A Courier's Tale
Episodes in the Unlife of a Breton Vampire
Origins
Sanctuary
Kiashae
Endless night
A Reckoning
A Shawl for Nilichi
Unrelated Episodes
Introduction
An introduction, when appended to a character whose genesis and ongoing story happen within the shared narratives generated within a roleplaying game, is often a short-hand sort of thing, an elaborated character sheet. Amelie is a character who was created and developed in the MMORPG environment Elder Scrolls Online. I've cut out all of the bold headings that say "Name/Class/Distinguishing Marks" and hopefully left just enough background to understand where she is from and why she might be getting up to the sorts of things she gets up to.Wanderer. Horse lover. Courier. Beautician.Amelie Courcilon was the firstborn daughter of House Courcilon of Wayrest, a noble house whose fortunes had waned over centuries, to the point where the only remaining significant asset belonging to the house was its good name. She had the restrictive sort of education available to most girls of her social class, which she tolerated with resentment. Amelie proved to be a terrible embroiderer, and a mediocre dancer. She struggled with reading, complaining that the letters would not stay still on the page, that they danced away from her to escape. Tutors treated this as avoidance, and punished her for it. Her sister Helene read avidly, and would read to Amelie, and it was in this way the sisters bonded over literature. They both avoided the sorts of instructional literature designed to normalise the restriction of women and girls to societally prescribed roles and activities. Amelie disliked the classroom, and took advantage of every opportunity to get outdoors. She loved horses and showed promise in equestrian pursuits.In her teenage years, her predisposition to resent authority and her sardonic repartee made her 'interesting' company at the salons of the city's well-to-do, even as she offended some of the more conservative elders of her circle. She was warned more than once by her elders that she would "come to no good" unless she changed her behaviour, advice she ignored. After she came of age, when families made arrangements to marry off their daughters to the sons of "suitable" families, a number of suitors came to call on her. In spite of entreaties from her family and other more subtle sorts of encouragement, she spurned every single one of them.Then she met Alix.To Amelie, Alix Montclair seemed worldly, sophisticated and casually indifferent to the social rules which Amelie felt trapped and hindered her. He seemed to have for himself a freedom to go and do as he pleased. This was intoxicating to Amelie, and she quickly fell heavily, obsessively in love. For a time, in spite of warnings from her father, Amelie saw Alix daily. The pair went everywhere together. Alix eventually revealed his true nature to her. Alix had Sanguinaire Vampiris, a strain of vampirism. Amelie, wanting to be with Alix always, begged him to turn her, a request which Alix eventually granted. There followed several months of joyous abandon as the couple went from the wealthy salons of Wayrest to the dank sewers below, indulging Amelie’s newfound appetite for blood and debauchery. When Wayrest would no longer tolerate them, they moved to Evermore.Alix also showed Amelie how use a short blade, a poingard, and she became rigorous in her practice with it, developing and finessing the art of wielding two of them. A larger weapon might have given her more reach, but did not suit her smaller stature. She became quick and deft rather than strong, and held her own as often as not in the informal tourneys held in the Outlaws' refuge. Alix introduced her to his contacts in the underworld, and sometimes she felt her connection with these shady characters to be more real and genuine than all the people she had known in polite society.Then, suddenly, unaccountably, Alix was gone, without a trace.
An Alley
Amelie felt herself lurch to the left as she and her companion took the last step out of the Anchor's Point Inn and onto the cobblestone street. A thin drizzle fell on everything, turning dirt to mud and making clothes damp. Amelie tensed, irritable, as her companion's bear like grip on her waist made it increasingly difficult to keep her balance."Steady on there, handsome, we've a way to go," she chirped with as much joviality as she could muster. The man reeked of whiskey and gangrene, was three times her size and unsteady on his feet. His grunted reply was incomprehensible. Past the pillory she guided him to the left into an alleyway which smelled of refuse and vermin. The ceaseless rain fell and fell, drenching everything, cleansing nothing."Not far now, handsome." Another grunt by way of reply. Lit by the occasional second story candle or ground floor kitchen window, it was difficult to discern much. Her companion's overpowering smell was enough to make her gag. A few steps more, and they would be at the pre-ordained spot. Alix always chose the spots carefully, to minimise line of sight and the potential for accidental discovery.Here.She squinted into the darkness, looking for the signal. The silhouette was unmistakable, and the handsign was affirmative, meaning the vicinity had been cased and there was little risk.With a strength that belied her size, she stuck a heel into the mud and threw her inebriated companion off her. He lurched to the side, then forward, tottered. Alix struck him hard in the chest, putting him flat on his back. He had barely comprehended his sudden change of circumstances before Alix was on him. He opened his mouth wide, wider than any human should be able to, bared his fangs and bit down into his throat, crushing the windpipe and in so doing preventing his prey from crying out. Alix felt around with his tongue for the carotid, clamped down on it and sucked, drawing the blood into his mouth. He looked up at Amelie, regarding her with a baleful glare. Amelie shuddered. She knew why he was displeased."It was the best I could do," she said, half to Alix and half to herself. Alix continued to glower at her in the dark. Some moments went by. Alix drew the life's blood from what once was a man, the rhythmic sucking backed by the pattering drizzle. Then he lifted his head and looked at her."Come. Feed. But not too much. The whiskey taint is strong." Amelie carefully lifted her dress from the mud and knelt on the man's waistcoat. She bared her fangs and supped. Alix was right, that taint was strong. She'd have to take less than she really needed, or it would overcome her, dull her senses at a time when she needed to be alert. She lowered her eyes and supped, taking a little time to savour the life as it flowed from his body into hers, giving her strength and power.Alix walked a few steps back into the alley and lifted a grate. He bent his face to the grate and made several high pitched squealing noises, just on the edge of human hearing. Within seconds a dozen sewer rats came pouring out of the grate, and following the scent of blood, they swarmed over the dead drunk and set to, gnawing, pulling and chewing, ripping at his neck, his cheeks, his nose and ears. Satisfied his rodent friends would cover their tracks, Alix beckoned for Amelie, and they walked arm in arm through the ceaseless drizzling rain, seemingly careless of the murder they'd just committed. Old drunks fall down senseless in back alleys all the time, after all. Who can blame a rodent for taking advantage, to have a feed?
A Summer Courtyard Party
The crowd at the Anchor’s Point Inn had spilled out the door and onto the grassy courtyard to enjoy the summer evening air. The rain that riddled houses with damp and fouled lungs and brought sickness had for one blessed evening stopped, and the mood of the crowd had consequently lifted. Jovial shouts and laughter made a joyous clamour, and it seemed as much ale was spilled as was drunk in the noisy toasts. Amelie hovered by the edge of the crowd, alone.Alix had been gone three weeks now. The searing pain of separation, the worry and the endless questions had given her no respite, and besides that, she was famished. She hadn’t had a feed since she had enticed a tinker on the workshop street into a back alley, and sucked the life from him, leaving a dead, dry husk for the constabulary. She looked around her. People everywhere- walking jugs of the blood she craved, needed. Just one of these noisy toast-making blood-jugs would provide the rich satisfaction she craved, the life! What was more intense, more vivid, more real than the life she tasted when she knelt to feed?Her thoughts raced, she had doubts. Could she do it, without Alix? Was she strong enough, did she have the eye to choose the perfect mark at the perfect moment, that she may take them without being discovered? She scanned the crowd, appraising, but the nagging doubts remained.The sky-blue plume of a Queen’s Guard stepped into her view and towered over her. She took a step back, to take in this tall knight. Field plate decorated with filigree, polished to a mirror shine, right down the the sabatons. A fine tunic with a silver lion emblazoned on a blue background. From inside the helmet, she heard a number of sounds.She looked up at the shiny, plumed bascinet. “I am sorry, I can’t hear you,” she said. More noises, then he raised his hands to take the heavy, visored helmet off. He placed it under his arm. The plume waved in the slight breeze. He looked down at Amelie and smiled.Amelie looked up and studied his features. He had tousled blond hair, flattened in places from the helmet, but in other places seemingly determined to take as many directions as it could. His eyes were large and brown, almost bovine. He had an aquiline nose, tanned skin and an expression that radiated confidence and pride. “Delightful,” was Amelie’s first thought. Her second thought she pushed down, pushed away.“I had hoped it would not be impertinent to tell you, that you look beautiful in that dress.”
Amelie smiled. “And who might this knight be, who begs the indulgence of complimenting a lady on her dress?
“Oh forgive me, my manners… Sir Etienne, knight of the Queensguard.” He bowed.
Amelie returned his bow with a playful curtsey. “I know your uniform, Sir Etienne. I am Amelie, of House Courcilon, and I am honored to meet you. Tell me, have the Queen’s Guard been pressed in their duties of late?
“I am unable to speak publicly of operational matters, but… not since the Pass was taken. For now, we attend the Queen while she resides in Evermore.”
“So it would be safe to assume the Queen has no immediate use for you, and has granted you the freedom to go about complimenting the ladies. Tell me, how many ladies have you complimented this evening?”
“I… er… uh… “The knight shifted his feet, clearly discomfited.
“Come, Sir Etienne, the answer is a number. One? Four? Seven?” Amelie was doing her best to hide her glee behind a stern, solemn expression.
“One,” Sir Etienne nodded firmly, as if convincing himself of his answer. “Only you.”
“Exactly the number a lady might like to hear?” Amelie raised an eyebrow, mischief in her eyes.
“No. I’m not like… I mean… I… “Amelie reached out with both hands and gently took the heavy gauntlet that enclosed his left hand, which was currently not busy supporting a plumed helmet. She gently rocked the gauntlet and smoothed her features into an expression of warm sincerity.
“Please don’t be discomfited, Ser Etienne, I was only teasing.” She looked up and watched his full lips as they grew into a beaming smile. She felt the gauntlet grip her hand, and tighten.
“So…” ventured Sir Etienne, “How do you find the revelry this evening?
“I find it very similar to the revelry of many other nights.”
“So, you find it boring, then?”
“No, I amuse myself by making observations. See the lady over there in the purple gown? That’s Chloe Mireen. Last three nights she has been seen in the company of Coralie Boucher. And where, might you ask, is Coralie?” Amelie pointed across the court to a tall, athletic woman in an emerald green gown. “Over there. Laughing too loudly at one of Andre Lapointe’s dreadful jests. Conclusion? A falling out, or the appearance of one.”
“And what importance does this hold for anyone else?” asked Ser Etienne.
“The young do what the young do. They seek excitement, experience, pleasure, satisfaction. But in so doing they often act contrary to the best interests of others, whose Houses are connected and sustained in a tangled web of alliances, détentes and marriages of convenience. So… If Coralie Boucher should laugh too loudly at Andre Lapointe’s crude jests, and they draw attention to themselves, is there any who might be able to use this information to their advantage?”
“You’re a spy!” Ser Etienne looked shocked.
“Nothing of the sort. I merely observe the players, playing the game. I will not rush from here bearing tales to whisper in an old man's ear, but there are others who will.”
“This is… a game to you?”
“Yes. A very interesting game.”
“I’m not sure that I would be good at it.”
“You think you serve better in the Queensguard?”
“I do. Miss Amelie… I confess... I find you... I have… well... my family have a chalet in Stormhaven. It looks out on Iliac Bay, and it’s very beautiful this time of year and…”
Amelie put a finger to her lips, and he stopped. She felt torn by her gnawing thirst, the imperative to feed, and by genuine care for this innocent young knight. To her he seemed something pure, something right, not just a meal to be sucked dry and cast aside as a husk. He had provided her with the opportunity but she would not take it. She would not. She looked up at him with an expression of sadness and regret.
“Perhaps another time, sir Etienne. I’ve stayed late. Good evening.” She let go the gauntlet and it fell, lifeless, to his side.
“Good evening Miss Amelie Courcilon. Until next time.” His face tried and failed to hide disappointment.
Amelie walked across the flagstones that led out of the courtyard and into the street. She was shaking, and her eyes were wild, too much white. She knew she had to feed, and soon.
Condemnation
From her position in the centre of the market square, up on a wooden platform, chained to a stake, she could see as the first moon rose. Her tormentors were by now inebriated and merry, looking forward to the climax of their evening's entertainment. Chained and helpless, enduring the insults and projectiles hurled by the crowd, Amelie closed her eyes, hoping in that way to be alone with her thoughts.She was to blame for her current predicament. She had done it to herself. Her prey the night previous was neither dulled by drink, nor slow, nor unskilled, though he had succeeded in giving her the impression of vulnerability, of an easy mark. He’d plied her with drink, and had plenty himself, and they had left the tavern together. She’d led him to an alleyway, then, at a quiet corner, she turned on him to strike and found him in a light footed fighting stance, with a rondel-knife in each hand.“Not tonight, blood drinker,” The whistle in his mouth made a shrieking peal, and within moments the alley was full of town guards. “She’s yours,” her erstwhile mark said to one of the guards. There was a clinking sound as a pouch of coins changed hands. Hands pushed her to the ground, and she lay there writhing in the mud as the guards took turns to rain blows upon her with their boots, their fists and their night sticks. Face down in the mud, she was aware of every blow, from a distance, as if it were happening to somebody else.She was aware of the watchhouse clerks, of the subtle contempt conveyed by their indifference. She was grateful that she was given a cell of her own, even if it did reek of shit, piss and vermin. She was not sure what hour it was when they came for her. She left the watchhouse, chained by neck, hands and feet. The guards led her down to the market. It was the night market, and the sun was setting, the stalls were being erected. Early or no, there was a large, angry crowd armed with sticks, rocks, rotten vegetables and of course insults.“Witch!”
“Blood drinker!”
“Whore!”
"Hag!"
“Debaucher!”
“Slut!”
“Vampire!”
“Monster!”The words and the blows formed a cadence of their own, an awkward, lurching rhythm which seemed deliberately crafted to be neither repetitious nor predictable. She felt the smack of sticks, the crack of stone and the squelching thud of rotten vegetables. In the centre of the market square stood the makings of a pyre, with a sturdy wooden stake sticking out of it like an accusing finger. She was lifted unceremoniously onto the platform, and chained by the wrists to the wooden stake. Atop the stake they nailed a sign, crudely painted with the word “MONSTER.”Amelie herd the words they called her. She felt the stones. She heard the cheers that erupted when someone got a good shot. She kept her head down, and she thought of her father, Viscount Alois Courcilon.She had always been a favourite of her father’s. He had been delighted by her determination to do things her own way, even as nursemaids and tutors despaired of her. As she grew, she became quick with words, and subtle in their employ. Father hoped she would enjoy success in the salons, and perhaps attract the attention of someone with means who might salvage the family fortune. Even the child of a merchant might be considered a suitable match – a partnership where the Courcilon family name lends its prestige to a going concern, entitling in-laws to invitations to exclusive salons and garden parties where connections might be made.In the end, she had done the family no good at all. By eloping with a Montclair, a family whose name was unmentionable in reputable circles, by associating with people of low birth, behaving badly in polite society and descending into debauchery, she had brought herself and her family into disrepute. She forced Alois to give her the ultimatum: continue her life with Alix and be disowned from her family. In a choice between her family and her first love, Amelie had chosen the love, and lost her family and her birthplace. She and Alix moved, to Evermore.That had led her, in the end, to the pyre in the market square. There, above her head, where she could not see it, was the crudely painted sign: MONSTER. At her feet were the fruits, stones and vegetables that had struck her. There, on the edge of the square, came the men bearing torches. She looked up, eyes wild.The men lit the kindling to the base of the pyre, and she smelt the aroma of the burning wood. Soon the fire grew, and the smoke choked her and hurt her eyes She struggled like a wild animal, trying to get out of a trap.“It can’t be over. It can’t be over. Not while these stupid bloodbags walk about on two legs. Damn them all. Damn them to the deepest pits! I will return, and there will be a bloody reckoning. They will see! They will learn! Blood for me, and flesh for the rats, that is what they are. They will see. I will make them see!”She looked down, noticing she had lost all sensation in her feet. She strained to see, and she beheld beneath her, a crimson mist. The crimson mist! She exulted. Older vampires could do this at will, but this was the first time it had happened for her. “Take me, take me far from here, far from where my enemies are.” The mist was now up to her hips. “Take me, take me.” The mist was up to her shoulders, now her head. She rose and felt the breeze. Reaching out to catch it the way a handler may grab the reins of a horse, she soared, over the streets of Evermore and away.When the flames took the platform and rose, there was no one there. A length of chain hung from a nail on a stake, as the second moon rose.
A Bridge
Walking gingerly over a rocky ridge, Amelie spied the bridge. She was dressed in a ragged housedress and barefoot, and the icy alpine wind was howling. She picked her way down the slope looking carefully for any sign of movement. She reached the road, feeling her feet sliding on the smooth cobblestone, enjoying the ease of the smoothness as she walked. At the bridgehead, she climbed down and under, and found the river low enough in its bed that one or even two people could shelter underneath the bridge and yet stay dry. She combed the little area carefully – charred sticks indicated a campfire, but no other signs of habitation. Perhaps the wolves kept travelers from camping out in this region.She sat still, for the first time in a long while, and looked out as the sky paled in the east. She moved slightly and huddled herself away from the coming sunlight.You should have stayed.
You had shelter and food.
You were safe.
Now you’re our here, exposed, and as likely as not to get caught again.
I was not safe. It wasn't safe.
Safer than here!
No. Anywhere is safer than there.
Fool!She lowered her head as her inner voices argued, and closed her eyes shut. She didn’t answer the accusation, because she didn’t have an answer. A stranger in an isolated hunter's cabin had saved her from the fate of a vampire who doesn’t feed – uncontrollable, raging thirst. She would have lost herself, probably forever, leaving nothing but a mindless, raging bloodfiend. “Going feral” they called in polite circles where the possibility of it actually happening to anyone was remote. Vampires who supped goblets of blood supplied reliably by willing thralls could afford to be polite about it. Some could afford to sup daily, keeping their complexions so smooth and supple they could pass among the living unnoticed. Amelie’s face was a ruin – eyes like red coals at the centre of a writhing convergence of angry black and purple blood vessels, purple lips and horribly bruised arms and legs - not the sort of sight that would be welcome at a Wayrest garden party.She could have stayed, but there was a price to pay, and Amelie did not wish to pay it.She sat under the bridge, perched on a smooth, flat stone, and thought. She and Alix had lived dangerously, openly hunting the living in towns, drunk on the thrill of murder to drink blood. Alix was confident, cocksure even, and Amelie had trusted him completely.Fool!The inner voice accused her once more – this time she couldn’t be bothered to mount a defence. The accuser was right, once again. She had been a fool to have trusted him to look after both of them. When she thought about it, he couldn’t really be trusted to look after himself. When he disappeared, he left her at a total loss as to how to sustain herself. Besides a couple of fences she was friendly with in the subterranean refuges of the city's outlaws and thieves, she had no one to turn to.You can't trust anyone.Dawn had broken. Amelie curled up in a crevice near where the bridge met the riverbed, and waited for night. She'd heard a thing from someone who had heard a thing, and she was banking her fortune that this third or fourth hand information was accurate.When the night comes, we will learn. We will know.
And if not?
Then I don't know.
Sanctuary
Just past midnight, a dishevelled figure wearing a ragged housedress limped on shoeless feet towards a small cave entrance, obscured from the trail by a rock outcropping. The high pass had not been kind to her with its wind, snow and ice. She looked bent over, like one very old. As she entered the cave, she felt the cool smoothness of the stone below her, and it filled her with gratitude. “Such a simple thing to be grateful for, smooth stone beneath my feet” she thought as she made her way into the cave. Her feet were bruised and cracked; she had lost several toenails, her skin was livid and inflamed, and every part of her hurt.She hoped she was in the right place.A makeshift stable to her left had been made with stone and iron rods, and a grey rouncey haltered with a chaff bag over his nose looked content enough. Amelie perked up a bit, seeing the horse. “Hello beautiful friend,” she said. She hadn’t time to register the horse’s reaction when she heard the sound of footsteps, and turned.Around a turn in the passage strode an enormous Nord, at least seven feet tall, she estimated. She froze in place as he approached. As Amelie’s head was down, he had to stoop to see her eyes.“Hello,” he said in a deep baritone voice. “Are you all right?”
