Bleeding Sun - Chapter 2: Filius

  • Warning: This chapter contains Lissette-level length and feels.

    The powerful smell of fungi and humidity hung about the dank air. The vampires had been here, so she was confident that no more would follow her. The first few had been enough. Harkon and his cronies were efficient like that. Traversing slowly through the uneven and increasingly dark cavern, Sorine opted to cast a magelight, albeit a weak and dim one due to her diminished levels of magicka. Any spell stronger and she could lose her ability to tap into magicka altogether.  The cave system grew more and more complex as she went deeper. She oft encountered dead ends, pitfalls and high climbs.

    Thankfully, there wasn’t much more cave to spelunk.

    Before long, she was at the mouth of the cave and was greeted by a modest hollow sporting several trees, bushes and a small waterfall and stream. The sun beamed down over the landscape, a rusty crimson tinge settling upon everything. The temperature of the air had also changed. At a noon like this, it might have been high for Skyrim standards, but now it seemed to have reduced to a cool and oddly comforting low. A camp had also been set up, though judging by the snuffed out campfire and foreboding skeleton leaning against a tree, there was a good chance the camp was now without a proper owner. Next to the waterfall was a lone path leading out to the rest of the Rift. From the small parting of mountainside, she could easily spot the picturesque Rift aspens.

    Relief washed over the survivor, so much that she could almost forget that the yellow sun the world had grown up with was permanently eclipsed. Snapping back to reality, she decided a bath was first in order. The blood, dust and grime of the battle two days ago still clung onto her body. She dropped her crossbow right next to the tent, stripped out of her armor and undergarments and stood under the waterfall, almost sobbing in relief at the comforting cold water showering her, though weird as it might with the water . Without anything to use as soap, she scrubbed more furiously to force the grime out of her body.

    When she was finished, she laid back on the stream and let the water softly flow over her. She didn’t know how long this simple pleasure could last, so why not make the most of it? She cleared her head of any worrying thoughts, figuratively letting them flow with the stream. Of course, she remembered to turn her gaze to the side and not towards the sky.

    A good half hour was spent in the water. She finally rose and headed back to the makeshift sanctuary. Still in a state of undress, Sorine took the time to assess exactly what she brought with her. Considering the heat of the situation during her escape, she didn’t exactly have time to think out what might have been really needed.  She picked up her ragged rucksack and spilled out its contents. Her current stores consisted of two slices of goat cheese, four onions, a book titled “Rage Against the Night”, a rather long dagger, several steel bolts, a hood of brown cloth and a few rolls of bandages. It wasn’t much, but travelling light had its advantages. She took a few bites out of the cheese, put the rest of her supplies back in the rucksack save for the dagger and hood, and redressed herself, donning back her armor, this time putting on the hood to shield her from the sunlight. Before, putting on the headwear was a matter of protecting one’s face from harmful sun rays. Now, it was a matter of life and death. Any prolonged exposure to the dead sun risked succumbing to the vampires’ illusion. It was an evil act, making a demon out of the sun, but she didn’t want to think about it that much. Keep my feet and eyes on the road, she mentally advised herself.

    Sorine Jurard was ready for it. Arming herself with her crossbow at her back and the dagger at her side, along with the rest of her paltry supplies, she tugged on a few loose straps in her cuirass and headed up the path.

    As it turned out, it led to a cliff with a respectable view of the landscape. And what she saw was both horrifyingly breath-taking. Though she was loath to admit it, there was a sort of macabre beauty about the blanket of russet shade covering the golden leaves of the lofty aspens, with the eclipsed sun hanging above. The blend of colors was something she could appreciate and, ignoring the circumstances, she would have loved for the scenery to stay like this. Small puffs of black smoke were visible in the distance, portents of the destruction and carnage the vampires and their thralls left in their wake. No doubt that the same fate had befallen the rest of Tamriel. It was a sad thought. There was one unusually large billow of smoke, relatively close to her. It took a moment for Sorine to realize, as she spotted the expansive lake just next to the source, that the smoke came from Riften.

    Closer scrutiny proved that the capital of the Rift had been reduced to nothing but charcoal.

    A miserable fate for a miserable city. Sadder still, she couldn’t bring herself to pity it and turned away, emotionless. She wasn’t kept alive to look at landscapes and spare sympathy for a city she cared little for. She had but one duty as a former Dawnguard agent: to maintain the spirit and zeal of her fallen comrades. It was only for their memory that her will to live yet remained. With that, she went down the dirt slope down.

