perhaps wide enough for two men. The other end of this crooked tunnel revealed a grand chamber whose emptiness was lit by several braziers. In the back was a rough wooden staircase leading up to an opening. Off to the left seemed to be another passageway.

  At the center of the cavernous room was a very long table set to accommodate a feast of nightmares. Her Thane approached the other end then stopped. A dozen paces before her was a throne carved out of rock and sitting within was a bald, very pale man with eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. Lydia immediately regretted even laying eyes on this monster. Her Thane on the other hand, stood before him with utter calm. The Nord was in awe of the Breton. Lydia did not understand the purpose of this confrontation but she knew her Thane would need help in short order. The warrior backed away and looked to gain access to the mezzanine and a good hiding place.

  *     *     *     *

  The Old One gazed out from his throne and watched the Young One approach. She stopped precisely eleven paces from where he sat as her eyes flickered into a few corners before settling upon his face. His personal thrall raised his axe, ready to cut this intruder down at his slightest sigh.

  Curious to find this child of sanguinaris vampiris willingly entering his domain, the Old One waited for the Young One to speak as was his right. The foolish child however, remained silent before him. Initially, the master vampire was irritated by this. Then he realized he couldn't remember the last time a stranger had approached him without attacking first. He decided he was amused and deigned himself to speak first. A liquid languor permeated his vowels and snapped like aging barrels as it bent around consonants.

  “Alva I sense is dead, and you brazenly come here. What do you seek.” His voice filled the great hall, power emanating from every syllable.

  Nephili looked coolly upon the ancient and spoke, “You are the Movarth Piquine of 'Immortal Blood' fame, the guild fighter from Cyrodiil? Are you the one that used to hunt vampires?”

  The Old One sneered. Is that it... how boring...

  "You've read some old book and now have come here to challenge me, is that it? And what would you have me say? That I am he?"

  "If you are, I came to ask a question. Will you hear it?"

  "You... came all this way, from that College, yes... to ask Movarth Piquine a question..." The Old One closed his eyes and whispered, "Let me hear it..."

  Despite her distance, Lydia could hear every word spoken by the master vampire. His voice filling the chamber. She did not understand magic as her Thane did but she was certain that his voice carried with it power and it sent shudders down her spine. Having positioned herself, she watched the tableau with increasing unease. This entire affair was wrong. The sneaking, the stranger's home, leaving town and coming here alone to actually speak with a vampire! The warrior removed her bow and nocked an arrow.

  My Thane, what drives you to this madness!

  The mage Adept paused as she considered the situation. Apart from Movarth and his thrall, there were two others. One was hidden behind the throne, carefully trying to hide it's well of power. Another one with magics stood a little distance away. There were perhaps more, but either they were too far away or they had no magics to betray them.

  She continued, "Have you... have you considered becoming human again?"

  Movarth opened his eyes, measuring this Breton anew for she had just amused him. His reply sprung like a board. "Ahhh!"

  "I see! Is that it...!"

  The Old One leaned back into his throne. "So, you... came here to see if you can save... a vampire's soul..." The mask that was Movarth seemed to curl upwards at the last three words.

  Save a soul? What did you ask? What does this mean? Lydia drew her arrow and settled on her target.

  Movarth lifted a finger, a skeletal dagger pointed at the Breton’s heart. "If I could answer that question, what... will you do...?"

  The mage Adept studied the Old One's hand before meeting his gaze once more. "If you could answer that question,.. then no one would have to die."

  Lydia's shoulder began to strain as she worked to hold the weight of her draw.

  The Old One blinked at the absurd statement. He tilted his head upwards to laugh, his mirth echoing in the chamber, hollow and dry.

  "Your question amuses me... but your answer lacks, conviction." Movarth stood up from his seat to gazed down at his guest. "If you wish to play these games, you must become a better liar."

  Nephili replied, "I'm quite serious about my offer. Will you not answer my question? Or, was there never an answer..."

  Movarth's face fell heavily on his frame as the gaze that had pierced the entire cavern narrowed its focus down to this fledgling. "It seems you have run out of cards to play, Young One. I'm afraid our time is at an end. Be glad that you could enjoy your existence as a"

  For a split second, no one in the chamber moved or spoke. Nephili blinked. One moment, the master vampire was speaking to her. The next moment, an arrow shaft protruded from the Old One's chest. The thrall who stood by him disintegrated into ashes, his axe clattering on the cave floor. The vampire behind the throne stepped out to review the scene, sensing something had gone wrong . Movarth turned his eyes to watch the rain of ashes, mesmerized by its cold fire before falling over dead.

  Nephili spawned her flame atronach and placed a Fire Rune under the second vampire's feet before diving for cover at the other end of the table. She heard a familiar voice snarl a Nord's battlecry as her Rune exploded. Several more arrows were fired, a few finding their targets. Nephili turned towards the other end of the table and buried the second vampire in flames. She turned to a fourth combatant welding electric arcs into the room. Fire and arrow overcame the lightning user, bringing silence into the cavern once more.

  The mage cautiously looked about waiting for another target to appear. A minute later, she lowered her guard and walked over to the dead master vampire and stared at his corpse. Adrenaline, fear and relief coursed through her veins. All of that made it difficult to process what just happened. She felt the housecarl approach, her weapon still drawn. She considered Movarth's last words, wondering what he might have revealed. She saw his body lying on the ground. Despite all the power he had welded, a single arrow had taken his life.

  . .. ...we are so fragile... .. .

  Lydia stood before her Thane. The Breton looked up at the warrior, a blank expression on her face. The warrior spoke first. "I am your housecarl. Why did you not tell me?"

  Her charge gazed back at the Nord, a mixture of emotions shadowing her eyes in the quiet fire light.

  "Nord honor..."

  "...I've learned from you about Nords and something of what it means."

  ...

  "I... didn't want to place you in situations that would compromise your... honor." The young Thane looked around. "Here, I just thought... I thought I needed to do what I can to stand on my own."

  Lydia listened to her Thane's words, her expression easing away from many emotions to just one.

  "Did you not hear me when I said I would follow, my Thane?"

  ...

  "I'm going to clear out this cavern of these monsters and then I'm heading back to Winterhold." The Breton turned aside, then looked down. "Lydia, you have your own voice, and I... I won't have you compromise it."

  The housecarl remembered similar words echoed in the past. She watched her Thane travel down a side passage and thought, This is not what you told me when we first met...

  And, I am not the one making compromises.

  *     *     *     *

  "Ever dance with the devil in the pale moon light?"