Amelie forced her broken, chapped lips into a smile. “All right? Yes I think I am somewhat all right, but I can also think of….”She broke off as an enormous Khajit joined there at the entrance. The rouncey in the stable whinnied. The Khajit came closer, sniffing her, up and down. He then turned to consult with the Nord.“I sense no heartbeat from this one. I am surprised she is walking at all. Look at her feet, they are in a terrible state. She would like some shoes. Let us ask her.” He turned to Amelie. “Would you like… shoes?”“Shoes would be a kindness,” Amelie replied, “but the thing I seek and most desire is sanctuary. The shoes could come a little later.”“Well then you found what you were looking for.” The big Nord’s voice echoed in the passage. He looked down at her. “I am Kjorsmar. What is your name?”“It is my pleasure to meet you, Kjorsmar. I am Amelie, of… formerly of House Courcilon.” Her elaborate, unsteady curtsey looked ridiculous in the tattered homespun dress. “I am banished from my lands. I am stripped of my titles. I am unperson among my family. I am lost, hurt and alone. I seek aid.”“I am Dro’kaz.” said the Cathay-Raht as he sniffed around her. “You… are afflicted.”“I am.” was Amelie’s simple reply. “Is there… water or a place to wash? I'm filthy.”“The falls.” Said Dro’Kaz. “Let us take her to the falls.”Amelie thought her two guides enormous, as they bowed their heads to avoid being struck by stones in the roof. The thought of running water was very appealing, given her current disheveled state.Her two guides brought her to a place where a cascade turned into a waterfall, and emptied into a pool of icy cold, fresh water. She ran her fingertips over the surface of the water, and was about to prepare herself for a bath when she heard shouting coming down the passage, in a familiar voice.“You know, you don’t make this easy! I will send you back to apocrypha if you don’t behave!”A short silence followed, then there was a groaning sound, like a wounded animal, but somehow different. Footsteps, then a Dunmer appeared in the passage.He was beginning to show his age, however his simply cut silver hair added a touch of elegance. Neatly dressed in green leather breeches, covered with a brown leather smock, his plain attire suggested someone whose work gave them little time to consider the current fashion. Knee high boots, also in green, were well heeled and meticulously cared for. The heel was low, straight and oiled. His eyes were hidden behind translucent glass goggles. By way of jewellery he wore a pair of ivory earrings. He leaned on a walking stick.“Got ourselves someone in need of assistance,” said Kjor, pointing at Amelie. “Also shoes, she needs shoes.”“One of Bal’s afflicted.” said Dro’Kaz.Amelie looked over at the Dunmer and smiled. “I remember you… Nevi, is it not? I don't remember how or where I did it, but I think I interrupted some complicated arcane work that you were doing. I'm sorry... about that.”Nevi carefully looked Amelie up and down. He raised a brow. “I remember you, Amelie. What has happened? Did something attack you?”“Not me!” Dro raised his paws.Amelie bowed her head. “I was to be burnt at the stake, as a monster. I was paraded through the street to hear the people’s insults and denunciations. I was pelted with rocks, clods of mud and rotting vegetables. I was strung up on the pyre and left to burn. That or some fat yeoman’s pike would have had me. It was then I found the transformative power. I found the red mist, and it took me north. My feet found the high pass, which led me here.”Nevi stroked his chin and sighed. “I am sorry to hear this. Have you need of the healer’s art?”Amelie nodded. “Yes, my feet are broken from walking. Something hit me in the ribs, and my face is a livid mess.”Nevi pursed his lips. “I am a restoration mage by trade.” He looked at Kjor. “Help her into the water, and I will begin the spell.”Amelie stepped up to the lip of the pool. Kjor took her hand as she entered the water. She took a breath, then plunged in. The water was icy cold, but after the initial shock she felt calm. She wriggled out of her dress and left it on the lip of the pool, then turned to look at Nevi.Nevi pointed the walking stick into the air. The stick began to glow, a golden light, which then darkened to a deep crimson. The light surrounded Nevi’s body, growing in strength, then, at the correct moment, Nevi pointed the stick at Amelie. A red bolt of magicka struck her and entered her body. Nevi fell to his knees, exhausted. “It’s been a while,” he said to no one in particular.Amelie dropped to the bottom of the pool, feeling her skin, and noticing the hurts that were now gone. She could feel her skin was once more supple, and she no longer needed to walk bent over. She came to the surface again, closed her eyes, and put her hands up to her face. She gently touched the livid, inflamed tissue around her eye sockets, and found them smooth and calm. She put her hands down and looked around. Kjor and Drokaz looked to be tending to Nevi. “Are you all right?” she asked.“As fine as I can be, yes.” The Dunmer mage replied. “How do you feel?”“I feel… I feel... I feel like someone else entered the pool, someone broken and destitute, and now I will leave it, someone whole and ready and... and.... Look on what you have done! Every cruelty this world has inflicted on me, you have taken it and made it anew. I feel… rejuvenated, and for that I will always be grateful.”Amelie subsequently took her place among those who had found sanctuary at Foster’s Folly. She rested, recovered and gathered strength for her next travels in the world.
The Tanner
Southwest of Dragonclaw Rock, CyrodiilNeither alive nor dead, not a ghost or a revenant, no shining celestial, no quickling or fey, a solitary figure walked softly though the moonlit evening on a battlefield south-west of Dragonclaw Rock. The churned mud of the bloodsoaked battlefield squelched between the toes of her bare feet, and the occasional breath of wind caused the ragged housedress she wore to billow and flutter, not unlike the ragged sails of some doomed galleon, foundering in an angry white sea.Along the hillside on the other side of the battlefield, the camp followers of the victors were busy with their knives, claiming those too grievously wounded to be taken prisoner. She watched them at their work a moment, then proceeded, guided by a particular smell: the smell of death in the mortally wounded.This one.She knelt by the side of an infantry soldier whose laboured breathing gave an indication of the extent of his wounds. His blue lion surcoat was rent and torn, and a livid crimson blotch indicated the wound at his side. She gently smoothed his brow then placed a finger to her lips.
“Try not to talk, it will only bring you pain. Here, take my hand.” Her fingers rested within his much larger palm. She felt his grip tighten.
“Good, now, one squeeze for yes, two for no. Do you have a letter?” One squeeze. “In your surcoat?” Two squeezes. “Belt?” One squeeze. Carefully she ran her fingers over the belt until she found the place where the leather parted, making a small storage space for papers. She pulled out an envelope and read the name and address: Joan, of Koeglin Village, then flipped it to read the sender. “Jed the Tanner, Company Marbot.” One squeeze. “Your lord’s lands are not far from Wayrest.” One squeeze. “And I have ridden with your lord, and can testify that your lord is a right pompous ass.” One squeeze followed by a fit of phlegmatic wheezing. Amelie (for that was who it was, walking among the dead and dying that night) smoothed his brow again. “Sssh, that was my fault, I’ll try not to do it again.” She looked into his eyes. “Jed the tanner, you’re dying. I can smell it on you” A pause, then one squeeze. “Jed the tanner, I can make it gently and quickly, which is more than I can say for those butcher children across the field. Is that what you want?” One squeeze. “Very well. Tell me the words to say to Joan.” She brought her ear down to his mouth, and listened intently as he rasped out the words. “I understand. Now be still. You will feel a little sting.”She removed his helmet, then gently lifted his head into her lap. Then, leaning over, she bared her fangs, pierced the skin at the neck not far from the carotid, and she drank. The intoxicating power of the life in his blood made her whole body shiver. She drank until she could feel that he had passed. She stood above him, looking down a moment, thinking of Jed the Tanner, now dead and gone. Then she closed his eyes with her fingers, folded his arms over his surcoat, placed his helmet by his side, turned and walked back the way she had come.
Homecoming
Haussman Suites, WayrestIt was close to midnight when Amelie presented herself to the lobby of Haussman Suites. The lobby was empty, save for the doorman Andri, who was sound asleep at the reception desk. Amelie paused a moment, taking the familiar place in. In better times, Haussman Suites was the city residence for House Courcilon. The family would come to stay every spring, for the garden parties, the regatta and of course the horse racing. At other times of the year they would stay briefly to attend wedding celebrations, funerals or birthdays of the patriarchs of the noble houses. Now that the country estate was lost to the bank, Haussman Suites was all the property left to House Courcilon; that and a couple of caravelles which ran cargo from Iliac Bay down as far as Sentinel, and across to High Isle, Gonfalon Bay.Amelie crossed the room to the reception desk. Her hand hovered over the bell. To ring it loudly several times and break Andri’s slumber with a cheery “Good Morning” would be true to form, but that was another Amelie, from another time. This Amelie withdrew her hand, and quietly took the stairs. “Used to be, used to be used to be” she sang quietly to herself as she climbed. “Used to be, used to be…. me.”On the landing below the third floor, she stopped. A tremor shook her. She held the rail as her breathing quickened and her stomach turned. A thin film formed on her forehead, which she dabbed at with a handkerchief. She took control of her breathing and composed herself. Did she fear this visit, this meeting? She couldn’t possibly. Everything that could be taken from her had already been taken. Perhaps it was hope that caused the panic, hope that the past could be forgiven, that she could somehow once again belong.Amelie and her sister Helene had grown up on a shoestring budget that did not have room for the latest entertainment or fashion. This meant that when they presented at social gatherings they were easy targets for the sorts of people who take pleasure in making subtle slights and jibes, to make others feel small, or less.“Oh this? It’s a Charm bracelet, from Elsweyr don’t you know… I’m sure they will be the thing this season, absolutely everyone’s going to have one.”
“We’re going up to the chalet, the builders have just extended it with a patio and a hot pool fed by the mountain spring. So good for the complexion! Oh, and what will you be doing this winter?
“The seamstresses were ages at it, to get all the stones to sit properly, I’m really pleased with it. And the fabric! Just divine. And what’s that you’re… oh, it’s last season’s dress. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to point it out to you.”Amelie and Helene both detected the sneer in the words, the slight narrowing of an eye, the too-wide smile, the dismissive tone, as if the speaker was looking forward to the end of the conversation. Amelie and Helene would have loved to have those things, only because it would mean they belonged among their peers, however their chances of legitimately acquiring such things were slim to nothing. The two girls dealt with their feelings, each in their own way. Helene stood on her dignity and declared such things beneath her. Amelie took the slights more to heart, until they curdled within her. She decided larceny was her means to set things right. She managed to purloin a small fortune in jewellery until one fateful night she was caught more or less red-handed with a bauble that belonged to a distant cousin. It was decided that she was to present her cousin with her bauble back, and, in front of the entire gathering, she was to admit her guilt and beg forgiveness. How the elders tsked and tutted! Amelie had nothing to say on the coach ride home. As she wept into her pillow that night, she vowed that would never happen to her again.Never, ever, will I get caught!But you did get caught again, didn’t you?The stark silhouette of the pyre with its stake and chains came into her mind and took her breath from her. She took a moment to look about – the familiar strip of vermilion carpet, the white painted architrave, the mahogany door with its brass lionhead knocker. She bit her lip and reached up for the lion’s head knocker.Three knocks, then one, then another three knocks was the family sanctioned knock for use in case of emergency. She listened, a stirring. Footsteps. The door creaked open, and an eyeball peered out. The door shut. More voices, she recognised her sister’s among them. How sweet, just to hear her voice! After all she had been through, the sweetness of that sound threatened to break her. She closed her eyes, stood tall and waited.Finally the door opened again. Amelie entered the salon, with a nod to Edouard, the valet who had opened the door. The salon was much as she remembered. Two large oil paintings, much too large for a room of this size, dominated the room. Bentwood chairs and occasional tables accommodated the central space, on a vermilion carpet decorated with fleurs de lis. Her father Alois was seated in a chair. He seemed smaller, diminished, and his eyes gave the impression of deep sadness. To his right sat her sister Helene, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists in her lap.“You’re looking well, Helene.” Amelie volunteered.
“Spare me.” Helene replied. Her lip curled slightly before her face settled into an expression that could charitably be described as frosty.
There was silence for a time. Alois coughed.
Helene broke the silence. “Why have you come here, Amelie? To stare at our carpet?”
“I wanted to see you. I wanted to say… I’m…” Amelie gazed at the floor, lip quivering.
“You’re what?” Helene’s tone was flat, deadpan.
“I’m…sorry.” Amelie whispered. Helene got up from her chair and took to pacing in the middle of the room. She looked down at Amelie and said,
“No. No. You do not get to do that.” She turned, walked a step or two then rounded on Amelie again, “You do not get to walk in here all head down and husky voice and say that… you’re sorry! Do you have any idea what you have put us through? What you’ve put Papa through?” Amelie kept her head down and clasped her hands together, but did not offer a reply.
“House Courcilon is in ruin. We receive no invitations, no letters, no callers. Sparrow and Dancer make a little income, but it’s not enough to…”
Alois stood up. Helene stopped talking midsentence. Amelie looked up at her father, now old, but standing, with the firm expression of the patriarch she remembered as a child. “Come here, my daughters.” Amelie did as she was told. Alois put his hand on her shoulder. Helene hesitated, then complied, and the three of them stood close together.
Alois spoke, as was his wont, softly and plainly. “I lost my daughter, my beautiful daughter, whom I loved. Pity the father who loses a daughter, for it is a great sorrow.” There was silence for a time. Both sisters took time to reflect on the words, to measure their weight, their gravity, and to consider what might be offered next. "Through poor guidance and misfortune, my daughter was lost to me, and lost to many others who cared for her deeply."Amelie spoke. “I destroyed my fortune, and the fortune of my family. I made myself unfit to be with company. I broke the law of the land. I murdered for the thrill of it. I drank blood. I willingly submitted to an affliction that is permanent and irreversible. I do not deserve a seat at your table, or anyone else’s. I have caused hurt, pain, sorrow and death, and I am deeply sorry.”“Why?” Helene’s voice was flat.“I thought I was in love. I wanted to be with him always. I thought we would be together always, that once he turned me everything would be wonderful. But it wasn’t. I became a deceiver, and he a destroyer, and in nameless dark alleys we did unspeakable things, things I wish I had never seen, let alone done.”Helene unfolded her arms and let them rest at her sides. “And where is he now?”“I don’t know.” Amelie replied. “He disappeared. I have no idea where he is.”Helene frowned. “And how long has he been… disappeared?”“Seven months”Helene looked at Amelie with a piercing gaze. “Tell me what it felt like. Tell me what it felt like, when you knew he was gone.”“It was many things at once.” Amelie replied, looking down, remembering. ”It was disbelief. Terror. Fury. Deep sadness, like despair. Loneliness, futile hope, all of them, one after the other.”Helene took Amelie’s hands in her own. “Look at me.” Amelie complied, her sad, tired eyes looked into Helene’s eyes, burning with intensity. “That was how I felt, when you left. That was how father felt, when you left.”The two sisters looked at each other a moment. Helene let Amelie’s hands go. “You are cold, like a corpse. Does your heart even beat?”“It does not.” Amelie replied.Alois cleared his throat. Both sisters were silenced.“Your dear, dear mother loved me, and she loved both of you. And when I asked her how much she loved, she always gave the same answer: more than anything in this world. More than anything in this world. Think on it. What calamity, what event, what act of aggression or deception amounts to more than anything in the world? Helene, your sister is not gone, she is right here. She has an affliction.”“Affliction is so polite,” replied Helene flatly. “She is a monster.”“Helene, you’re right." Amelie replied. "I am a monster. Two months ago, in some no-account village, I was shackled hand and foot, and made to walk around the square while torch and pitchfork wielding peasants and butchers and cooks hurled clods of earth, rotten produce and rocks at me. Then they hoisted me up on a pole, with a painted sign that said “Monster” over my head, and set alight the kindling at my feet. That’s what people do to things they fear and despise.”Helene turned aside and folded her arms, looking down with a frown.
"But you're here.""I learned a magic that allows me to... disappear.""That would be a handy thing I suppose, for someone who thinks of murder n the same way I think of... brunch."Amelie winced at the analogy, because she knew it was accurate.Alois then spoke. “I believe that love is stronger than hatred. Love is stronger, and love demands strength from us.” He looked at his daughters, one angry and wrestling with a conflict between the love of a sister and her own moral code, the other lost and alone and in need of protection. “Love is stronger,” Alois repeated, “If we truly possess the strength to love.”Amelie stood, head bowed, blood leaking from her eyes into her handkerchief. Helene rested her head on her chin, frowning.“Do you accept her?” she asked of her father.“I do.” he replied.“Papa, I am not ready yet. I am still angry about things, and I worry about the future. I will need time.”“I understand,” was Alois’s reply, “Now, we’ve had a disrupted rest, let us return to…“I can’t stay, Papa.” Amelie interrupted. “I need Penny, a bale of lucerne, tack and harness, and my old jodhpurs. I have… messages to deliver, for the soldiers’ families.”“For the soldiers families? Well, Penumbra was always yours, your saddle is still down by the stable, there should be a bale, and your cupboard still contains your clothes. I am guessing you will leave before the dawn?“Yes, Papa.”“Well… come again soon, Amelie my daughter, and perhaps you could tell us of your adventures.”“I’d like that, Papa. I’d like that very much.”As Amelie rode out on her black destrier that night, she thought of her beloved father, and his lesson in love.
Tanners’ house, Koeglin VillageThe black destrier cantered through the village square, carrying a rider in a muslin blouse, knee-high riding boots and tan jodhpurs. She looked around for a constable, and seeing none, tried a young man in a helmet leaning on a pike.
“I’m looking for the Tanners’ house.” she said, in a voice used to command.
The young man sprang to attention. “Past the well down that row that looks over the cornfield, it’s the last house on the right.” Amelie nodded by way of thanks then rode as directed, down the row until she came to the designated house. She dismounted, tethered her destrier at the post and knocked on the door. A woman answered, short and sturdily built, wearing a facial expression that indicated she was unlikely to stand for any nonsense. She seemed non-plussed to find a noblewoman at her door in riding attire. “M’lady?” she said.
“May I come in? Amelie asked.”
“Aye, but you’ll need to take the place as you find it. Got three boys who are busy undoing anything I set to right as fast as I can do it, with their Pa at the wars and all, it’s a wonder I get any rest.”
Amelie followed the woman in. “My name is Amelie.”
“Mine’s Joan, and don’t you noblefolk got a house name?”
“It’s Courcilon of Wayrest, though I have no need of it these days”
Joan grinned “No need of it? You’re your own woman then aye? I like that.”
“Shall we sit?” Amelie gestured to the simple braced stools by the fire.
“Now that’s a laugh, some highborn lady planting her posterior on one of my old stools, that’s a laugh, that is.”
“I don’t mind at all,” said Amelie “I’m sure they are sturdy and comfortable.” She sat on the nearest stool. “Perfect.” Joan followed suit.From a pocket in her jodhpurs, Amelie produced a mud-spattered letter. As soon as Joan set eyes on it her expression went from cheerful and businesslike to dread. Her eyes rolled back and she got up off her stool, backing away.
“No.”
Amelie stood. “I’ll make us some tea.” Placing the letter on the little dining table, she moved over to the little stove and filled a kettle. Joan’s grief began softly , and grew until it filled the room with sound. Footsteps, a wooden spoon kicked across the floor, the sound of her cries. A flat, end of the line sound that we make when we’ve lost something and the pain of it is too much to bear. Amelie watched her, and gave her space, grateful that the children were not about.By the time the kettle boiled, Joan had calmed somewhat. She took tea from Amelie and sipped. “I told him it was some fool’s errand.”
“You were right. You still are.”
“He wouldn’t be told though. He said it would be cowardly to let another fight while he stayed home safe.”