    Walking along the main road was obviously unwise. It would be safe to assume that the Volkihar had sent scouts to seek out survivors. Also a safe assumption was that the as-of-now hypothetical scouts expected to find mostly civilian survivors on the road. So the Breton stuck to the woods, walking slowly and as stealthily as possible. She was wearing the easily-recognizable uniform armor of the Dawnguard, so being unseen was of utmost priority. The lack of wildlife came as a surprise to her. Had they too been affected by the sun’s curse? An incongruously amusing thought of a deer skewering people crossed her mind for a moment.

    Dusk had begun to settle in, the crimson glow slowly dimming and replacing it, the ebbing darkness of night. This was a bad time to be out in the open, she thought. More and more vampires would be scouring the breadth of Skyrim in place of thralls, as they had greater mastery of hunting in the night. Sorine needed to find shelter, fast. As if the Gods themselves were answering her, the charred skeleton of a windmill was visible in the distance. Surely a house, shack or at least a haybale was there as well. Her reserved walk escalated to a jog until she could clearly see the farm, or what was left of it. A farmhouse was present next to the windmill, though unlike the windmill, the house was strangely intact. The same wasn’t to be said for the rest of the farm. The crops had all been uprooted, recently by the looks of it, and the livestock were gone. Two corpses lay on the path leading up towards the windmill. One was a Nord man with fair hair and calloused features, clad in simple green peasantwear. The other was of a Dunmer woman. A vampire, if the gothic black outfit and gaunt face was of any indication. Both bodies had several wounds laid upon them. There had been combat here. And it ended with mutually assured destruction. Carrion flies were buzzing around, almost swarming the decaying corpses. The Breton couldn’t bear to look at them any further, but spared a moment to silently pray for the dead man’s safe passing. Then she pressed on.

    The door to the house wasn’t horribly unhinged, but it still didn’t take much effort to open it. She warily entered the structure, eyes open and hands ready to draw her crossbow at any given moment. The interior looked deserted and recently sacked. Hardly anything was in its proper place. Foodstuffs were scattered all over the floor, the same with the furniture, nearly all of it upturned or otherwise, even the two large beds. The fireplace was snuffed out and she could make out the remnants of books amongst the ashes. Another corpse was present, lying in a fetal position in front of a bookcase, this time of a young woman. She had long black hair covering most of her face, but through the ebon locks, emerald eyes peered through, wide open. It made for a chilling sight. Her pale complexion and apparently short stature bespoke Breton heritage, but Sorine could never say for sure. A stairwell was also present at the opposite end of the room, perhaps leading down to a storage cellar.

    As far as temporary hideouts went, she couldn’t have found any better, given the circumstances. It was perfect, even.

    Time to check out the basement. She headed down the stairs and found a small kitchen area of sorts. There was a sizable pantry, several barrels of hopefully water nestled underneath the stairs, as well as a medium-sized open fireplace in the center of the area, with a cooking pot resting on a slab of stone next to it and various herbs hanging above it. Hanging cupboards and various sacks were also present near the pantry. The other end of the basement, where the beds would be on the floor above, was empty. There, Sorine would sleep for the first time in four nights.

    Stripping off her armor pieces and setting down her supplies and crossbow, she went back up to get the discarded bedsprays and blankets and laid them down said empty space. They would feel so warm and soft under her weight, another feeling she had scarce felt even before the ‘end of the world’ had gone and passed. During missions, she would typically sleep on ditches or against the hard bark of trees. Even in the Dawnguard fortress, her lodgings had never been more than a rickety hammock and a personal safe stash. It was a more than a bit harsh to say that she had things better when the world took a turn for the worse. She proceeded to scan the pantries for spare food. Hopefully, the scattered food upstairs meant that the looters that had raided the farmhouse weren’t necessarily looking for a meal. And she was right.

    The pantries were lined with meat, bread and other edible things. If her stomach could cry, it would sob pathetically at the sight of it. She hadn’t eaten properly since the day before the Volkihar struck. The Breton took as much as her hands could and began eating heartily, doing so until she was bloated to the point of vomiting. Downtime was a precious commodity and she realized that she shouldn’t waste it eating selectively or snacking. Gorging what she could was the safer approach.

    Once her stomach could bear no more, she slowly dragged her full body into the makeshift bed on the floor. They were as soft as she had expected. She lied on her back and gazed idly at the dark room, pondering her next course of action.