“He gave me a message for you.”
“What that foolish letter? I already know what’s writ on it. I helped him write it!”
“No, something different. Something he told me.”
“Told you but how?” Joan looked at Amelie, “Told you? Were you there?”
“It isn’t important how or why I was there, is it?” Joan cocked her head and looked at Amelie curiously, but said nothing. “He told me to tell you that he stood his ground like a soldier. He said he honoured his company and did right by his friends, and that when the line broke, he thought of you, only you, you the way you were at that market day when you had the ribbons in your hair, and how you danced. He said that he loved you and the boys more than any man could fit into his heart, and that you would know these words were his if I told you that the third worry doll on the mantel has got a wonky eye.” Amelie watched as she looked at her, shocked. She looked over to the worry dolls on the mantel, then back to Amelie. She walked over to the mantel, picked up the set of worry dolls, and showed Amelie the third one, which had two eyes painted on that pointed in different directions. She sat down on her stool, threw back her head and laughed.
“Of all the fool things, with his last dying breath he wants to tell you this!”
“Are you friendly with the neighbours?”
“Tilly of Dwynnen and I get on. She’s two doors down.”
“I’m going to go and see her. You need folk around you who can help you and the boys.”
“Amelie?”
“Yes?”
“Was there pain?”
“Yes. There was great discomfort. He was wounded in the side. His breathing was laboured and he could hardly speak. He knew it was time, many of them do. They see their comrades go through it and… at the moment he passed, no. He passed peacefully.”
“Amelie, will you pass that way again?”
“I might”
She pressed the worry dolls into her hand. “Take these to where he lies. He might worry… about us, you see.”
Amelie smiled. “Of course. I wish you and your boys all the best.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door, to her destrier. On mounting, she looked towards the doorway, to see Joan waving.
“May the road treat you kindly”
May your hearth be warm”
It wasn’t till several hours later that the nagging thought occurred to her: Her skin was cold, as cold as death.
A Courier
West of Bruma, north CyrodiilThe wind that howls up the Pale Pass is always cold, and when it snows you can barely see your outstretched hand in front of your face. The ice is treacherous, lurking year-round in places that never see the sun, and many are the surefooted beasts of burden that has fallen, broken bones and sadly been put to the sword by the cliffside.Warned and chastened, Amelie and her beloved destrier Penumbra cautiously picked their way down. Where the path became too steep or icy, Amelie dismounted and carefully led Penny by the halter. The saddlebags were well balanced food for Penny, a large waterskin and the cargo, mostly correspondence.. Behind the saddle, a bale of lucerne rode behind a bedroll. Amelie wore a black woollen cloak with a deep hood over a leather jerkin, breeches and knee-high riding boots- black on black on black.Amelie paused a moment and watched. The moon appeared from behind a cloud – a waxing gibbous moon. “Come on Penny, nearly down,” she cheered her mount. Penumbra was a black Breton destrier- tall in the shoulder but solid, and very strong. Coursers were faster, and the renowned Yokudan Charger had greater endurance, but what the Breton destrier had was the composed, unflappable temperament, bred and selected generation after generation to bridle panic and stay the course in a cavalry charge. Amelie wore no breastplate, nor did she carry a lance, but she valued Penny’s cool nature as much as any Breton knight might. It was something Amelie had considered at length, as their journey took them into the bloody, cruel wasteland of war and torment that fair Cyrodiil had descended into.Amelie sighed with relief as the slope eased, relieved to have traversed the Pale Pass without accident. Soon she rounded Dragonclaw Rock, used as a navigation tool for invading armies time out of mind, and spied the beautiful undulating hills of Cyrodiil, laid out before her. Not wishing to be challenged, she gave the nearby Fort Dragonclaw a wide berth. She could see the fires on the battlements, not for light but for heating cauldrons of oil to deter enemies attempting to storm the keep. At a distance one night, Amelie had heard the agonies of the soldiers who died in this way, and she did not wish to hear it again. She looked to see which banner flew atop the fort, but there was not enough light. These days, she found she hardly cared anyway.In the east, the first pale glimmer of dawn touched the horizon. She cast her eyes about for a secluded place to wait out the day. She watered Penny by a swift, clear stream, then rode uphill to a gorse thicket that was sheltered by a small stand of poplar trees. There was little forage in the hard, stony ground here in the north of Cyrodiil, so after she was untacked and haltered, Amelie offered Penny some of the lucerne she had carried, as well as an apple and a carrot from the saddlebags.Amelie spurned food. It could be pleasant to experience the taste, but it did her no good, and her experience was that food was a bland, insipid thing with very little to recommend it. She did drink wine, to keep up appearances among mortals, however. As a girl, she was fond of cakes, like many girls her age. Indeed the qualities of, preferences for and enjoyment of cakes was a topic for lively discussion among her peers. Partisan cried were uttered for honey and almond, versus lemon curd. But that was long ago, and before she turned.Since she had turned, Amelie took little pleasure in touch, felt no attraction to others, and no passion or lust arose from lying unclothed with another. One thing, and one thing alone, brought her pleasure: to feed. To feed! It brought her ecstatic, overwhelming, narcotic bliss. When she yearned for anything at all, it was to sup the life’s blood from a mortal’s body – human or mer, it did not matter. She craved to sup that blood until in that final intoxicating moment, the victim gave up their life, and she was left transported, blissful, overflowing with both her own un-life and the life she had devoured, that was surging through her.She had given Penny a generous lead, conscious that she might not be able to do that further south, depending on how she found conditions there. She looked out through the poplar trees as the light of day grew. It was so still, peaceful. It made it hard to believe that down there in the valleys, by the milegates, forts and outposts, a cruel and desperate war was raging. She unfurled her bedroll, and hid herself away from the loathsome sun, to rest and be still, until nightfall returned. Tomorrow night, she and Penny would be well into the no-man’s land of the Three Banners War.
A Dream
A Dream((Trigger warning: contains depictions of dissociative amnesia and flashbacks, which can be symptoms of trauma. Take care of yourselves, be kind.))She sat on a simple wooden stool, at a simple wooden table. A small tallow candle guttered in the centre, and provided a bright spot, but little light. To her right, a wooden cup held wine. She held her hands in her lap, because they were trembling.Stop it.Voices murmured around her, other voices at other tables, murmuring. She sat alone, watching the tallow candle gutter – a bright spot but little light. She held her hands in her lap, because they were trembling.Stop it.Water dripped out of the roof of the cave she was in. It was a cave, and she was in it. Water was always dripping. It was hard to stay dry. Mould destroyed books, leather and clothing if they were neglected. The hem of her dress was wet. It was a tattered dress and the hem was wet. There was no escaping the wet. She held her hands in her lap, because they were trembling.Stop it.She held her left hand up to her face. It made a silhouette in front of the tallow candle that was guttering. It was trembling. Her hand was trembling.Stop it.It did not stop. It was trembling.“Stop it,” she whispered, and she placed it on the table. It did not stop on the table. It kept trembling.“Stop it!” She pulled a knife from its sheath. The knife was trembling, because the hand that held it was trembling.“Stop it!” she said, loud enough for others to hear. The hand did not stop. It kept trembling.She brought the knife down. It pierced the skin between the index and middle finger, and lodged itself in the table with a thud. “Stop it!” she shouted. Other patrons were now turning to look at her. Someone was screaming, not far away.“Stop it!” she shouted. Now she could see a boiling mass of heads and faces They said what-are-you and how-are-you and do-you and don’t you and she just wanted them to stop because the screaming was getting louder and somebody just put a knife into this hand on the table.She pulled the knife out. It was trembling. She brought the knife down again. She just wanted it to stop. The screaming was getting louder and louder in this cave. What cave? Down again came the knife, into this hand. What hand? Whose hand? Whose hand is this? The screaming became louder and louder. It was going to break her ears.Whose hand is this? Mine. My hand. This hand is mine. Who is screaming? "I am screaming. I am screaming, screaming out for help to make it stop.Amelie woke up, screaming. It was not a noise she had heard herself make before, it had a flat, abject quality, not unlike the crying of a wounded animal. Her body felt ready to spring, to fight or run. She took a moment to let her body have the feelings. She kept still, kept breathing, and allowed the feelings to come, and they came in waves. She kept breathing: in-out in-out as they passed. After some time, she opened her eyes and looked around.I am sitting up in my bedroll. I am among pine trees. Penny is nearby. I am in the Colovian Highlands. I am on my way to Elsweyr. I am to deliver a letter there. I’ve had a very disturbing dream.The dream had felt so real. She could feel the cool moisture of the cave. She could almost touch the simple table. If Nevi had been arguing with a spirit in the study above, or Kjor had burst out into rich laughter it would have been perfect. Perfect perhaps, but not real. It wasn’t real. It was a dream. To prove it, she held up her left hand, close to her face in the poor light.“Look. See?” She looked. She saw the thin lines on the back of her hand, like a child’s painting, or sticks in a pick-up game. The lines went this way and that, in any number of angles. Amelie froze, transfixed.After several moments, she shook, her head, blinked and rubbed her temples. “It did happen. It happened.” She closed her eyes for a time, stuck in the moment like an ant in honey. “It did happen. It happened.” She knew she could not stay like that. Movement. She needed to move. With a tremendous effort, she rose out of her bedroll to stand.Penumbra was awake, and probably thirsty. She walked over to her beloved mount, untied the lead and smiled. The two of them then walked downhill through the ferns, to a gully where a stream flowed. They both had a drink, and a wash.Amelie wondered how many other secrets in her head were waiting to get out. The thought was terrifying. She took a breath, composed herself, and made her way back up the hill. As Amelie and Penumbra walked, she turned to the black destrier and said, “I survived. I have survived. I will continue to survive. You don't need to worry about me."Amelie and Penumbra made great progress that night. Amelie rode her hard. Penumbra was up for the challenge and responded. As the morning light took hold in the east and the pair prepared themselves for rest, Amelie said a little prayer.“Hermaeus Mora, Prince of Fate, Lord of Memory… please don’t send me any dreams tonight.”
Kiashae
Kiashae Village, RimmenThe vast steppes of North Elsweyr, large ocean-like fields of grass without a tree in sight, made her nervous, and the lack of shade made resting in daylight highly unpleasant. Penumbra however, seemed to love the landscape, needing no encouragement to gallop exuberantly across the plain, and unbothered by the sun. One night the eastern hills came in sight, as a thin line on the horizon which grew into a series of bumps, jasper to deep rust in colour. Amelie’s heart leapt.“If we have followed Vheisha’s directions correctly, we should be there on the plateau within a couple of days,” said Amelie to Penumbra, “Let’s just hope that is exactly what we have done.” By dusk of the next day, they had started their ascent. Treeless grassland gave way to juniper groves and red dust; pebbles fouled the way for Penumbra and their progress slowed. Amelie squinted, looking for the signs she had been given. She was unsure if she was in the right place, or on the right path. As they rounded a stand of black pine trees it finally came into view - a large boulder with two smaller boulders perched improbably on top. “There we are,” she said to no one in particular. She found the trailhead a short time after, and she and Penumbra ascended higher into the hills.It was early morning when they rounded a place where the path turned to avoid an escarpment, and came upon a small village of thatch huts. There was a square of sorts with a well and a rudimentary shaded pavilion. A pair of small children with tanned skin and the deepest black hair played at marbles in the dust. Spotting Amelie and Penumbra, they dashed away. Amelie took a moment to survey the simple wood and thatch houses. Spotting one that met the criteria she had been given, she dismounted, walked to the front door and knocked. She heard footsteps. The door opened and an old man emerged, wearing a curious expression.
He was bent over with age but carried no cane. Amelie got the immediate sense that he had carried many burdens for a long time. His jet-black hair was long and going to grey in streaks. He kept it up neatly in a ponytail. He looked at Amelie with a measuring sort of look. After a moment, he spoke.“We rarely have visitors here, especially visitors from other lands. Tell me, stranger, what has brought you here?” the old man inquired.
“I carry a letter addressed to Sevilus Vadden-Kaie, from his daughter Vheisha” She held out the now-battered envelope. Sevilus’s eyes widened. He looked at the letter as if it was an inky black portal to Coldharbour itself. He remained there at the threshold, frozen for a moment. He voicelessly called Vheisha’s name. Then he put his hand over his heart, closed his eyes, took a deep breath to compose himself and looked at Amelie.“To Sevilus Vadden-Kaie, you say? Well, it seems you have the good fortune of finding Sevilus, for that is I. I am at a disadvantage, however, for I do not know who you are.”
Amelie still had her hand outstretched with the letter, and it hung there awkwardly for a moment before she withdrew it “My name is Amelie, of House Courcilon. It is a pleasure to meet you, your grace.” she replied, not sure what the proper honorific would be for a village elder in these lands.“We have no use for ‘your Grace’ here, and as House Courcilon is at a guess many miles from here, I doubt we have any use for that either. We have this house, which is far too simple for such a name, and such hospitality as Nala and myself can offer. Come in, and we will conduct this business in the proper manner.”Amelie tethered Penumbra and made to follow Sevilus into the house as instructed. She was perplexed when he did not move to make way for her. He stood there, met her gaze then looked pointedly down at his feet. Amelie looked at his feet, then back at his face, then at her feet before she realised.
“My boots, of course.” She spent several minutes unhooking all the ties and laces and placed them neatly by the threshold, at which Sevilus smiled and ushered her in.Amelie found herself in a simple wood and thatch house built and decorated in the Akaviri style. The wooden floor was smooth and unvarnished, but clearly meticulously kept. She imagined how dirty and intrusive her dusty riding boots might have been in a space like this. A stove in the corner kept the place warm, and a simple sideboard, also meticulously kept, held kitchenware. A small lacquered table sat in the centre of the room. There weren’t any chairs. To the left on a raised part of the floor, a latticed screen of paper and wood led to another room, or rooms. Sevilus gestured to the table. “Kindly sit down. I will fetch my wife, Vaesh-Nala. It is not often we receive a hand-delivered letter from other lands.”Amelie waited as he crossed the room, opened the little screen, entered, and then shut it. She could hear low voices in the adjoining room. Soon Sevilus emerged from the other room, and behind him came a woman, also elderly. She had jet black hair like silk, kept back neatly at the nape of the neck with a tortoiseshell pin. She looked at Amelie as she approached, and Amelie got a surprise. The resemblance between Vheisha and her mother was striking. Her eyes were deep red, like cochineal, or crimson. She had the same jet black hair, the gentle angle in the jaw, finishing in a slightly rounded chin, with the elevated cheekbones giving an almost Nibenese appearance. She also possessed the same aura of ghostliness, of not being quite in the world. Her expression was distant, almost inscrutable. “Nala, we have a guest who brings important news. Her name is Amelie.” Nala smiled at Amelie but said nothing, shuffling over to the sideboard.“We will have tea, then we will attend to this letter of yours.” Sevilus said, as he seated himself on the floor opposite Amelie. Nala placed a kettle on the stove, and opened an earthenware container which gave off an immediate fragrance, like fresh mown grass. Sevilus and Amelie made small talk about the state of the roads, which was dreadful, and the weather, which was hot and dry. In a few moments, Nala brought the tea service to the table, three earthenware cups with lids and a teapot with a long handle coming from the side.Threre was no elaborate ceremony. Three cups were drawn from the pot. Sevilus, as the elder drank first. Nala drank second, then she beckoned Amelie to take up her cup. The grassy fragrance merged with a deep earthy flavour that lifted her spirits. She allowed her cup to pass her nose once more, to pick up that scent of fresh mown grass and something else. “Perhaps I was too hasty to spurn the mortals’ food and drink,” she thought to herself. When her cup was once again at rest on the table, Nala poured again so it was full.“We have not seen our daughter Vheisha-Kaiye for many moons.” said Sevilus
“Not since she began working in the apothecary there in Rimmen.” added Nala.
“Nala walked by the shop, like a thief, head down, to see if she could catch a glimpse of her daughter, working there.” said Sevilus. “It was a great misfortune, to be reduced to that. After that, nothing. No sign of her. No news. We feared her dead.”
“It is a great misfortune, to fear a daughter dead.” said Nala. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Sevilus reached over and squeezed her hand.
“A great misfortune, yes.” agreed Sevilus.Amelie held the letter in her hands. “I cannot imagine the pain and grief you have endured. I am very sorry. I can tell you Vheisha is alive and well. I don’t know her very well, or as well as I would like but I have noticed that her work in the healing arts has brought her some renown. She is kind by nature and has a gentle heart. Sometimes I worry that the world will break her with its violence and wilfulness, but she seems to weather the storm. She is almost defenceless, but several competent warriors have offered her protection. She wished to speak with you. Take the letter. Open it. It is easy to read on your faces how much you love her, and how much pain the separation has caused.” She pushed the letter across the table.It lay there a moment. Sevilus looked at Nala, who frowned, then looked back at Sevilus and nodded. Sevilus picked up the letter, a bit tattered at the edges but still whole, bearing a seal of wax. He cracked the seal and opened the letter out with the experience of one used to sending and receiving correspondence. With a trembling hand he held the letter out and read it aloud.“Dearest Mother and Father,Please find enclosed in the letter a small sum of gold coins. I earned these doing business as an apothecary, and as I cannot contribute to the household in any other meaningful way, I hope these little coins will be able to serve as tokens that represent my esteem and my love for you.I have found accommodations which are safe and dry, and I work as a travelling healer and apothecary. I am safe, and I have the protection of some dear friends, for which I am grateful to my ancestors.It is however with the heaviest heart that I write to you, to tell you of things I would much rather have said in person. Mother, Father, I made a terrible mistake! I had a little knowledge of a thing, and I thought I could make the world a better place. I carefully acquired each of the necessary herbs, ointments and reagents, to create Eternal Life. I learned the steps of the ritual and performed it, just as the book said.But the outcome was not what I expected. Instead of being cured, I was sickened by an illness, a shameful illness, and I can not see how I can return to Kiashae again without bringing shame upon the family. Mother, Father, please accept my most sincere and heartfelt apology! To be wandering the land without you is the most terrible of burdens. It poisons what good I do or feel, and the worst part is knowing you are probably feeling the same.I know I have made a grave mistake. It is my one wish that my shame not bring you, who have both served Kiashae so well for many years, live out your lives as shamed, ostracised people. For this reason, though it breaks my heart, I will not return.The grief that followed the reading of the letter was overwhelming. Amelie left the room. Mortals in their grief would put their arms around each other, feel the closeness and warmth. She remembered doing it herself. Now that her body was cold and dead, she had learned that physical contact with mortals was unnerving for them. She thought it best she step outside. Penumbra would need water in any case. She was checking her shoes when Sevilus appeared at the doorway.
“Bring your horse into the courtyard. There is straw there, and a trough. Will you stay the night?”
Amelie smiled. “I’d like that.”Around midday, there was food- rice and pork and a pancake with scallions and sesame leaves. Amelie politely declined. Sevilus and Nala exchanged a look but said nothing.At dusk, Amelie went to check on Penumbra, and found her happily eating hay in the courtyard while a duck and several chickens milled about.Nala was preparing the evening meal when Sevilus came to stand beside her. Amelie smiled and made room for him.“Nala, is one who sees many things,” he said.
Amelie nodded. “I see.”
“Nala sees you. She sees your... affliction. She also sees that it is yours. You have made it a part of you, a strength, a gift.”
Amelie nodded.
Nala also sees you carry a burden, a burden from the past. A burden that haunts you, makes you wake up screaming in the night.”
Amelie nodded.
Here is a strip of paper. Here is charcoal. Write the things that make you wake up screaming.”
“But there is so much I don’t remember!” Amelie cried.
“This is a start. Do this, and the mending can begin.”Amelie washed in the courtyard and returned to the house the cleanest she had felt in weeks. Nala had given her a robe of Vheisha’s, which was comically long on her until she rolled up the sleeves.That night (and it was the first time in weeks she had slept at night) she heard the soft footsteps as someone entered her room. She smelt the scent of herbs and smoke. She heard words uttered in a language she did not understand. She felt the warm oil Nala placed on her temples, then she drifted into sleep.Nala sat cross legged by her side. “Now I bear the shield, carry the sword,” she said quietly to herself. She closed her eyes, and began her work, hunting dreams across a Cimmerian landscape full of mist.Amelie woke the next day, feeling lightened, like something heavy that had lain and festered inside her was gone, leaving an empty space. It was a quite enjoyable sensation, like feeling less substantial, loose. She spent the day relaxing, interacting with Sevilus and Nala, and the animals of the courtyard. Sevilus tried to teach her how to draw a juniper tree with a brush and ink. Amelie did her very best, to which Sevilus said “You better stick to delivering mail.”She found a quiet moment to interact with Nala. “One treatment can only do so much. You must hunt your ghosts, as you do with your living… prey.” She pressed a small bag of herbs into Amelie’s hand. “Burn these while you sleep.”By dusk, Penumbra had been fed and watered, her rank, stinking bedroll had been aired, her cloak had been beaten, and her saddlebags contained fruit and carrots for Penumbra. And a letter.Penumbra took the turn above the escarpment, and the tall rock hid the village from sight. possibly one of the reasons for the choice of the village site in the first place.When they hit the steppe, Amelie gave Penumbra the reins, and they ran, galloping across the great grass sea, under the light of a crescent moon.
Return
The mountains and rocks of the land north of Rimmen were stitched and lined with narrow trails of red dirt, allowing passage between the tiny villages nestled between the towering rocks and high valley walls. The aqueducts did not serve this area, so there were no rice or sugar cane in the fields. Instead, the villagers planted yams and maize, and tended their fields with the help of Brahman cattle, which required less water, and also produced the milk and yoghurts popular in the region. Amelie marveled at the variety of the landscape. The constant rain of her homeland narrowed and cramped everything in. Here, the sky was wide and open, and she could see far. The stars and the moons felt so close as to be touched. The local Khajiit called the moons Jone and Jode in reverence, and it was said the phase of the moons determined the morphology, or “furstock,” of their children.Amelie Courcilon and Vheisha-Kaie travelled on horseback. Amelie rode her black destrier Penumbra, and Vheisha a dependable courser named Corazon. As the paths up here in the mountains were too narrow for them to ride abreast, they travelled single file. Every now and again they would stop to admire the view; a beautiful range, or a stand of juniper trees, or one of the mysterious shrines which dotted the landscape and whose meaning was lost to time. It was a rock formation that looked like a keyhole across on the other side of the ravine which caught Amelie’s eye, and she stopped. Vheisha soon joined her.“Look at that Vhei. I wonder what it’s called.” she said. As Vheisha looked upon the plains of the land she called home, her expression seemed somewhat distant, as if lost. Perhaps the thought of finally returning to her village after so many years weighed on her mind. At Amelie's inquiry, she seemed to snap out of her trance to turn her attention towards her friend. Her look of anxious anticipation was soon replaced with a faint smile."Ah, you mean those stone arches? The dunes of Anequina are home to many natural structures like this. I often forget that such sights are a rarity in other regions of Tamriel. However, I'm not sure what exactly the locals -call- these formations..." Vheisha pondered, giving a shrug."I think it looks like a keyhole. If you possess the key, you are allowed inside. If not, you are left out in the cold. And behind the door, is a gala ball, a masquerade, where everyone's mask is of a different animal. Hmm, thinks I, if I offered to you the mask of a fell-runner, would it please you to wear it?"Vheisha looked at Amelie, giving a soft chuckle as she replied. “Hmm, I do wonder what such a mask would look like! Perhaps adorned with feathers to match the colour of such creatures. It is interesting what scenery these formations conjure in your mind. When I was a child, I used to believe these arches could serve as gateways for spirits unseen by our eyes. Perhaps, if you were to walk under these arches, you would suddenly be greeted by ethereal beings who call these lands home.”“Greetings, from the other side.” Amelie replied in a booming, theatrical voice. “We bring you fruits and nuts, and all the good things of the land. Stay as long as you want to, take in the beautiful scenery, enjoy and be at peace.”“I suppose once you stop and take in the natural scenery around you for once, it can be truly awe inspiring.” Vheisha mused, visibly much more relaxed to be conversing. Her thoughts troubled her, and she wrestled with doubts. She had doubts about making this journey at all, though in her better moments she was delighted to be among the familiar landscape of her homeland.“A portal always leads somewhere.” Amelie’s reply intruded on her thinking, for which she was grateful. "If you pass through and see exactly what you expected on the other side, then clearly you are not passing through properly."Vheisha tilted her head. “Speaking of which, have you ever travelled by portal before? Some of the more seasoned mages I have met in the past have spoken of such means of travel as it were an every-day occurrence. I’d imagine there must be -some- unintended side effects to crossing the continent via portals. Consider the missed opportunities to stop and take in the scenery.”Amelie nodded. “I have done some travel via portal, yes. I know some people feel sick from it. Anyone who does it is definitely missing the scenery. I was escorting some mages to Vivec City - it was their plan for me to... obtain some things from there without asking.” She grimaced at her own euphemism. “A swirling oval opened, we walked in and we were right there. It would have taken me three weeks on horseback. I do not have the power to open portals, which is good as I prefer to ride. I take note of things I see, I make maps... I feel more educated about the world from travelling like this, the way we are doing."There passed a silence, as Amelie and Vheisha enjoyed the light breeze and the scenery. Amelie turned and looked at her friend a moment. In a lowered voice she said, "I’ve sensed a pensive mood come over you as we get closer to where we’re going. I wanted you to know, if you wished to confide in me a thing that troubles you, that I would listen and offer such support as I am able. If you preferred to keep your thoughts to yourself at this time, I would naturally respect that.”Vheisha took a moment to just stare into the distance, distracted by her thoughts of what was to come. Hearing Amelie's words, she peeled her eyes away from the horizon to look at her. Present was an uneasy smile, as if trying to hide the anxiety welling up with in her, from Amelie and from herself.“It is... difficult to put into words.” Vheisha murmured, averting her gaze. “You have reassured me in the past, that when I see my family again, they will welcome me back with open arms. But I still have many conflicting thoughts. What if coming back is a mistake, that I will only bring further ostracism to my family, given my condition? Do I even deserve to be welcomed home, after abandoning my own family without giving any explanation or closure?” She sighed apprehensively. “I only wish the ancestors would have given me a clear sign on the right direction to take earlier.”Amelie’s brow furrowed, and she leaned toward her friend. “I believe you deserve a lot more than you think you do. I see the goodness in you, and the care for others. I think you deserve to be treated with care in return. I also think I understand what you are going through. It is difficult when conflicting thoughts go racing through your mind, and they will not stop. I’ve done this, with my own family, and it was hard. I stood by the door of my family home, paralysed with fear, unable to bring myself to knock. It was awful.” She turned her face to Vhei, a haunted look in her eyes. “The reason I wanted to make this journey with you is that I know how hard it is. I wanted to make it just a little easier for you. I will walk beside you, I will stand there as you knock. If you need me as you talk and listen, I will be there. If you do not, I will be somewhere nearby... Perhaps feeding a certain someone an apple!” She put on a bright smile, took an apple from her satchel and held it up as Penumbra moved forward to take it from her hand.Vheisha smiled at Amelie, though there was that same uneasiness in her eyes. A pause was given to listen and take in Amelie’s words before she responded. “I find it reassuring that we have gone through similar situations. I appreciate you sharing your experience with me.” She was silent a moment thinking, then said, “I wonder how much has changed in Kiashae since I’ve been gone. Sometimes this condition makes it hard to keep track of time, though I’m sure you understand.”“What sign were you born under, Vhei?”“The Thief.” Vheisha was momentarily wrong-footed by the change in direction. “Why do you ask?”“I saw a look in your eyes and thought now would be a good time to tell you a thing.”“Will I like it?”“You will think it is wonderful.” Amelie replied confidently. “You were born under the Thief. The Thief brings you quickness, and it brings you luck. But the Thief is also a fast talker, which is sometimes what you need.”“Er… all right.” Vheisha’s face made it clear she had no idea where this was going… another one of Amelie’s tangents probably.“When you freeze, and your skin feels clammy like a frog, and your belly churns, and your legs shake, that feeling, that’s the Warrior, and she loves you and she wants to keep you safe. She does that to you to get you ready to flee, or to fight. That churning in your belly, that’s your energy going to your arms and legs and belly’s not happy, where’s my energy gone?. Clammy skin, same. Your arms and legs are shaking because you’re about to explode into action, to fight the danger that is there, or to run until it is gone. The warrior is strong, but she can’t tell if the danger is still there or if it has passed, so you need to tell her Vhei, you need to tell her. That’s where the Thief comes in, the smooth talker, telling her, ‘Thank you, my warrior, you’re always with me and you keep me safe. That’s you in my belly, and in my arms. That’s you, my warrior, keeping me safe. But my eyes can see now, and the road ahead is safe. You can let me take over, it’s going to be all right’”Vhei looked nonplussed. “Amelie. I’m not sure what it means.”Amelie smiled. “You will, when you need to know.”The paths narrowed as Vheisha and Amelie made their way deeper into the highlands. "You could drop the Direnni Tower into one of these high valleys and no one would know it was there." Amelie remarked as they topped a pass and were presented with another deep canyon. Vheisha was silent. She knew the path they were on. She had travelled it many times. Something she feared greatly was coming closer with every step and with every step her trepidation grew. It was all she could do to keep her horse on the path and not turn and gallop back the way she came. Amelie made light chatter and voiced concern in equal measure. It was true Amelie had had similar experiences, but it was not her this time, it was Vhei, and Vhei was using the limits of her determination and willpower to keep going. She closed her eyes, allowing Corazon to follow the path, feeling the breath in her, the rasping breath, and the roar of the blood in her ears.Then, finally, Kiashae, just as she remembered it... no, it looked like construction had begun on the well roof that had been argued about since she was a little girl. Vhei wondered if Sevilus had played peacemaker to get that project started. It was early morning, and the laundry fires were burning. Amelie pulled Penumbra up, and Vhei came up by her side. She said nothing, just reached out to squeeze her shoulder, and look towards a simple house of wood and thatch just off the almost deserted square.“I feel… dizzy.” Vheisha’s voice was faint.Amelie’s voice was low, directive, like a riding mistress instructing a student after a mishap. “Drop the reins and hold onto the horn. That’s it. Now, squeeze the knee roll. Corazon will go where your knees tell her.”“I can’t!”“You can. Stay with me Vhei.” Amelie leaned over and picked up Corazon’s reins. “Say it with me. ‘Thank you, my warrior, you’re always with me and you keep me safe. That’s you in my belly, and in my arms. That’s you, my warrior, keeping me safe. But my eyes can see now, and the road ahead is safe. You can let me take over, it’s going to be all right.’” Amelie repeated the words. On the third utterance, Vhei’s lips moved. On the fourth utterance, Amelie and Vheisha said it together. On the fifth utterance, Penumbra and Corazon began walking across the square, carrying Amelie and Vheisha with them. An elderly woman stopped setting up her stall to look at them curiously.By the time they had traversed the square, Vheisha had regained her composure. She dismounted, firm in her resolve, strode up to the little wooden door and knocked. Silence, then there was a shuffling inside. The door creaked open, and Sevilus emerged into the early morning light. He looked down at Vheisha, and his eyes widened in shock. He looked at Vheisha, then at Amelie, then back at Vheisha. He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them his expression was inscrutable.“You have collected red dust from the road.” He said, “Come around through the courtyard. You can see to your horses there.” He closed the door. Vhei and Amelie looked at each other. Vhei looked contrite. Amelie looked concerned. They both did as instructed. At the bottom door, they led Corazon and Penumbra into the little courtyard. It was small, but tidy. A small lean-to opposite the door contained the laundry. Next to that was a little wooden chicken coop. The centre of the courtyard was devoted to raised garden beds, bursting with scallions, garlic, tomatoes, sesame, cabbage, radish and sweet potatoes. Sevilus stood on the landing and was about to speak when a voice came from inside the house.“Sevilus, are there horses in the courtyard? I can hear them and I can smell them. I’m busy with the steamed buns, and if there are visitors then I’m even busier.”“Yes, there are visitors.” Sevilus replied. “I will present them shortly.”“Can you cut some scallions? No, don’t do that, dig them up, I want them whole.”“Yes Nala.” Sevilus replied.“And that tomato vine has fallen off the stake again. Can you tie it back up?”“Certainly.”“And check the pickle jar. I want to know if we have enough for the rest of the year. It’s ridiculous what they are asking for it at market.”“I will”“And bring me eggs, if any are laid.”“Yes Nala.” Sevilus made eye contact with Vheisha and pointed to the drooping tomato vine. Vheisha hurried over to tie the plant back up with some jute string she found in the garden bed. Sevilus went to a little wooden shed, found a garden fork, and went over to the lush bed of scallions. Amelie, left with two horses to take care of, began with the bridles.“Sevilus, that watermelon by the fence should be ready to cut.”“Yes Nala.” Sevilus was still working on digging out scallions. Vheisha had finished with the tomato vine, so she took a pair of shears from the little wooden shed and went to the bottom garden bed to cut a watermelon from the vine. Amelie had paused a moment with the horses to watch the scene unfold.“Sevilus, do not make me wait for those scallions, or there will be no pancake.”“Coming, Nala.” Sevilus had the scallions and was washing them in a bucket. Vheisha had placed the watermelon next to the basket. She dashed over to the chicken coop and found four brown eggs. She brought them in her hands up to the landing. Sevilus arrived at the same time with the scallions, and they placed them in a basket sitting there, then he went to the cold side by the fence where an enormous earthenware jar had been dug into the ground. He took the lid off and had a look inside. He had just replaced the lid on the pickle jar when he heard footsteps in the house.Nala came out onto the landing to see her daughter standing there, by the basket, holding a single warm, brown egg in her hand.The mildly irritated expression of the matriarch of a house who has been inconvenienced by the tardiness of a husband with scallions gave way to shock. Vheisha-Kaie looked up at her mother, trembling, as vulnerable as when she first came into the world. Her mother closed her eyes, and composed herself a moment, then she opened her arms and said,“Don’t make your mother get down from the landing.”Vhei leapt up from the courtyard and fell into her arms. They held each other close, quietly sobbing with the joy that only comes when a mother and a daughter who have been separated a long time are reunited. Nala stroked her daughter’s hair, and told her “It’s okay,” and “it’s all right.”“Tsk, tsk, there will be red dust on the landing now.” said Sevilus to no one in particular. Amelie heard, and smiled through sanguine tears of her own. She’d bitten her lip and was surprised by how much it hurt.
“The Ancestors know the truth of it, as we shall learn when we join them.” said Sevilus as he sat at the little table with an earthenware cup resting in his hand. Amelie, Nala and Vheisha sat with him, enjoying the contentment that often follows a pleasant evening meal. “What little is known is this: our ancestors drank blood. I can trace our family genealogy as far back as the end of the First Era, and what I have learned is this: once every three generations, a mother bears only daughters, and none of them bear children themselves.”There passed a moment, where everyone at the table pondered the implications of that, for themselves and for those dear to them. Sevilus continued,“What I suspect, is that these daughters had one or more traits of what is called on this continent, vampirism. This would explain anecdotes about some of these childless couples serving each other as vampire and thrall. It is known that the severity of the traits can be influenced by environmental factors.”Nala spoke. “The ritual you… borrowed promised eternal life. What you could not have known, is that the intended use for that ritual is in preparation for war. The most accomplished warrior in a section would be chosen to undergo the ritual. Then, being dead, they would not fear the living, and lead their section through the battle with ferocious courage.“Sevilus and I have spoken about it at length. We have looked deeply into the genealogies and the limited contexts for the ritual magic left to our people. We suspected that you might harbor traits of… I dislike the word vampirism! No offence intended, Amelie.”Amelie grinned. “None taken. I always thought they should have called us Bloodfairies.” There was a moment of silence, then everyone burst out laughing.“I never quite know when to take you seriously.” Sevilus said.“Always and never,” Amelie replied. “Just you wait. Bloodfairies is catching on.”“What were you saying, mother?” Vheisha asked. Three weeks in the saddle with Amelie Courcilon, and she was starting to weary of her friend’s aptitude for pulling focus at inopportune times.“I was about to say, that you were already predisposed, by ancestry to harbor traits. So, predisposed, you conducted the ritual, and what has come to pass, has come to pass. My child, you have done nothing shameful. Reckless perhaps, but recklessness alone will not offend the Ancestors. You are my daughter. I am proud of you. I am proud of the woman you have become.”“We love you, you are our daughter. We will always love you. Your life has changed, but who is to say it is not for the better?” Sevilus said. “Will you continue your work and study in Alchemy?”“I will,” Vheisha replied. “I am working at an apothecary in Rimmen.”“That’s close to home,” said Nala. “Not far for a visit. It feels so nice to have you under our roof.”“It feels nice to be back.” Vheisha replied.
Blessing Stones
I
Deep within the Druadach Mountains, the bustling silver city of Markarth nestles in the hollow of a crag that forms a valley into the lowlands of Skyrim. Markarth, with its Dwemer architecture and artifacts is a wonder, and many from all over Tamriel travel to see its tangled spires and wonder at the missing civilisation that erected them. Others are on more prosaic errands: those who trade in silver are to be found in the mine, haggling for the latest ore from the rich silver vein there. Still others have territorial claims or ambitions: wild Reachmen and hardy Nords pass each other by in the streets. They keep the peace in daylight hours, but late at night, full of mead, street fights break out that are brought under control by the night watch. In dark corners, remnants of the once mighty Gray Host lurk, hoping to avoid attention. Lastly, there are scholars and historians, come to learn the history of this remarkable city from its many and varied artifacts and tomes.It was in this category that Nevikaan Delvalyn belonged, a greying Dunmer mage, dressed in a simple green smock coat and brown leather breeches. His eyes could not be seen, for he wore a set of translucent green goggles whish allowed him sight but obscured his eyes from others. Nevi had come for knowledge. He was currently stymied in his quest by one of the magistrates who administered the library.“What do you mean, I am not permitted to access these tomes? Do you know who I am?” he asked, clearly frustrated.
“These tomes are restricted.” was the Magistrates calm reply. “Access may be granted by applying to the chief magistrate. You will need to submit your application in triplicate, set out according to the form which you can find displayed at the entrance to the Restricted section, which you have clearly found on your own. Applications are reviewed on the third of each month.” With that, he took the heavy tomes off the table and walked back into the stacks.“Pffah” Nevi cursed.
“If you are going to argue, please do it quietly, you’re interrupting my research.” The voice came from an Argonian, who leaned heavily on a staff. A black robe and hood obscured his features.
“Apologies, sera,” Nevi replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I was trying to persuade the lorekeepers here and got a bit… carried away.”
“Persuade?” The Argonian tilted his head, intrigued., “What is so important that you would need to persuade a Magistrate?”
“It’s… a matter of life and death. My life and death” Nevi paused a moment, hand on heart, “I am facing mortality once more, and I am in dire need of tending to that ailment.”
“Have you considered… Sanguinari Vampiris? The Argonian lightly tapped the heavy tome he held, “Mortality wouldn’t be an issue for a few hundred more years, with a little care.”
Nevi straightened. “You speak so freely of Fire Stone’s curse. It is not that simple to contract and endure the consequences of vampirism.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ve been there. The hunger is a nuisance.”
The Argonian turned and beckoned. “Come. We can speak in private.” The Argonian led Nevi across the town, past the smithy where an Orc and a Nord were working the bellows for an audience of admiring marketers, past the markets themselves where hawkers filled the air with the best qualities of their produce. The Argonian turned left into a dark alley which led into a run-down quarter of stone buildings. Three houses down, stairs led below ground level with a stone door at the bottom, set into the wall of a much larger building. With great effort, the Argonian pushed the door aside, revealing a small bedsit. He gestured to the only chair, and sat himself on the bed.