    The smart move would be to find a better, more permanent hideout, but under the rule of the vampires, she doubted that she could stay hidden for long. As dangerous as it was, the risk of remaining in one set place outweighed one of being constantly on the road. But even if she were to keep going….where would she go? The fate of Skyrim was still a huge mystery to her. As far as she could imagine, Solitude and Windhelm were ground zeroes. Soldiers from both the Imperial and Stormcloak sides had been concentrated there as well as the surrounding areas in response to the nationwide ceasefire that followed the fall of the World-Eater, Alduin. The Breton shuddered at the thought of two entire armies sweeping the land, all under the vampires’ spell. Not much could be said for Riften, obviously. She had no news of Whiterun and the lesser holds, though it can be assumed that a grisly imitation of the purge had been or was taking place. In different intensities, probably, for the less dense towns and settlements all across Skyrim, but ultimately with the same outcome.

    And what of Tamriel? What of Cyrodiil, Hammerfell, her homeland of High Rock? Gods, she had been gone for so long that the thought of Wayrest, her hometown. And her family…

    She clasped her hands together in prayer. Father, Mother, Jorayne…please be safe. In her heart of hearts, amongst all the determination, despair and desolate hope, a twinge of regret remained. Regret of ever leaving home, abandoning her family, when she herself could have been there with them, to protect them. Or die with them. Her eventual fate wouldn’t have mattered.

    The thought of family and unsettled regrets made her eyes hazy, her gaze growing distant. Sorine brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around it. She felt like a weak and vulnerable teenager again, cowering from the ever-creeping darkness of life and the omnipresent human malevolence.

    But in spite of all her despondency, a faint smile found its way into her lips. For some reason, she found a horrid sense of reassurance within the shade of the black sun. Maybe it was the insanity mixing with hope, but thoughts flashed in her mind, of a gallant hero atop a mighty steed who would sweep her off her feet and carry her towards salvation. Her family, too, would be saved and all would be well…

    Yes, the insanity was evidently getting to her.

    She exhaled a loud sigh of vexation and laid her head on the tender mound of blankets and sheets. The worst thing she could do at this moment was to overthink things and end up making rash decisions. Though she wasn’t tired, a proper sleep would clear her mind. Her body listened to her mind and sank itself deeper into the makeshift bed. Sorine fell asleep instantly.

    The young Breton didn’t dream that night. It was a blessing in disguise. Why wouldn’t it be, when all you have seen are the stuff of nightmares? If she had to confront all her inner doubts and fears every single night, she would much rather not sleep altogether. But she didn’t and was thankful. The darkness held a comforting air as her sleep deepened, lulled by the sound of silence.

    That is, until a faint sound reached her ears.

    She woke with a start, instinctively scanning the room for intruders. Nothing, for a while. Trained as they were, her eyes took a moment to orient themselves to the darkness. But still, nothing except for the room. The only thing she could hear now was the faint rustling of leaves upon the wind. Perhaps it was just a mind trick.

    But then, she heard it again and once she strained her ears to listen, the sound made her blood run cold.

    A faint, muffled wail.

    Sorine wasted no time getting to her feet and seeking out the source of the cry. Her ears led her to her one o’clock, her gaze instantly turning to face that direction. There were a few loose boards in the pantry that she had missed. Without a moment’s notice, she was on her feet, rushing towards it, prying out the wooden boards and then she found it. Or rather, him.

    Hidden cleverly inside the body of the pantry was a baby boy, wrapped in dirty brown rags. He was crying out quietly, faintly, as if he had been doing so for hours on end. She glared at the infant for several seconds, shocked by both his inexplicable survival and the utter incongruity of the sight. This world was no longer a place for thing as weak and helpless as babies.

    Another hoarse wail from the infant brought her back to her senses and she reached to cautiously hold him and took him out of his hiding place to get a better look. He hung lip in her arms, squirming weakly and pathetically as she tentatively laid his head on her shoulder. Then she maneuvered back to her mattress and lit a small magelight, expelling a good portion of the room of darkness.

    Resting her rear on the soft bedding, she checked the baby over. He had a few insignificant scrapes and scratches here and there, but overall didn’t look harmed at all. His short black hair contrasted well with his pale skin, riddled with dust bunnies and lint. A vivid image of her own brother Jorayne as an infant flashed through her mind’s eye. They look so alike…

    She then poked around his body, relieved to find him plump and reasonably filled. It seemed the boy hadn’t been hidden very long. There were also no unnatural swellings or tenderness, so he hadn’t broken any bones.

    “You’re a real lucky kid, you know that?” she murmured mostly to herself, her hands rubbing his back comfortingly while looking into his watery amber eyes. “It’s alright…you’re safe now.” Surprisingly, the boy calmed and slept as quickly as he had entered her life.

    This shattering encounter left Sorine at her thought’s end. What was she expected to do with the baby? He’d be nothing but a burden and his crying would only serve to give away her location. From a pragmatic sense, he would be better off dead. Better off departed from this crapsack world. There was nothing left for him, yet here he was.

    There was nothing left for her, too, yet here she was.