“You wish to become free of mortality. I wish to become free of my curse. Our goals are one and the same.”
“Your curse?” the greying Dunmer asked.
The Argonian answered Nevi’s question with a question. “Have you ever seen a seen an Argonian so sick that they need a staff to walk?”
“I haven’t seen an Argonian sick at all, so, point taken.”
The Argonian turned away, clutching his staff. “I have been seen by multiple doctors and healers. Physically I’m as healthy as an Argonian should be. The restoration mages who attended me could not sense any curse, hex or otherwise, but I’m still… like this!” His words came out a croak, as if choked by grief. “Still a leper, forced to hobble around like some feeble old thing too far past his prime and too stubborn to die.”
Nevi looked closely at the features he could see out from under the cloak. “When did this start?”
“From birth.” He threw the cloak off to reveal muscled arms a broad chest and muscled legs and feet. No muscle wastage anywhere, indeed he looked to be in excellent shape. “Nobody knows why. I’ve spent my life in research to understand.”
Nevi sucked his teeth. “Mayhap we help each other. You seem to be capably read, as am I. I am sure we can find a cure for you and a solution for me What is your name, Saxheel.”
“My name…” The Argonian turned to face the Mer, his smile filled with fangs, “is Feasts-On-Death.”
Nevi’s expression was deadpan. “Is there a reason for that or are we looking to give our legal documents a sharp edge?”
“It is a name I gave myself when I discovered how to treat my condition,” Feasts replied. He produced a black soul gem from a fold in his cloak. “If I consume the souls within these gems, I am briefly made whole again. The greater the soul, the longer it lasts.”
Nevi looked at the gem with mild interest. “I see. Souls do have a certain way of making things whole again. They were once whole too.” He offered his hand. “Nevikaan Delvalyn, at your service. ‘Nevi’ is also applicable and preferred.”
Feasts shook the offered hand firmly. “Nevi, it is a pleasure to meet one who does not judge me for my method.”II
The bed-sit was freezing cold, there was no fire, everything in the room was made of stone, and there was not even a rug. Nevi silently cursed whatever usurious landlord was prepared to let accommodation in this condition. Feasts was up and rummaging in a large trunk at the end of the room.
“Ah, this!” he exclaimed to himself. “I think you need to see this!” With a bit of heaving he separated his prize from the trunk, turned about and held it out for Nevi to see.
It was a large and ancient tome, clearly assembled of the finest materials; quartered board covered with a fine, supple leather that Nevi cared not to know the provenance of. The corner bosses, catchplates and centrepiece were all in the Ancient Reach style, in brass. Nevi squinted to read the title, which was Lichdom: The Path To Darkness. Feasts held out the tome and said,
“This is what you desire. You want to ascend beyond your mortality. Even the longest-lived vampires and elves eventually die. A lich… a lich is eternal.”
Nevi pushed his goggles back up his nose, to get a better look at the tome Feasts had presented. “How came you by this tome?”
“That would be a long tale, best suited for another time. The pertinent question here is why, and the answer to that is much like the answer to yours: because it is the only path left to us.”
“Only a madman would pursue that kind of power.” Nevi mused. “I could be mad enough… could you?
Feasts began laughing, a rolling chuckle that built up from the belly and catapulted itself out his mouth like it had a life of its own. “I, Feasts-On-Death, could certainly be mad enough.”III
The beauty and isolation of Seeker’s Respite was matched by the strength of its icy winds. Situated at the northern tip of Wrothgar, where the icy reaches are at their strongest, where sailors freeze to death in the rigging if they are tardy, and where in a blizzard a tenant farmer could get lost between his cabin and stable door, here in this most inhospitable and isolated of places, Nevikaan Delvalyn had acquired a stone tower that he considered home.Not unlike a lighthouse in its construction, the tower was several stories tall and constructed of the grey stone to be found locally. The tower was adjoined by a two story outbuilding, also in grey stone, with a domed roof for the foyer and Colovian stone columns, possibly a conceit of the builder. In front of the building there was a large apron of cobblestone where residents and visitors could be picked up and set down. While that might have been a convenience for the previous owner, it served little utility for the current owner, who was more inclined to travel making use of portals, one of which that moment grew and opened, a swirling kaleidoscope in a watery circle. A young Breton in a fur-lined cloak stepped though, slightly disorientated by the crunch of snow under her feet. She blinked and looked around as Nevi followed her through.
“This is your home? It’s lovely,” she remarked in a voice that was distinctly noble-of-Wayrest. “Shall we get out of the wind?”
“Yes, thank you and yes,” was Nevi’s reply. The two walked briskly towards the front door.The pair found themselves in a warm, inviting parlour. Pentagonal in shape, it was ornately decorated, with colovian motifs in the stonework, gargoyles on the architrave and a large oil painting of coniferous forest set against a mountain range. A fire was roaring in the ornate fireplace which had a stone scamp on each side of the mantel, and a cast iron grate in which the face of a Xivkyn could be seen in flames when the fire was lit. The young Breton shrugged off her cloak, which dropped on the floor. Irritated on learning there were no staff to take care of her cloak, she picked it up and looked at Nevi, who pointed to a stand near the door.“A striking suit you have there.” Nevi remarked. noticing the slick leather catsuit she wore under her cloak.
“Oh… this?” The Breton smiled, clearly glad of being noticed but equally not wanting her pleasure in that to be too obvious. “I had it made. It doesn’t creak or scuff, which comes in handy when you are trying to get a poingard into the back of someone’s skull without attracting attention.”The sound of a clicking staff presaged Feasts’ arrival in the parlour. “The plan.” he said in a deep, gruff voice heavy with phlegm, “At what point are we with the plan?”“That depends,” replied Nevi, “Are we attending to you first, or I?”
“You,” the Argonian replied, “Yours is the simpler of the two endeavours.”
“I’m feeling curious,” the Breton interrupted. “Perhaps one of you could enlighten me as to what you’re cooking up here.
“Certainly,” Nevi replied. “Amelie Courcilon, meet Feasts-On-Death. Feasts and I am in need of blessed artefacts of great power in order to accomplish a magical transformation. We require one for me and one for him. Naturally anyone who aids us in acquiring such items will be handsomely rewarded.”
Amelie curtseyed, which looked a little strange in her current outfit. “Feasts-On-Death, what a pleasure to meet you. You do have a very interesting name, perhaps sometime you might like to tell me how you came by it. Now, I am not going to pretend to understand what you two plan to do to yourselves. It isn’t pertinent to what you want me to accomplish in any case, which is, as I understand it, obtain artefacts, presumably from individuals or organisations who were planning on keeping them. Do I have that part right?
“Precisely.” Nevi replied. “Steal things, don’t get caught, get paid. Does that sound feasible?”
“Very. What or who is our mark?”
Nevi cleared his throat. “In Vivec City, there are buildings called cantons. They float over the ocean, and that is because they are powered by divine stones. These stones, called blessing stones, contain a fraction of the Warrior-Poet's power. It is enough to power the lichdom ritual, and they are plentiful. I just need one. Some of the stones are kept in storage vaults, guarded by Armigers. How these vaults are sealed, I am not sure.”
“We will have to go and see them.” Amelie replied.
“I am not sure how much help I would be on this task.” said Feasts, “I am not exactly cut out for stealth.”
“Perhaps not, but you might be cut out for deception, distraction, surveillance, information gathering or springing me from detention.” Amelie replied.
Nevi stroked his chin. “Amelie might be onto something, Feasts. "You are a skilled necromancer, yes? I could only imagine what kind of ruckus risen dead would bring to the grand city of Vivec... perhaps needing some or all the Armigers to leave their posts to intervene.”
“Is there a graveyard nearby?” asked Feasts.
“Yes…” Nevi replied, frowning. “There is an ancestral tomb nearby...”IV
The red mist pervaded everything. It entered every home. The Chimer woke to find themselves transformed, their skin as grey as ash, their eyes as red as blood. The history books call it Azura’s Curse, and it was given his people as consequence for the insolence of the Tribunal, in stealing the essence of the Heart of Lorkhan and declaring themselves gods.I remember. I was born a Chimer, a child at the time, and powerless.A scratch, a simple scratch was all that was required. A Dunmer youth transformed, into a monster, and forced to flee his ancestral home. Nevi remembered this too- flight, separation, isolation, and somewhere underneath, a small but growing sense of purpose.I remember. A youth with nothing but thirst. Thirst for blood, thirst for knowledge. Twice-cursed.“There is an ancestral tomb nearby…”
It is disrespectful to the ancestors. What would be more disrespectful than what you have planned?“There is an ancestral tomb nearby…”
The Tribunal stole to gain their power, how is what I do different?“There is an ancestral tomb nearby…”
This plan is madness! It will cause untold harm to the people!“There is an ancestral tomb nearby…”
It is my destiny. It is my purpose. Everything else is of secondary concern.V
The humid air, lush vegetation and exotic wildlife was something of a change from Nevi’s icy tower. Amelie had a sneezing fit and apologised. Feasts stretched, seemingly more comfortable. Nevi, driven by purpose, led on. He led the others around a small hedge and gestured to a door. The Andrano ancestral tomb was relatively unassuming in its ornamentation, as one would expect for a respectable minor house pledged to House Redoran. A simple carved stone door in the Redoran style led into a subterranean room, where the remains of the dead were laid on stone alcoves cut from the hillside itself.
“Quite salubrious, for being dead in.” Amelie quipped.
“It’s a good thing you’re getting rid of those petty morals of yours, Nevi,” remarked Feasts, his staff clicking on the stone floor, “Gods like us can’t be bothered with petty moral constraints, can we?”
Amelie quirked a brow. “Gods? Like… us?”
“I only pursue the great work of the Ur-Daedra.” Nevi replied. He turned to Amelie “That is the essential plan for Feasts and I. Lichdom.”
Amelie’s mouth made the letter ‘O’. She looked at Feasts, back at Nevi, then back at Feasts again. “Gods like… like you.”
Entry to the tomb was a straightforward affair. The tombs were open so pilgrims could pay their respects. Redoran friezes adorned the walls, in stone bas-relief and painted frescoes. They reached a central chamber. Nevi looked down, clearly deep in thought. Amelie remained silent, vigilant. Feasts and his clicking staff strode into the centre of the chamber.Head down, concentrating, his staff in both hands he stood, as a pulsing ball of deep red magicka grew from his heart centre. He mumbled incantations in that deep, croaking voice, and it seemed that even though they were whispered, that they carried through the room. The ball grew, pulsed, shivered and burst, sending snaking tendrils of red magicka around the room, seeping into the floor and walls. Feasts rose his head, bared his teeth, and shouted “Rise! I call upon you, rise!” Amelie covered her ears at the din, and watched in horror as skeletal, rotten flesh moved and rose from their resting places, answering the master’s call. It is one thing to expect that something is going to happen, quite another to witness it firsthand. She put her hand on her stomach as she fought the urge to throw up. Nevi looked stricken, as if the visceral reality of the thing had asked a question of his choice to go down this road. The dead rose, and shuffled towards the Argonian necromancer, first a few, then a crowd, then a mob, then an army.
“Sweet waters of Iliac Bay,” said Amelie under her breath.
“Mora’s mercy,” said Nevi under his.
“If Hermaeus Mora had any mercy, he wouldn’t be a Daedra,” said Feasts, clearly delighted with what he had accomplished. “Now get moving. I will give the order and leave before the chaos ensues.”
“But…”
“Go!”VI
The holy city of Vivec was a marvel. People from all over Tamriel came to see it, even in its state of partial construction. The ziggurat atop the Palace canton with its staircase leading to the magnificent High Fane caused visitors to gape in awe. The architecture of the city was the best of Dunmer creativity aesthetics, and ingenuity. The moonlet Baar Dau hovered over the city, held in place by the mer-god Vivec himself. The various cantons floated on the waters of Norvayn Bay, held above the water by Vivec’s magic.Nevi hobbled along as fast as he could, with Amelie moving ahead then turning to wait for him. Right behind them, then outpacing them came dozens of Dunmer zombies, clawing and scratching, making that awful gurgling roar that zombies often make.
“I’d hoped to case the place before the army of the dead arrived. We are going to need to improvise.” said Amelie, jostled by zombies and trying to put some confidence into her voice that she didn’t feel. She had no idea where she was going, and Nevi did, so she slowed her gait to keep pace with the old mer. By the time they had arrived at the city proper, the dead had already crossed the bridge into the first canton, and general panic had ensued. Stalls were knocked over, mounts broke their tethers and dashed away in any direction they could and people ran in all directions, screaming.
“The lower level of the Temple Canton!” Nevi shouted, pointing Amelie in the direction.
“I go where you command, my Lich King. I will retrieve your stone.” Amelie replied, in an overdone accent reminiscent of a simpering thrall. Nevi was sometimes uncertain whether Amelie spoke in jest or not, but this time her accent was so overdone it was clearly in jest… surely.The cantons were connected to each other by a chaotic lattice of rope bridges in varying states of repair. Amelie took one that led to the top level of one of the Temple Cantons, the Plaza, the most exclusive location with manor house buildings and very exclusive shops. She searched around for a service door, found one, opened it and descended three levels to the canal works, where storage was placed and service equipment for the entire canton was stored. Looking around for the corner of the canton, she found a large steel vault built into it, and no one around. She went to work on the lock, snapping three picks on the first tumbler. “That isn’t an ideal beginning...”By this time Feasts had found a vantage point from which he could enjoy his handiwork, a slightly raised mound at the edge of a fish farm with a view across the water. He could hear the panic and the screams, and they delighted him. “See Nevi?” he said to his absent colleague, “Listen to the beautiful music you hear when you dispense with pretentious morality?” He sat down on the little mound and drew a little black stone, with something wriggling about in it. He held it up to the light, opened his mouth and dropped it in. A rumbling sound grew in his belly. He threw back his head and laughed.Nevi wasn’t having too much trouble following Amelie’s trail- the service door was wide open. He’d have to speak to her about that, he had noticed she tended to be careless at times. He descended into the canal works, and it was about then that the screaming started. Nevi had heard that screaming before, in the Folly, as Amelie woke up from one of her dreams.He hobbled as quickly as he could, rounded the corner and was greeted with black smoke and the smell of burning flesh. Somewhere in that smoke was Amelie so he shouted her name: “Amelie?”
“The stones give off sunlight when you touch them. Help me I can’t get it off!” Nevi heard the sounds of footsteps. He looked around the corner of the canton and saw two heavily armed Armigers running towards them.
“Amelie, when the portal opens, go!”
“It hurts, Nevi!”
Nevi closed his eyes and concentrated. A little circle of inky black magicka formed a few feet away from him at the level of his heart centre. It grew, but the armigers were very close now. At the moment the portal was correctly formed, he shouted “Now, Amelie!” Amelie rose and staggered through the portal. The armigers followed her. Nevi smiled. He looked around the canton, admiring the architecture. Then he cast a telekinesis incantation and moved several more of the Blessing Stones from their case and bid them follow him. Finally he entered the portal himself.VII
Amelie found herself in a place where it was dark. The stone she held in her hand appeared to have stopped emitting sunlight. She lay on the cold ground and looked up into the inky blackness, calm for a moment until she heard footsteps. She looked over. Among the dead trees and tangled wrought iron fencing, she saw two heavily armed guards advancing towards her. She tried to move away, but she wasn’t going anywhere that they could not follow. A tall, muscular female picked Amelie up by her collar. She whimpered.
“Is there any good reason why I should not snap your stupid neck?” she demanded.
“I can think of an excellent reason... umm… do you know my father?” By this stage she was two feet above the ground and helpless. It was at this point that Nevi arrived.
“I would advise against harming her.” he said calmly.
“Watch me.” the armiger replied. She shook Amelie like a ragdoll and threw her to the ground. “This is going to hurt,” she said, as she raised her sceptre and brought it crashing down on Amelie’s thigh, causing a resounding crack. She screamed, not a human scream, but a vampire scream, higher pitched and more intense.
“I warned you.” said Nevi. The ground began to move, hands clawed their way out of the ground. Through the trees, shadows moved, writhing among the dead branches. The two Armigers took defensive postures.
Nevi smiled and waved his hand. “Welcome to the Orchard, that special place in Coldharbour that Molag Bal has given to his vampires.”
Within minutes there was not even an epaulette of Armiger mail to be seen. The soil was once again still, and quiet returned.VIII
Six weeks buried in the soil of the Orchard did Amelie good. When Nevi came to collect her, she was in good spirits.
“How is Penny?” she asked as she had at each of Nevi’s visits.
“Penumbra is well cared for by the residents of the folly.” was Nevi’s stock reply.
“How is Feasts?”
“Feeling very pleased with himself, and trying to pick the perfect village for the next phase of the process.”
“I’m going home?” Amelie asked.
“Yes you are,” Nevi replied, "Home." He began the portal magic that would send them both back to Foster’s Folly, Amelie’s home.
“Are we in trouble, for what we did?” Amelie asked.
“Nothing is certain, but my informants tell me that information about the incident has been suppressed, which tends to indicate that people are looking to keep it quiet. So, we best hold up our end up too, keep things nice and quiet, does that sound like a good idea?” said Nevi.
“It does.” Amelie replied. “It sounds like a very good idea.”
Endless Night
I
Nevi bumped the door open as he entered, sweat forming at his brow. Even with the biting cold of Wrothgar, he felt the humidity of the marshes from just a moment ago.“And this is why I do not favour the marshes. Feasts, is the mask secure?”“Of course, the mask is secure, who do you think I am?” Feasts grunted as he walked back into the home, the mask held tightly in his left hand.Amelie entered. “One word: bath!”"This is not a permanent home, therefore there is no bath.” Nevi replied, failing to hide a smirk. “I come here for certain experiments, and for having a relaxing evening with my partner.” Amelie favoured Nevi with a stare that would curdle milk.Feast’s expression was stern. “When you two are finished bickering, pray bring your attention to our present conundrum: we need innocents."“And where do you propose we find such people?” Nevi asked, “It isn't exactly like they grow on trees.”“Well…” Feasts huffed, “There's towns all over Tamriel. I'm sure there's even some around Wrothgar.""There are plenty of strongholds, yes.” was Nevi’s rejoinder. “How many souls do you think we require, for the both of us?”“Hrm. I couldn't give you an exact number. The more we take, the stronger we become...but we also draw more attention that way.” Feasts licked his lips, thinking.The conversation continued thus, becoming increasingly desultory. Tentative ideas were put forward and dropped like snowflakes. It seemed like the three were getting nowhere - where to find around three score innocent souls, ready and available for harvest to power the transformation from living mage to undead lich."Cyrodiil!” Amelie shouted so loud, the three of them jumped. “Hear me out. Hundreds of people are displaced, fleeing the war, living in makeshift camps, and trying to get out. South of the Pale Pass I was taking a survey, and noted several large camps in the hills west of Bruna. Hundreds of refugees, your typical river of human misery. Then there are the deserters, who are trying to disappear among the refugees to get out themselves. Deserters are condemned, so refugees avoid them - harbouring a deserter is punishable by death. Anyway, during my survey, I made acquaintance with one of these, a former Aldmeri Dominion captain. Good upstanding sort, resourceful and with leadership skills. He had dozens of refugees following him, even at risk to their own lives. So… what say we offer the chance to get out of Cyrodiil, by mage portal. My friend helps us herd as many refugees as we can get, bring them all here, conduct the ritual and... ascension!" Amelie clapped with glee, so pleased was she at her plan. “Actually, you can leave this to me if you like. I have detailed maps in my saddlebag, you just need to set the portal where I need it.”Feasts looked at Nevi, who looked back at Feasts. Both shrugged."I'll take that as an enthusiastic sort of agreement, thank you so much Amelie you are wonderful here is your hot steaming bath. Yes?"Feasts looked at Nevi, who looked back at Feasts. Both nodded.II
Amelie sat down on the frozen ground and rested her back against the bark of an ancient oak tree. She leaned over and rummaged through a sack for a moment, coming up with a bright red apple. She lifted the apple upward , and her black destrier Penumbra gently took it from her. As she watched, they came. It had been so much easier than she thought. She considered what that meant and came to the conclusion that desperate people will believe in almost anything if it promises them salvation. Which was, when she considered it, hardly a brilliant insight at all. Amelie chewed a stick she had selected earlier, and watched as they descended. The ravine was steep on both sides, and shallower at the end. It was lined with ancient oaks and birches. A dry creek bed snaked down the slope, ending abruptly in an exceptionally large boulder. It was important to Amelie that events unfold there, with the great boulder as the stage, and the ravine as the amphitheatre. She took the time to groom Penumbra’s mane, and check her tacking, before leading her further down the ravine. She did not wish Penumbra to be spooked by the events about to unfold. On returning she saw that the first of the refugees had arrived and were standing by the boulder talking quietly. She looked up the hill for a familiar face. There he was, not far up the slope. She moved into the shade and waited to catch his eye. When he spotted her, she beckoned him over.“Ines.” was his greeting. He wore no tunic and carried no helm, but his belt and boots were Aldmeri Dominion, standard issue. He had the bearing and features of an Imperial noble, the aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and the pronounced brow, giving a craggy appearance. Many Imperials had sided with the Dominion at the beginning of the war, Diocius among them.“Diocius.” Amelie returned the greeting by name. "How long is the train?”“About fifty, maybe sixty. I didn’t get an exact count. They will be assembled within the hour. Are the mages coming?”“They will be awaiting you and your people on the other side. Those to be rescued are to assemble by the boulder there. Can you make sure they do. And tell them, no matter what happens, remain still, and remain calm. These sorts of more powerful magics can be difficult to control, and can have unexpected side effects, but if everybody remains calm, they will all make it to safety.”“So the portal will open there?” Diocius pointed to the boulder.“Yes.” replied Amelie.“Is there a reason why it could not open say… nearer the trees. The creek bed is stony and difficult, and some of the refugees are elderly.”“Yes.”“And... are you able to tell me the reason?”“Yes.” There was a pause.“Will you tell me the reason?”“Yes.”“Well… what is it?”“I think it looks pretty.”Diocius put his face into his hands. “Ines Toussaint, you are a capricious saviour. Sometimes I wonder what is spinning round in that head of yours.”“In here?” Amelie pointed to her temple. “All manner of things, most not fit for company.”Diocius made his way down to the boulder, and in a stern voice that sounded accustomed to command, organised the refugees as they came in the manner Amelie had requested. The sun had already gone from the little ravine, and the breeze was bitter, and cold. She watched as the refugees huddled in their coats and shawls, discomforted, but with eyes shining with hope. Amelie looked the group over with care She counted sixty three in all, including sixteen children. Diocius had them in groups of ten to twelve, keeping family groups together. The atmosphere was one of anticipation, excitement. When the portal opened, like a great green ocean of swirling water bounded at the sides by black tendrils of magicka, there was a collective sigh of awe from the crowd, a low “ooo” sound. Diocius began ushering the groups forward, and one by one, they entered the portal. Some waved to the others before they entered, some bowed their heads in dread. Some needed persuading now the moment had arrived, and family groups did their best to provide. In the end, none baulked, and all made their way through the portal.Two stood side by side at the portal, a tall, lean Imperial named Diocius, and a short, slim Breton named Amelie. Amelie congratulated Diocius on his leadership, without which none would have been saved. Diocius dismissed the praise as “merely my duty” but his face betrayed pride in what had been accomplished.“After you.” Amelie said.“No, ladies first!” Diocius protested.“Sorry, but you need to go first. The mages will take my arrival as a sign that they can close the portal.
Diocius nodded his head in agreement. He entered the portal and was gone. “Poor man,” said Amelie to no one in particular. She climbed down from the boulder and went to get her horse.III
In the Wrothgarian wastes, a lone tower stood in the middle of a frozen tundra. It seemed largely uninhabited for most of the time, but not this time - it was teeming with life, soon to be unlife. A group of refugees were kept bound by conjured chains in the cold climate just outside of the tower. They found the chains to be rather uncomfortable - either too tight, or they reeked of Oblivion. Or both. Nearby, a Dunmer clad in green would be seen pondering a number of golden crystals - the famed blessing stones of Vivec City, blessed with the very same divinity of the Warrior-Poet. Adjacent to the Dunmer was a pale Argonian clad in deep robes and a hood. He stood hunched over, as if in constant pain. He clutched a strange piece of wood in his pale claws - a mask, of some sort. It appeared mundane on the surface, but the markings indicated that it was of a magical origin that men, mer, and catfolk were unable to understand. Also adjacent was a pale Breton with a shock of coloured hair. She wore a black catsuit, perfect for sneaking around and being unseen. The Breton seemed wary of the trapped refugees, giving them a stern and watchful look as they sat in discomfort.“Feasts, what is next?” Nevi called out to the Argonian.“Now....” The Argonian grinned, fangs glinting in the moonlight as he raised the hist skin mask into the air. “We begin! First, we must begin to free these people's souls...tell me Nevi, you're not going to lose your hearing or your nerves over this, will you?”“Calm yourself. I have no squeamishness with this part of the process.” He shook his head. “How shall we go about this?”“You know how to perform a soul trap, yes?”Amelie stood to the side, her hood obscuring her face, quietly observing the mages at their work.“A rudimentary one, yes.”“Wonderful...now, Nevi...if you wouldn't mind. Kill the refugees. Slowly.” The Argonian's voice was filled with excitement. Feasts had worked so long, studied every scrap of knowledge he could get, committed uncountable sins and acts of evil... for this singular moment. "They have to die in as much agony as possible! Can you do that, Nevi?”“You're twisted, you know that? I almost admire it,” Nevi replied with a grin. The mer reached for the staff on his back. It began to hiss and spark. Lightning crackled at the seams that the magic in his staff was creating. “Now would be a good time for last words,” he called out to the refugees. He barely gave them enough time to utter anything as he sent a bolt of lightning towards the ground in front of the captives. From that point, tendrils of lightning spread across the ground, slowly enveloping the captives. They screamed in agony as the lightning field manifested and tore away at their skin, leaving deep singe marks and welts.“It has nothing to do with the excitement I get from hearing these wretches scream... the ritual demands that they die in as much agony as possible.” Feasts raised the mask and the hand that held it, dark energy flowing up his arm and into the mask, before pulsing outwards across the area, enshrouding all of the refugees in a light purple aura. "The more they suffer, the stronger we become! Nevi! I need your aid if you want to survive this process! Help me to funnel the souls as they fall!"Amelie watched proceedings, her face impassive. She did not understand the point of all the suffering and distress, nor did she desire to. To her, a kill was silent and quick, because that was the most efficient way of killing, with the least chance of accident or error. She looked out at the agonised mortals, sighed, pulled a compact from a pocket in her cloak and adjusted her eyeliner. One of the captives looked at her, a tall man she had spoken with a few moments ago, a man she had betrayed. Agonised and contorted in rage, he stared at her, as if somehow his eyes could return the pain and suffering she had wrought upon him and those in his care. She met his gaze a moment, smiled, and went back to her eyeliner.Nevi calmly watched as the refugees screamed in agony, letting the manifested lightning blister their skin slowly, as if calculated to cause the most pain. As Feasts spoke, the mer grabbed one of Vivec’s own blessing stones and held it in the air in ritualistic purpose. Meanwhile, he cast a rudimentary soul trap spell on the group of despairing, distressed people below.“Good! Now, in order to corrupt our artifacts, we need to guide the souls into them. Only an act of evil on this scale will be enough to do so!” Feasts shouted over the raging storm of energy that began to swirl around them, guiding the slowly rising souls of the fallen towards his mask “It shouldn't take long under this pressure! Once they're corrupted, everything else goes to us! From there...we have to simply hope we can survive the upwelling of power!”Nevi did as instructed. He began to suck the souls with his soul trap spell through a path to the blessing stone. As the blessing stone took in all of these souls, the divine enchantment of it seemed to glow an eldritch, dark colour as it corrupted. “Probably a better use of the Warrior Poet's divinity to begin with.” Nevi thought. “Now what?” he screamed over the storm.“Now...” Feasts funnelled a good number of souls into the mask, causing the bark to darken and the eyes to glow a dim purple as a fanged grin formed upon his face “We take the rest. Are you ready, Nevi?”Nevi merely nodded, finding screaming over the cacophony tiresome. As he began to funnel the free souls into his own person, he whispered something that was inaudible amongst the storm. "Provide me with knowledge, Lord Mora. Hortator, lend me your strength."The process began for Feasts first...and it was the most painful thing he'd ever experienced. Agony coursed through every fibre of his being as soul after soul was forced into him, slowly burning away his scales and his muscle, leaving nothing more than an Argonian skeleton behind. It seemed like that was the end for Feasts, but the process continued. A sickening green light filled his eyes as power flowed across his bones, flesh and muscle being replaced almost as quickly as it had been taken away, The screaming didn't cease. It was all over in a flash as Feasts fell to the ground, landing flat on his face. The Argonian was silent for a moment, his body limp. It took great effort for him to stand on his own, and it became clear he had succeeded. His scales and flesh were a pallid white, his eyes glowed a dim green, and while he didn't seem to be breathing, he certainly wasn't dead. His presence seemed to distort and befoul the air around him. He reached down, carefully picking up the fallen mask and placing it over his face.Nevi funnelled souls into his own being. At first, it felt like a surge of magicka was going through him. But as more entered into his person, the distortion became evident. The mer's ash-grey skin began to contort and bubble, as if there was something boiling beneath it. He attempted to scream, but nothing came out of his mouth. At last, words escaped him. I am your seeker eternal, my Lord.The pain only grew as time went on. It seemed like the mer's face became hollowed out, nothing but skin and bones. His clothes hung loose on him as his entire body hollowed. When the refugee's bodies were nothing but husks of their former selves, Nevi fell onto the ground. He was charred black, as if he had been burnt at the stake as a heretic. But burnt at the stake he was not. As time went by, his form and clothes went back to their original hue. Nevi stood up, his eyes glowing a complete emerald hue. He glared at the ground.Amelie grinned. "That looked like fun."IV
Testing his powers, Nevi conjured up magical auras between his palms. They came at his call, with ease, the liminal barriers between him and true magic now being shattered with lichdom. “This… is a bittersweet feeling. But I will make great use of it. For the Golden Eye.”“Bittersweet?” Feast's voice was low, now carrying an echo to it, as if two copies of his voice had been layered on top of each other. “You're granted the power of a demigod and your only reaction to it is 'bittersweet'?”
“Power comes in different expectations, sera. You will use your power to dominate, and I will use my power to seek. With the ascension of lichdom, I have a greater ease of understanding of the liminal barriers of magic, and how to eliminate them. The final answer will come to me in time. Time I have, in abundance.” He gave a dry chuckle. "I shall begin, by working on a glamour spell. This appearance..." he held out his arms, "is rather hideous."“Glamour spell?” Amelie interrupted. There is such a thing as a glamour spell?”“Correct,” he said to Amelie. “Not glamour as in fashion. It is like an illusion spell.”“Oh... But the illusion could be made to change the way you look?”“In layman's terms, yes. Illusion magic can alter your appearance in exchange for magicka.”Amelie took her little black compact out, opened it, looked in the mirror a moment, closed it and tossed it for Nevi to catch. “I would like the magical glamour to go into this compact, so that whenever I wish, I can change my appearance. If that can be done, consider it my fee.”“Well... what do you wish to look like?”“You talk about power. That is power. I could assume the appearance of an Ayrenn, for instance, and call the armies off. Deception is power. Well used it is a great deal of power.”“I will not grant you the power to look like the Queen,” he said simply.
Amelie looked disappointed. “Very well. Would you grant me the power to look like... myself, before I was turned?”“That, I can do.” Nevi replied“Before you were turned? Do you not enjoy your gift?” Feasts asked.“I love my gift, and it is who I am, but as I in the course of my work pass frequently among mortals, it would be handy to fit in without spending an hour or so working on my foundation. I love who I am. I don't love unnecessary busy work.” She stretched, allowing herself to relax for the first time in quite a while. “Nevi, I think I would like you to take me home. It's time, don't you think? Mass murder with surges of magicka and bodily dismemberment is very nice, but I'd like to be able to do my nails and take a bath.”“You're a strange one, Amelie.” Feasts shook his head, looking at Nevi, as if in appeal to confirm his suspicions.“She simply knows how to enjoy herself,” Nevi said in response to the Argonian. He met Feasts’ gaze with his own. “Before I leave… what do you plan to do?”“I plan to get revenge. I intend to find out who or what caused me to be crippled my entire life. Then, I intend to maim it and inflict torment so great that even Molag Bal will cringe away from the sight of the -thing- that's left when I finish.”Amelie smiled. "Sweet vengeance. Feasts… I wish you good fortune."
Raven Hall, Fireside
They had arranged to meet at Raven Hall, this was back when there was a Raven Hall, before the monsters stitched together from flesh, and the fires. Back then, Vheisha-Kaie had work there as an alchemist. Amelie took work there occasionally – deliveries and the occasional night on security detail.They met at the fireplace, at the quieter end of the hall and settled on the comfortable cushions there.“It’s really nice to see you.” declared Amelie, smiling. The thing she liked least about her new life was the loneliness. She looked forward to her meeting with Vhei.
“I have been among people, but so alone. I wanted to ask so many things. Things about turning and changing. But I had no one to ask.”I know the feeling,” Vheisha replied, “It has taken some time, but I believe I have found a way to live among the mortals… somewhat ethically.”Amelie paused for a moment. “I wonder how you do that. I wonder... why you do that.”"It is my reverence for my family and ancestors that keeps me on good terms with the mortals. To think of the shame it would bring them if I were to become a killer like so many others have. I can live on blood donations from patrons visiting my practice, as well as... surplus blood bought from butchers. To pay by blood donations in lieu of coins for medicine has served as a mutually beneficial exchange for many impoverished citizens of Rimmen. I only hope to continue my amicable relations with the mortals, as it will help keep my family name untarnished."Amelie interlocked her fingers and rested her chin on them as she stared into the fire. “It’s too late for me, Vhei, and for my family. The damage is done. Perhaps my sister Helene might salvage something of the respect the Courcilon name once carried. I think you’d like Helene, Vhei. She is strong hearted and principled, like you.”There passed a silence. Each gazed into the fire, with their own thoughts.“I wonder about things, Vhei.” Amelie said. “There was nobody to tell me. Well, there was Alix, but all he talked about was bloodlust, and power, and transformation; I suppose those were the important things to him. I wanted to know what was happening to me, to my body, not about powers I might have or be able to use. Like… my taste and my sense of smell are so different now. If a man walked into the hall right now, up the other end, twenty metres away, with a lover's perfume on his collar, I’d notice it.”Vheisha drummed a finger on the end of her nose as she spoke. “My sense of taste and smell have been heightened too.” She looked at Amelie and smiled as slowly, a long, narrow tongue snaked out of her mouth – dexterous, possibly prehensile, forked at the end, and about a forearm long. Amelie watched in wonderment. The tongue withdrew and Vheisha spoke. “I can smell as well as taste with it. Certain tastes, like blood, are different from how mortals would experience them. For me, the blood of a rat has is salty, astringent." Amelie winced a little at the idea of drinking the blood of rats. She delighted in taking the life of a person for the same purpose, but felt wrong about animals such as rats, or pigs. Vheisha continued, "It might be different for you. My strain is derived from my Tsaesci ancestry. Your strain, Sanguinaire Vampiris, has many unique qualities.""Third grade Volkihar, spare me," said Amelie with a touch of drama. "Among vampires, I am common as muck." She lay back on the cushions and curled her toes in the air.Vheisha paused, then looked at Amelie. “I have a question for you. Do you consider your condition a gift or a curse?”“Your father, Sevilus, had a word to say about that,” Amelie replied, “He said I have already made of the condition a gift. His words in turn influenced my thinking. My life has gone down a strange path, and this is the gift I have been given to walk this unfamiliar road. It’s a good thing. I doubt I would have lasted long at garden parties and high teas and endless games of croquet on the lawn back in Wayrest.”They both laughed a little. Vhei’s smile had something melancholy about it. She missed her father. “That… that sounds like something I’d imagine him say… To make peace with the condition and to continue to lead a relatively ethical life, is something I believe those of us with this condition should all strive for.” Vheisha projected equanimity, resolve and forbearance in these moments. Amelie admired her greatly, perhaps because these were precisely the qualities that she felt she lacked in herself. She had nothing to add to what Vheisha had said. She sensed the rightness of it at the same time as she sensed her lack of capacity to live up to it. Sadly, what she missed was, that Vhei experienced that same lack of capacity. It was something she struggled with every day. Amelie missed Vhei’s struggle, she saw past it, and in so doing she set Vhei as an unachievable ideal she could not reach.After a short, companionable silence, Vheisha looked at Amelie. “So… my parents have helped you find some peace during your visit there?”“Nala came to my dreaming. She hunted my ghosts, my nightmares… I should explain. I have memories that come to me in dreams… memories of unspeakable things, that seem as real as you and I sitting by this fire right at this moment. I would wake up screaming in the night, into a world, this world, that actually seemed less real than the nightmare. Nala… stayed with me. She became the hunter of my ghosts. I could not see her or hear her but I knew that she was there. These days, I still have the dreams, but where I used to wake up helpless, completely thrall to panic and terror, these days I come armed with a sense of… me, a sense of my being, of my agency. Unspeakable things have happened. It is right to feel panic and terror. But it is also correct to acknowledge that I have survived. I have endured. I am still here.” Amelie’s lip wobbled. She put her head into her hands. “I did them too. I did unspeakable things, Vhei.”Vhei scooted across the carpet and gently put a hand on her shoulder. “You feel remorse. That is the sign you have moral thinking.”“Alix and I murdered for pleasure. We murdered people who were just going about their daily lives. We delighted in it, and we delighted in the fact that we were getting away with it.” She frowned, “Everything about us was the pursuit of pleasure.”Vhei looked at her companion, so haunted, so troubled, and wondered if words existed that could help one so burdened by regret. “If I can give my own two drakes… the woman I see before me, the you that you are now, this is someone different from the you that you have described to me in the past. It is not easy to overcome regret and shame, but I’m hoping there is something I can do to help you overcome and heal, like my mother has done for you”Amelie looked up, her face now a bloody mask. “You, who have already done so much… you have my gratitude, and my unswerving loyalty, for all that is worth.”“It’s worth a lot.” Vhei replied.Amelie stared into the fire. “It was the pleasure. Always, the pleasure. Alix was addicted to it. When he’d fed and his mark was dead, he would take me into his rooms and… do what he did. At first it hurt, but after some time I began to sense the power in it. Not the man’s power, all rushing and thundering, a woman’s power, something that built up over time. I wanted to get to that place that I could sense was there, but Alix was always finished. He finished, rolled over and turned his back on me. Months later, after he’d turned me, things changed. Blood became everything, blood and murder. Blood was nectar, sweet pleasure and a reason for being. That part of me, the woman, womanhood if you like, it shrivelled. I lost interest in being touched. The blood and the feeding was power and pleasure, intense, exquisite, lasting pleasure, and I could control it without the help of a man. So when Alix touched me, I felt nothing. I didn’t respond.And not long after that, he left.”Amelie looked at Vhei, and it seemed that they both had the same thought at the same time. Amelie’s eyes darkened, a deep, deep crimson, and in the firelight she almost looked like a vengeful spawn of Oblivion, a true daughter of Coldharbour."Yes. That's it. That's what he did. When I no longer served his carnal urges, that is when he left. Left me alone among mortals with no inkling of how to find my way. Oh, i see it. I see it so clearly now."Her voice rasped, low and venomous, and she said, “I swear, by the bleak white tombstones and the blood-soaked soil of the Orchard, I swear, by the Black Forge, by Heart’s Grief I swear, by the Defiler, by the Lord of Lies, I swear, I will end him. Alix Montclair! I will have your head, and I will cast it upon a burning pyre!”The dread oath hung in the air, a thing of its own now, a thing of power. It provoked awe and terror in both Amelie and Vhei."Amelie...""The die is cast, Vhei. There will be no turning back."