    Then, she eyed the boy more and more until her mind shifted to an idealistic view. She thought of the couple’s corpse, inexorably decaying and how precious they must have been for the poor child. Vice versa, she couldn’t imagine how much of treasure he surely had been to them. Almost instantly, she was catapulted to a distant memory. Of a conversation between her and the late Dragonborn, long before things took the worst turn possible.

    “Do you have a family of your own back in High Rock, Sorine?” asked Viktor, the valiant champion of Nordic prophecy, the Dragonborn. They were both seated in the training area, leaning against an aspen tree near the archery targets. It was a breezy autumn evening in Dayspring Canyon. Amber sunlight mingled with yellow-red foliage, creating a pleasant potpourri for the eyes. It was a relatively empty day for the two and they had only settled for idle conversation. The topic at hand revolved around their lives outside of the wetworks. Of friends, family and hobbies.

    “Yes, I do, actually. Just my parents and brother, Jorayne,” she answered with a tone of subtle longing. “They’re all holding their breath and waiting for me back in Wayrest.” She paused as her comrade kept staring at him with a knowing look. “No, I don’t have a husband, if that was what you’re asking.”

    The Nord chuckled lowly. “Not that I’m surprised. You look more like the type who’d-“

    “I won’t have a wife, either,” she interjected, raising her voice jokingly and earning a laugh from him.

    “I kid, I kid. Learn to take a joke, why don’t you?” his fist teasingly struck her shoulder. “But let’s move to serious talk. Say you found a good lad and he put a ring on you. Think you’ll ever have kids?”

    His question bore true weight. Children. She’d never really thought about it because she had deemed those thoughts distractions, unnecessary litter for the mind that should be sharp and focused on combating the vampire threat. But now, in the clarity of the moment, pressed by the fair-haired paladin’s question, she had half a mind to consider considering it. Maybe Isran was wrong. Wishful thinking wouldn’t hurt anyone so long as it was in moderation.

    Would she be ready? Ready to bear the weight of a mother? Ready to nurture her child, or children, and prepare them for the world?

    “Absolutely,” she replied with simple fervor. Sorine Jurard was a strong woman, stronger now than ever before. She had gone blade to blade with some of the most ferocious vampires in Tamriel. She had improved the crossbow, and used ancient Dwemer mechanics and techniques to perfect it into a multifunctional killing machine. She had faced off against mighty dragons alongside the Nordic hero, the Dovahkiin. Hell, she was in light conversation with him! She was not the woman to underestimate. Would the weight of family trump it all? Bring it on, she said. She could handle it.

     The answer seemed to satisfy Viktor and he pressed no further on the matter, opting to just gaze at the sky.

    “Have any names for the eventual kid?” And here was the inevitable question. She knew their conversation was to bait her into this very question, just so he could take inspiration for baby names. The Dragonborn was more cunning than he let on. Still, she kept silent and seriously mulled over his question.

    “Hmm….if it was a boy, I’d name him…”

    “Adam,” she whispered. So that name would be used, after all. The Breton could swear that the baby turned in his sleep as she muttered out his foster name. Yes, she would keep Adam in her care. He deserved to be kept alive, that he might live to see a better tomorrow. They'd both make it out of this, together. And in one piece.

    As the moments went on, a feeling rose within her. It made her doubt the reality of the situation.

    This can’t be real, she thought, her eyes drifting over his face and the serenity of its features. There’s no way any of this is real, because I feel…I feel…

    His lashes fluttered, lips moving soundlessly in his peaceful slumber. Sorine drew him closer to her body, bringing her knees up to surround him fully.

    I feel at peace.

    Minutes later, she followed him to sleep, curled around him, her doubts fading along with the fatigue. Never had she slept so soundly in her life.

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Comments

5 Comments
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  September 2, 2015
    That's totally alright. Short is good. Mine are crazy, but people seem alright with it and I stop when I feel that there's a natural stop to the narrative at that point. I can feel mine creeping up in length again. Usually they average around 7000 words, ...  more
  • Lazy
    Lazy   ·  September 2, 2015
    It would appear that I have underestimated the length of Lissette's stories. This chapter seems rather short in comparison!
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  September 2, 2015
    Great work there, Lazy.

    I am a fan of flashbacks. Albee sends Sorine words of encouragement. If he could get through the hell of the Great Anguish, she and little Adam can get through this.
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  September 2, 2015
    You've done well with this Lazy. Good amounts of detail with a good helping of background. Wonder what Sorine is going to do now...
  • ShyGuyWolf
    ShyGuyWolf   ·  September 2, 2015
    great chapter Lazy, glad to see a caring side to our friend.