Reckoning
IThe tavern was crowded. The residents had no other name for it than the tavern, as within the chill, cramped quarters of Foster’s Folly, there was only one. The seats at the tables were full, and drinking bystanders looked over shoulders at games of cards and dice. On one table, a black Khajit with a golden mane perused a bounty notice that had recently been placed on the bulletin board, up closer to the entrance of the cavern. The illustration had been done in charcoal, and it looked like some care had been taken to get the likeness. “Shornhelm scum,” a tall, young Nord covered in tattoos said from behind. “Look at his nose. Look at his chin. Montclair.” The Nord spat, then looked up out of his one good eye as a woman in a dirty muslin blouse paired with serge breeches and knee boots shouldered her way through the crowd. “No offence, Evane!" he said raising his palms. "I was referring to the face on the parchment there.” The Nord then seemed to be at pains to engage in conversations at other tables, and withdrew.Evane closed on the table and looked over the Khajit’s shoulder. She was bemused by Kjor’s concern for her opinion – she had been called far worse than “Shornhelm scum.” She actually considered it quite the compliment.“Alix Montclair.” she said, to no one in particular. She felt a melancholy feeling come over her, though she couldn’t say why. The Montclairs were people of consequence in the town of Shornhelm, indeed all of Rivenspire, until the turning. Now, they weren’t people anymore, but they were definitely of consequence. Alix Montclair she’d heard of, more than once, and by the looks of the parchment, one of those who had come to her bearing tales of Alix Montclair was fixing to even the score.Sensing the presence reading over his shoulder the Khajit asked “Won’t you sit down? If we are both interested in the bounty, perhaps we could share ideas, intelligence.”“I’d rather stand, thanks Zayman-Dro.” was Evane’s curt reply.“I wonder who is hiring for this contract. Perhaps… Evane knows?”Evane did indeed, know. “Her name is Amelie. Short, bluish hair, mouthy, bad attitude, careless. You’ll be bound to see her at some point. She tends the stables yonder.” Evane sensed trouble. She had known Amelie long enough to know that she was reckless, careless and had no eye for detail – things that could get her or others with her killed, and if she was proposing a venture that could lead to direct conflict with the largest faction of vampires in High Rock… Evane shuddered.“Ha! She sounds interesting.” Zayman-Dro tapped the table with a claw. “I hope she will visit us here in the Tavern, to share intelligence.”Evane made a wry sort of look. “Amelie, share intelligence? Not sure how that might work out.”She sensed a presence behind her, an aura of foreboding and dread. She turned and saw Nevikaan Delvalyn shoulder his way through the crowd, or it might be more accurate to say, the crowd parted a way for him. The bookish Dunmer clad in green had returned from a lengthy tour – changed, and the folk of Foster’s Folly, used even as they were to all kinds of monsters, vampires, werebeasts, even Daedra – even so, there was a chill of dread that went up each one’s spine whenever Nevi appeared.He leaned over the table and perused the parchment with its illustration resting there. “The Montclairs, hmm? A Rivenspire clan, if I am to be correct.”“A House.” Evane corrected him. It was at that moment that a short Breton clad in black leather riding gear entered the Tavern. She pulled a straw out her unruly mop of auburn, blue-streaked hair, exchanged noisy pleasantries with some other tavern patrons and slid uninvited into the seat opposite Zaymar-Dro.She was about to thump her finger on the table and say something when a shadow which seemed to contain bats came over the little bodega. The bats flitted back and forth, and then circled tightly, like a little twister, out of which emerged a very dizzy Dunmer in a long vermilion cloak, clutching a staff. He had long, silver-white hair, and his eyes moved frantically about, as if there were too many thoughts behind them and they were all coming out at once. Once again, the crowd had to make room for him. He bounced from one rebuff to another until his eyes settled on someone he knew – Evane.Zax came up to the table. “Hello Evane. What’s the gathering about?”“This.” Amelie interrupted before Evane had a chance to speak. “Well I am hoping this is why you’re all here. Find Alix Montclair. Tell me where he is. Reward is offered: 700 Gold Drakes, and the undying gratitude of my good self.”Zax, inclined to respond more to visuals, directed his attention to the picture. “His ears… Is he a Breton? What’s he done?”Nevi had the same question. “Why is this… ‘Alix’ quintessential to you, sera?”Amelie bowed her head. “It is hard to say out loud, but I will say it. When I had barely stopped being a girl, and only just begun to become a woman, I met Alix. He was worldly, unconstrained and disdainful of convention. This was intoxicating to me in a man, so I pursued him, shamelessly, I will admit. Long story short, he charmed me, seduced me, turned me and then abandoned me. He left me for dead. I desire two things. The first, is to make sure that he never does that to anyone else. The second is more personal. I desire vengeance.”“You saw the state I was in when I first came here, Nevi.” she continued, “Broken, hopeless and helpless without anyone to turn to. That is how he left me." She points an accusing finger at the picture, as if it was real. "I will rid Nirn of him. I will burn him with fire. I will take his head. I will end him.”Nevi spoke. “You have been a necessary ally to my transformation. I shall help you in this endeavor, as it is only right.” The fury in Amelie’s eyes melted and she smiled at Nevi in gratitude.The group spoke on, whispering conspiratorially together about the habits of vampires, about the less frequented walks in Gonfalon Bay, about the situation in Shornhelm, about exclusive soirees in Wayrest, and about the tiny bodegas and wine shops to be found in the poorer quarters of any city or town in High Rock. At some point, Evane quietly left the group, without saying whether she was in the venture or no. The wine flowed, the candles guttered and then Zax stood up and started repeating the same words over and over:“Breton… vampire… Rivenspire… House… Count…”Everyone at the table watched, some with interest, some with concern.“I think I know someone who can help find him.” Zax finally said.“Sullivan.” Amelie replied. You’re thinking of Sullivan”Zax looked blankly at Amelie. “Have you met?”“I have. He gave me tuition on the finer points of certain forms of sword play. I introduced him to the battlefields of Cyrodiil. It was quite the evening. We had blood coming out of our eyes.”IIThe tavern was almost deserted when the little group met again. They sat on the little stools around the little round tables, talking quietly and drinking. Amelie had sangiovese. Zayman Dro had porter. Nevi had a glass of vodka, but did not touch it. Zax had a red cordial. After a bit of a prod from Amelie, Zax stood up."So apparently, Dad and your mark... play cards."“Your dad?” Amelie seemed confused.“Sullivan. Is my dad.” Zax replied.“I…see. and he has agreed to meet us?”“Yeah! We should see him soon.”The group talked amongst themselves for a time. Amelie felt like she had more questions than answers, as a portal opened up and deposited an exquisitely dressed and manicured Breton onto the Folly’s cold, wet stone. His hair was black, and tousled with attention to detail. His black beard was clipped and combed. He wore a red pea coat, half length, over a waistcoat and a pink muslin shirt with black breeches. His knee boots were quite the conversation piece, being gold in colour and heeled with a tall square heel. They were finished with a flourish of wings stitched into the leather. In his hand he held a black cane adorned with a raven’s skull and golden details. He did not look pleased.Amelie was not wearing heels, but she stood on tiptoe like a ballerina and smiled. "Comte Sullivan, we have missed the gentle rumble of your voice, the understated wit, the lessons in swordplay, the sartorial excellence without parallel and the delirious feeding on the battlefields of Cyrodiil. But we are grateful you once again bless us with an appearance" She made an elaborate curtsey.Sullivan gave a slight grin at the flattery but waved a dismissive hand. "None of that, tell me what he's done." He hummed softly. With a hand gesture, he beckoned Zax to his side. Zax made no point to lollygag, jumping up and moving as quickly as he could to his lord’s side. He took up the tailcoat, holding it over his arm like a good servant.Amelie lowered her eyes, and recited, "As a girl leaving girlhood and entering womanhood, I encountered at a soiree, one Alix Montclair, who was clever, dangerous and very attractive to a young woman such as myself. He took me everywhere, from the soirees of the best people in Wayrest, to the lowest bodegas, flophouses and burlesque joints, and the rich pageantry of life unfolded for me in all its glory in this way. Infatuated with him, I dreamed of a life together for us. As he was Nosferatu, I would have to join him, so I begged and implored him to turn me. Things soon became... complicated for us at Wayrest, so we moved to Evermore.”“I became... what I am, and learned to hunt mortals, to feed, and other things. Many things change when one turns, and the variety of it is such that if you know one vampire, then that is what you know... one vampire. In the case of this vampire (she pointed to herself) I went from having a great appetite for touch, physical pleasure and lovemaking, to none at all.”“Only feeding provides me with pleasure now, in that way. So when he would lie on me, I would push him away, first playfully, then with force. I no longer seemed to possess those desires, and in return the desire to feed on the living had become so exquisite as to be painful. One night, I pushed him away, he grunted, pulled on his coat, slammed the door and left. He never came back."She sat down, with her knees together, cradling herself in her arms. Revealing such intimate details felt like something had been taken from her, like a layer of clothing. Even if the listeners were empathetic and on her side, trying to help, it still felt vulnerable, exposed. She wished she had brought a coat.Sullivan listened. His countenance bore a downturned gaze that expressed displeasure and disdain. The lines on his face were etched with a mixture of disapproval and repulsion. “So,wot yer sayin’ is... he manipulated you into a romantic arrangement at an age unbefitting of a suitor of his own age, beckoned you to follow him with money and power, convinced you vampirism was his promise to change you, didn’t test your will beforehand, an’ on top of all that, once ye started growin' into yer own nature and only sought sustenance, after years of abusing the body of the woman whom should have been regarded as sacred, he decided it ‘wasn’t worth it’ an’ left?” He paused, letting the silence swell and fill the room with a thick layer of acrid disgust. Then he inhaled, pivoting as if to look for a chair. Zax ran to grab the chair he’d sat in earlier, allowing his Sire to take a seat. He hissed, baring his fangs unconsciously.“However... that leaves his new toy up fo’ discussion...If we’re gonna off 'im I can countenance that, but this damsel he keeps, will you be taking her in?” He canted his head to the side. Black hair fell over his shoulder as he eyed Amelie curiously. “I mean in no way to put pressure on you, but I want a plan before we cause an... accident. I don't want this falling back on me. I can take her in, but I wonda’ if you wanna do anyfin wif it?”Amelie was blindsided, slackjawed. Something she had always suspected had come to pass, but it was still an overwhelming shock to hear it was real. “He’s taken another?” she asked in a flat tone, devoid of emotion.Sullivan nodded. “Well of course e’ does, what idiot would toss one woman out like trash and not take another one?” he hissed, leaning his cane on the chair. He played with a fat ring on his finger, glowering low at the floor. “I’ve been known to have a particular affinity for dealin’ wif individuals of that nature, making sure they understand the error of their ways in the most... memorable of fashions.” He gave a sharp-toothed grin.Amelie’s voice was flat. “What is her name?”“Delphine. ‘Er name’s Delphine.”“Delphine.” Amelie said, as if testing the weight of it. “Delphine and I will be sisters in sorrow, once this business is concluded. Whether that makes us friend or enemy, can't be known at this stage, but I name her sister, and will render her aid, if she will have it.”"Next time old mate swings by the gaff will be next week, but I reckon I can convince him to come for a little “business deal.” And we all know what that means, right?”“It means you will lure him with his own greed.” Amelie replied.“We’ll show this tosser what happens when he messes with us.” Sullivan growled.Amelie’s expression was quizzical. “I wonder what he did that annoyed you?”“Besides what he did to you, which was disgraceful, there’s the fact the bloke's a slimy cheat. Cost me a bloody fortune, he did. Seven grand down the drain on a racehorse wot turned up lame on his second outing.”Amelie lowered her eyes. While she felt no emotion or pang of conscience when taking the life of a person, she knew what happened to a racehorse that was lame, and it touched a place inside her, where her grief was stored.“How will we know, when we are to come?" she managed to ask.Sullivan looked at Zax. “I’ll send yer a message.”IIIThe interior of the manor exuded an elegance that would enrapture any vampire's desires. Count Sullivan materialized amidst a swarm of bats, their ethereal forms swirling and tunnelling through the air until they settled gracefully upon the ground. Accompanying the Count, Zax manifested alongside him, having a difficult time, but eventually transitioning into corporeal form. Zax took the count's coat, draping it upon a nearby coat stand, while both The Count and Zax patiently awaited Amelie's arrival. Within the manor's opulent halls, the ambience was befitting of the undead nobility that resided within its walls. Exquisite tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of dark beauty and ancient lore. Gilded candelabras cast a flickering glow across the polished marble floors, creating an enchanting dance of light and shadow. Every detail, from the intricately carved furnishings to the delicate chandeliers, spoke of a refined taste and a timeless sense of grandeur. Zax bounced up and down by the front door, watching for Amelie.Amelie arrived, in a similar manner to Zax, with some difficulty. She took a moment to compose herself then looked around. Clearly impressed, she turned to Sullivan and said "You have decorated this space beautifully. It's magnificent... elegant. Delicious. Will I get the opportunity to meet the woman responsible?" The slight Sullivan had given her while she practiced her swordplay had not been forgotten, and here she had the opportunity to make a riposte.Sullivan cast a curious glance at the woman, his expression filled with intrigue. The assumption she made was undeniably accurate. "Aye, she's a right talented one." he replied. "That there, behind the arras, is the place to be.” He pointed to the enormous red and black tapestry of wolves and monsters devouring woodcutters and villagers that hung behind his throne.
Amelie took that information in with a shudder. She wasn't afraid of Alix, Alix was a known quantity to her. It had just dawned on her that she was completely in Sullivan's power, and unlike Alix, Sullivan was an unknown quantity. "Silly me, might have dropped myself right in the soup," she thought to herself, "No helping that now, let's see how this ends." With a wary look at Sullivan, she walked behind the arras and found an alcove behind there, expressly made for hiding in, it seemed. She hid there, as instructed. Expecting the alcove to be empty, she was startled to find the mer, dressed in green, Nevikaan Delvalyn, there beside her. He raised finger to bid her remain silent, but his eyes also spoke a message: I have you.Sullivan shifted in his seat, his fingers intertwined, apparently calm. As always, Zax stood faithfully at his right side, a silent sentinel. Sullivan's gaze was fixated on the door, his eyes filled with anticipation, waiting for the moment to unfold.The knocker on the door resounded, three times. The door swung open to reveal a man of indeterminate age, dressed in a velvet half-coat, breeches and knee boots. He had a long, straight nose and pursed lips. His eyes were framed with thin, straight eyebrows and he had a way of looking slightly to the side, as if he wasn't sure what he was looking at deserved his full attention. He walked arm in arm with a tall, slim woman with a regal bearing, wearing a brocade dress in black and grey and a red velvet bodice. Her dark brown hair was pinned up with carefully curled tresses cascading down from the temple. Her aquiline nose and brown eyes gave away her Imperial heritage, even though she carried herself like a member of the High Rock nobility.Alix spoke. "Good evening, my dear Count. I trust we find you well." Alix and Delphine made a coordinated deep bow-and-curtsey, the sort one makes when addressing another of a higher station. "Do we have a fourth?" Alix's question referred to his expectation that they were to play bridge, which required four players, two against two. Alix and Delphine were adept at the game of Bridge, and the Count had summoned a number of top players to pair with himself. The contests had remained mostly even.“He does.” Amelie emerged from behind the arras, carrying the hand-and-a-half sword she had been training with. “Hello Alix.” Amelie’s voice was deathly calm as she showed herself.Alix’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Amelie?”“Yes, Alix. Amelie.”“Amelie, what a delightful surprise, I thought...”“Spare me.”Delphine looked confused. “Alix, who is she?”“She’s no one, she’s someone I...” Alix began.“Someone you turned, and then abandoned.” Amelie interrupted. “Left among mortals, with no one to call on for aid. They nearly killed me, you bastard, you wretch you... reprobate!”“Alix, what is she saying?” Delphine looked frantically from Amelie to Alix, unsure what to think, disorientated.“She is calling me names, darling. Don’t believe her, she’s delusional, she’s unwell.” Alix tried to soothe her.“I didn’t deserve that Alix.” Amelie continued, “The moment I went off heat, you were off looking for another. You left me, alone and defenceless!” She looked at Delphine with sympathy in her eyes. “I loved him too, the same as you do I expect. Did he tell you about the manor house, the one that looks over Koeglin Lighthouse? With the ‘fastidious but discreet’ staff and the ‘powder room you will simply adore’?” Amelie lampooned Alix’s accent and mannerisms, with enough accuracy that Alix squirmed. “He’s barely got a copper to his name. He relies on the generosity of others.”Delphine’s eyes narrowed. She removed her arm from his and stood to one side, the beginnings of a boiling fury forming on her brow.“All right.” Alex held his arms out. “I lied. I did all those things. Now what? Are you going to scold me some more?”“No, Alix.” Amelie’s voice was calm and composed. “No. I am going to make sure you never do it again. She flipped the sword from its place on her shoulder and swung it, testing the looseness in her wrists against the tension in her shoulders and back. Alix produced a matched set of poignards, and threw off his coat. “With that thing? You stupid little girl.” His lip curled in contempt.“You are right, Alix,” Amelie began circling slowly to the right, hands on the pommel shoulder high while the tip of the blade pointed to Alix’s solar plexus. “I was a girl, a stupid girl, barely out of pigtails. But I have learned things, Alix. Things about people. I have learned my loyalty is a thing of value, and not to be squandered on the undeserving. And you, Alix, you are undeserving. Very, very, undeserving.”“Are you going to swing that thing or lecture me to death?” Alix’s eyes looked eagerly to see if his taunt disrupted Amelie’s calm. He saw the fire in her eyes and crouched just an inch more, allowing him to slip under the blade as it whipped through the air above him. He stepped forward, as Amelie struggled to recover her form from the swinging motion of the heavy blade. Alix’s poignard caught her just under the rib, a nasty wound but not mortal. She sidestepped across the room, and the pair began their circling again.“That hurt, didn’t it.” Alix’s grin was cruel, his eyes glittered with menace. “That’s going to slow you down, girl. I’m going to cut you to pieces, bit by bit.” Amelie’s gait was lopsided, compensating for the severed muscle in her torso. She slowed her breathing, let her thoughts focus on her training, till the goading words were forgotten. In her own time, she swung the blade at his midriff, but instead of following through this time, she placed her right hand on the pommel, and guided the blade downward in a thrusting motion, which narrowly missed Alix’s breastbone. He dropped to the floor and rolled before regaining his footing, and the pair circled each other again. Alix now realised he had a deadly fight on his hands, and he made no more taunts. He watched for Amelie to make a misstep or lapse in her concentration.Sullivan adjusted himself in his chair, a cold and ominous air surrounding him. "Well, technically speaking, I didn't fib about possessing a lich..." he rumbled, casting a glance at Zax, who couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Care to wager on the outcome of this dynamic duo? I've got 35 stacks on Alix taking a tumble. What say you?" Sullivan inquired, his gaze fixed on his lackey."I... I'm not exactly keen on putting my hard-earned coins on the line for the fate of Terrance's comrade... or anyone for that matter," Zax replied hesitantly.Alix feinted to the right, his favoured side, and Amelie held her blade angled left to centre for the counter. She was about to lunge at him with the riposte, when Alix lurched to the side. Delphine had leapt at him with a stiletto. Amelie pulled up mid-lunge to avoid striking Delphine, and in the one move Alix threw Delphine off him and rammed a poignard straight into Amelie's face. The blade shattered the maxilla and wedged itself there, the handle and pommel protruding at an odd angle from Amelie's shattered face. She tottered, then fell to her knees, and began to make rattling, gurgling sounds.The room was silent, except for Alix’s rasping breathing and Amelie’s gurgling. Delphine sat motionless on the floor, stricken.“Perhaps I misjudged you, stupid girl.” he said. Perhaps you weren’t quite as worthless as I thought you were.” He walked across the room and retrieved Amelie’s bastard sword. Testing it in his hands, he set himself to deliver the coup de grace.Nevikaan appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He walked calmly past Delphine, almost bumping into her.“Pardon me, sera,” he said with a slightly distorted, out of phase voice. Delphine shuddered, but gave no other sign that she had noticed.Once Nevi was able to encroach upon Alix, he lightly tapped him on the shoulder. Alix turned around, to be met with the mer’s emerald orbs for eyes.Startled, Alix whirled around to face Nevi. "What in Oblivion..." On sighting Nevi, his voice trailed off and he stood agape.“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” said Nevi, in that same, slightly distorted, out of phase voice, that almost sounded like two were speaking. “I will harvest your secrets for Apocrypha, child.”Alix lunged at Nevi with two poingards, but before he could close on him, Nevi raised his right palm and conjured a bolt of green lightning from it, which hit Alix in the chest, stunning him. Alix groaned, as Nevi mumbled an incantation. A set of chains snaked out of the ground, grabbed Alix and held him immobile, on his knees. Nevi looked over at the captured Alix. It was a look of pity, but also a look of satisfaction. As he crossed he room he looked over at Delphine. sitting there stricken, as if unable to process the things that had occurred in those last few moments."Not to worry, my dear.” Nevi said to her. “There are plenty of vvardvarks in the ash." Delphine looked back at Nevi, her expression blank. He walked across the room to where Amelie’s sword lay, and picked it up, hefting the heavy blade she had struggled so hard to master. He delivered it to Amelie's side, giving her a light caress on the shoulder as he did so."Get up, sera. The fight is not over. You can do this."Amelie looked up at Nevi. The poingard had entered her just below the nose, shattered her jaw, severed her throat and lodged itself in her neck bones. The hilt of the blade was still there, sticking out like an enormous appendage, a deformity. Her face had collapsed inward, her jaw was broken and hanging to one side. Unable to speak but needing to express gratitude, she put her hand on his.“Mora’s mercy… you’re hurt badly.” Nevi said. He manifested the power of his hemomantic staff in all of its sanguine glory. As he murmured the incantation, it charged the strange magics in the staff. it glowed with a crimson aura. In a flash, the staff released its energies, like a serpent made of blood. It wriggled into Amelie through her broken face, and her whole body glowed a fierce crimson. Amelie curled up into a ball as the magic did its work. Breaking a jaw can be excruciatingly painful. Mending one in a matter of seconds no less so.“Can you speak?” Nevi asked. His staff returned to its normal state, dormant.Amelie, feeling the regenerating power of the magicka, had pulled the blade out of her face before her regenerating tissue could catch hold of it. She cried out as she did this because it was still unspeakably painful. She composed herself a moment, as the broken tissues mended and reconnected. She looked up at Nevi, and through broken and missing teeth said “rag roo. I’m reary graypul"She stood up, and Nevi handed her the sword. She walked unsteadily to where Alix remained, chained.“Don’t do it, Amelie. Don’t do it please!” cried Alix, trembling. He started babbling, “I can change, I will make it right, you and I will have the life we’d always wanted, I will get us some money, yes! and then we can…”There was a clean sound, a snick or a crack, then there was a small thud, as his head hit the floor."I taught her that." Sullivan quipped.IVZax had taken care of Alix’s personal effects. Sullivan had taken the body outside, and lain it down on a nearby bridge. Amelie carried his head by the hair, every now and then picking it up to look into its lifeless eyes. “I think I like him better like thith,” she said, “Leth noithy, leth wordy.”Delphine carried a torch. Amelie a hip flask of strong spirits. Amelie placed the head where it belonged atop his body. She poured the contents of the hip flask over her former lover, and Delphine made to torch it.“Not yet,” said Amelie, “Wait for Nevi.” The mer arrived in a moment, and surveyed the scene laid before him. He had nothing to add at this point it seemed, and he bade Delphine put Alix to the torch. He burned well, almost as if he was made of paper."I loved you, Alikth." Amelie said, as she felt the warmth of the flames with her hands. "If you had treated me rethpectfully, we might have had wonderful timeth together. But you didn't, and that ith a great thorrow, for me. For you, it is nothing at all, I thuppose. I wonder what the Detheiver will do with the liketh of you, who have dithguthted and dithappointed their brotherth and thithters in unlife?"Delphine spoke, and said, "I am here, and you are gone. I am body, mind, thoughts, aspirations, emotions. You are dust, dust to be blown in all directions, to land in forgotten places. I am here with my grief, my loss, broken and among strangers, but I will endure. I will go on. I will thrive. And when next I taste that sweet nectar of mortal blood, when it fills me with its power, its promise, I will think of you, the settled dust, lying inert, in forgotten places"Sullivan observed the crackling fire, his attention focused on the women as they expressed their grief. In that moment, he turned away from the group, facing the yard at a distance. With a somber expression, he began to sing, a dirge, his voice filled with emotion.he softly hummed, the crackling embers accompanying his melody.If ever thou shared blood for drink,
The fire shall never make thee shrink;If thou ne'er shared nane,
The fire will burn thee to the bane;This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
—Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,The small party offered polite applause.Silence settled over the manor as Sullivan hobbled along. He tossed Alix's gold card at Delphine's feet, symbolically stained with blood, signifying his previous connection with Alix and his attempts to either appease or get rid of him."Keep those cards, both of you. If anything happens to either of you, come here. And if whoever pursues you through the portal ends up here, I'll give them a proper thrashing."Amelie brushed Delphine's shoulder as they stood side by side. Delphine did not flinch, and the pair stood close for a moment."Nevi, it's time to go home, don't you think?" Amelie asked. The lich-mer nodded, and made a circle in the air with his staff, which became like the waves of a green ocean. Amelie entered first, Delphine followed, and then Nevi. The portal winked closed, and Sullivan stood alone, with his thoughts. It was quiet. even Zax was quiet for once, and he felt the pang of loneliness.But not for long. He needed to consider another pair for bridge and there was the appointment with the Reachmen, not to mention the Blood Matrons and their repeated requests for soul stones. He sat down on his throne, and gave himself time to think.Postscript: Amelie had new teeth made in Elsweyr, on one of her journeys there. She had found a mage with an interest in teeth and bones, and persuaded him to make her a new set of teeth in platinum. It took some time and quite a bit of expense, but the teeth sat well in her mouth and allowed her to speak and feed the way she had when she had her original teeth. She ordered long curved fangs, with an inscription for each one. One said "This won't hurt a bit." The other one said "You may feel a sting."
Black Souls
Daggerfall, beneath Vachel’s houseLate evening, as the fog drifted in from the ocean, she looked to her left and took the stairs up to the front door of an unremarkable house in Daggerfall. A surreptitious probing of the simple lock that held the door, and with a satisfying click, she was in.She found herself in a nondescript one-room dwelling – grimy front windows, a fireplace, a simple setting of table and two chairs, and a narrow bed in the corner. She noted the dust in the room had been recently disturbed, and footprints led to the bed and ended there. The fireplace, however, had not been used for some time and other items one would expect to be in daily use carried a film of dust.“A little complacent, are we?” she asked of no one in particular as she pushed the bed aside and found the trapdoor below. This one came equipped with a lock that presented more of a challenge, and she was several minutes probing the intricate barrels before it opened. Keeping it as close to closed as she could, she wriggled under the trapdoor headfirst, searching for a hand or foothold. A rickety ladder proved just the thing, and she balanced her weight on it while her toe slowly eased the trapdoor to close, making as little noise as possible.She scanned the passageway she found herself in to satisfy herself that it was deserted, and dropped to the floor on all fours. She raised her head and inhaled deeply. A living creature nearby, and something familiar, either further away, or behind a screen or door.According to her source, this particular cell had been less active of late, for reasons unknown. She slid along one wall of the passage, eyes searching for any movement. The lack of any fixed light sources in the passages told her humans or mer passing would require their own, but she hadn’t seen a grate where they would be stored.A little up the passage, she heard the jangle of mail. She stopped, still, listening. A rattle, like teeth chattering, five to ten metres away. She pulled a round stone from her pocket, hefted it and threw it into the darkness. There was a clattering, shuffling sound, a rattle, then silence. “Skeleton warriors or some other kind of undead servant.” She thought to herself. She inched forward, feeling with her fingers for some sort of depression or alcove in the wall- otherwise she would have to climb onto the ceiling, which would probably give her a blister. Her fingers found what they were looking for, and she smiled.About waist high, deep enough to fit her torso, and with a little contortion she could get one leg in while the other pressed up against the wall. Satisfied with her spot, she took another stone and threw it in the opposite direction. The three skeletons approached. Wearing dented helmets, torn strips of mail and rusty sabatons, they made their advance, waving their longswords. The instant they passed, Amelie climbed down from her hide and moved, silent and swift, up the passage.Not far ahead, the passage turned. There was a flickering light, obscured by the rock wall. She approached cautiously and peered around. An elaborate door, of the sort that might say “Very important boss type in here,” made her smile. Outside the door a smallish figure in a red cloak and hood held a torch, possibly the source of the footprints in the house above. She pitched another stone, and in the instant it took the hooded figure to look, she was on him from behind, poignard to his throat.“Take the hood down for me, there’s a good boy,” she whispered. He complied, and she realised she’d stalked and caught a teenager, who was trembling in her grasp. “Sssh... everything is going to be all right,” she whispered. “I just need to have a little chat with your boss.”“He said I’m not to let anyone in. He said he knows my house, and he knows my mum and my brother.” the trembling youth replied.“Well that wasn’t very nice of him. I bet you felt frightened when he said that.” The youth in her arms started to sob. “Sssh… try and stay quiet. What’s your name?”“Rodney.”“Well, Rodney, we don’t want those dead fellows up the passage to visit. Just sit and stay quiet for me there’s a good boy.” She turned to the elaborate door, with its bone handle in the shape of a skull with two reaching skeletal arms, and pushed.“Stupid boy! I thought I told you to stay… Oh. Here you are. I thought I smelled one of us.” The vampire stood in a black robe in front of some enchanting apparatus. Amelie took a moment to look around. A bookshelf, some arcane markings on the floor, several trunks, a Dunmeri lamp on a desk piled with papers, and a torn banner bearing the symbol of the Order of the Black Worm, decorating the wall.“Your place is somewhat less than salubrious, for a future lord of all Nirn once it becomes a province of Coldharbour.”The vampire’s face was deadpan. “Did you come all this way to make snide remarks?”“No, I came here for black soul gems. I am reliably informed you possess them.”“And what made you believe that I would just… hand them over?”“My first plan was to steal them, so handing over would not be necessary. Then I met this snivelling youth at your door, and changed my mind.”“Do go on.”“I can not imagine where you obtained him, but he is unfit for the position he holds. I would like to relieve you of him, and of any black soul gems you have lying about. Then you and I don’t wind up in one of those nasty, escalating disagreements that sends one of us to Coldharbour sooner than we would have liked.”“And…?”“And I have an associate who should be able to assist our young friend at the door with forgetting.”“I think you’ve forgotten something.”“Really? I thought I was very thorough.”“I think you are forgetting the part where Aldimion of the Black Worm reduces your insolent carcass into a pile of ash.”Amelie raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a threat.”Aldimion raised his hands and began an incantation. Amelie crouched, daggers in hand, ready to spring.The door opened and Rodney entered. “I was worried. I heard shouting.” he said.“Stupid boy!” said Amelie and Aldimion at once.“You could have gotten yourself killed!” said Amelie sternly.“I warned you what would happen if you disturbed me again!” said Aldimion, sternly with a touch of drama.Amelie looked at Aldimion and shrugged. “I did offer to take him off your hands.”Aldimion sighed. “If a few black soul gems is all that is required to be rid of the pair of you then let us complete this wretched transaction”“Once we complete our transaction, I will do my utmost to… be somewhere else.” Amelie replied.Aldimion grumbled under his breath as he opened a strongbox concealed under a dusty, moth eaten cloak.Hours later Amelie and Penumbra could be seen galloping north. Her stones were in a saddlebag and Rodney was sitting behind her, clinging on for dear life.
A Tribute of the Heart
The woman's hood was loosely draped over an abundance of dark curls. She might once have been attractive. Her left eye socket hung slack and empty, punctuated with a rather gruesome scar, possibly the work of a knife or a piece of broken glass. The skin on her arms was scarred and misshapen, as though it had been burned. She was no mer, even so it was hard to tell her heritage."A tribute of the heart to pass," she greeted everyone who entered. Yet she never clarified what exactly she meant. A form of payment, but was it metaphorical? Some brushed by without her protest, others searched their belongings and handed her anything from coin to trinkets - buttons, scraps of yarn."A tribute of the heart to pass."Amelie, concerned with her own thoughts, almost brushed past her without noticing. There was often a beggar or two by the cavern entrance, shaking a tin cup for coin. Something made her stop, and stopping made her think for a moment. She studied the crumpled, scarred figure sitting there, and produced a shiny red apple from her pack."My heart belongs to Penumbra, the beautiful mare you see there in her stable. This apple is my tribute, as I have given her so many as a treat, as an expression of my heart. I give this one to you, may I pass?"The old woman looked up at her out of her one good eye. Her gaze was inquisitive, but lacking all warmth. She took a moment to look back at Penumbra, resting there in her stall, and then back at Amelie, studying her closely."The devotion to a being that cannot even speak to you is a curious one. Do you ever question your duty towards the equine, or is your love unwavering?""It is love, born out of loyalty, a bond of trust which requires no words. When Penny and I ride together, move together, then that shared trust catches fire. It becomes a delight, an exquisite pleasure. We speak to each other in the way we move together, and it is a language that requires no words. We are attentive, responsive, considerate, respectful. We are strength and tenderness. It is love, and it speaks very clearly. I am lucky to have her."The woman pulled back her hood, revealing a tangled mess of hair. She sat a moment in thought, then reached out with a skinny matchstick arm and snatched the apple from Amelie. Amelie blinked, slightly taken aback. The woman held the fruit up to her face and sniffed loudly, perhaps trying to take in the floral notes in the apple's aroma. After a moment, she brought the apple down, and cradled it in her lap."And of all the people here, in this place, you choose the animal to bond with?"Amelie's brow furrowed. She stroked her chin, considering."Love is love." she eventually replied. "It finds us. I am glad it found Penny and I." She turned her gaze to the woman's good eye. "I find it easier to trust those who walk on four legs than those who walk on two."The woman sat in thought once again, mumbling to her self. She shook her head violently. Once again, she looked up at Amelie with the piercing, measuring stare of that one good eye."And yet, here in this den of ne'er-do-wells, the hopeless, the afflicted, the crippled, the banished and scorned and unhinged, you hold a sense of belonging that I have not seen in others. Why is that?""Because, when I was forming my ideas about the world and my place in it, I was also unwelcome among my peers. My sister and I were subjected to derision and ridicule. In subtle and not so subtle ways, we were told we did not belong. Our dresses were not of the current season, our shoes were repaired and heeled. We did not visit a chalet in the winter. Our country estate was held by the bank. Our jewellery was cheap and tawdry, or inherited from a grandparent and out of style. We were supposedly landed nobles with a respectable name. We had our own pew in the chapel, we received invitations as was our due, but among our peers we were regarded as beggars, destitute, fallen on hard times. So I have since sought solace with others who do not belong. Among these, I feel at peace. I feel that these are my people. This is where I belong."The woman stared at Amelie out of her one eye, while she twirled a strand of her greasy dark hair with a finger."Spirit Queen's favour," she said gruffly. "You may pass."
Nilichi's Story
This is the story of Nilichi, a young Ayleid woman who lived a long time ago. It was told to me by her spirit, who lingers yet in this cavern we interlopers call home.A long time ago, a wealthy landowner had two children, a daughter and a son. He treated his son with great love and showered him with gifts and praise. He ignored his daughter unless she made a mistake, in which case he bullied her and chastised her.One day the son said to his father,"I wish to make my way in the world, and I need money. Give me my inheritance now rather than when you die."His father was saddened, but he did as his son asked. He sold half his land and gave to his son a massive inheritance in gold.The son found the pleasures of the world hard to resist, and he had a lot of money. Soon he was surrounded by sycophants who wished to partake of the good times that the money would bring.In time the money ran out. His friends deserted him, and the son, out of his inheritance, was left with nothing. Wearing beggar's clothes, he approached the door of his father's house, claiming to be the father’s prodigal son. The servants at first attempted to shoo him away. He persisted and was finally granted an audience with his father. He bowed low, and tearfully said "I have spent my inheritance on pleasures and good times, and now I am left with nothing. Father! Have pity on me and take me back."The father was overjoyed to see his son and ordered a great feast to be held in his honour, to celebrate that his beloved son had returned. Everyone gathered for the feast, and there were trumpets and dancers, and travelling mummers, and a magician who could make almost anything disappear, then cough it up out of his mouth.The wine was served, and everyone said it was the sweetest, most delicious wine. Toasts were made and there was joy.Then, one by one, the guests became sick. They threw up what they had eaten, and then blood poured from their eyes, and they died. The servants panicked and ran away. The house was silent. Each and every guest, and each and every member of the family had died in a pool of their own vomit and blood. All except one.When the last of the guests had drawn their last breath, when all the servants had fled, when no noise of any living thing disturbed the feast hall, a young woman entered the room. She looked around at what she had wrought and was pleased. She knelt by her father's body and said these words:"You had a son, and you had a daughter. To your son, you gave everything you had. To your daughter you gave insults and orders, as if she was one of the servants.""When he came home, I thought, 'now it will be my time. Father will turn him out as a fool, and he will see that I have been here, this whole time, working hard, learning the transactions of the family business and being a devoted and faithful daughter.""But no! You brought him back in! You sacrificed a lamb in his name! There was to be a celebration, you said, for my son had returned home!""Such an unjust decision, for a daughter who had done nothing but bring you honour and a son who had brought you nothing but shame. You cursed my virtue by looking away, and looked instead to a buffoon whose only aptitude has been profligacy! Now hear my curse: since there is no justice, I have made justice of my own. It was I who poisoned the wine with purgeblood salts and peony seeds, and I exulted in it, for it felt just to me."The town justiciars, however, did not see it as just, and they sentenced her to death by oubliette. They lowered her into a hole in the ground, and sealed it off, and named the place cursed, that people would stay away.
People did indeed stay away. They shunned the place, and it was said that in the darkest night of winter, that a shrieking could be heard on the wind, of the scorned, vengeful daughter, unquiet in her grave.
Violet's Speakeasy
For a town built on the bones of its warriors and made fertile by their blood, Falkreath in the winter had a pristine calm about it. Nestled in the base of the Jerall Mountains, and watered by an icy lake, someone might think it a fastness to escape the to-and-fro of the lands below. Unfortunately, in many cases that someone would be quite wrong.Falkreath had been razed and rebuilt time upon time. Its location, near to running water and the prized timber to be found in the mountains above, meant its neighbours looked upon it greedily. Raiders from Hammerfell to the southeast came to enslave the hardy Nords and use them as beasts of burden to carry that valuable timber over the Dragon’s Teeth Mountains and into the deserts of their native land, where it was prized for building and fetched exorbitant sums of coin. Imperial legions marching up the Pale Pass and into Skyrim desired Falkreath as a staging post for territorial conquests deeper into Skyrim, and they did not care whether they left one stone standing on another stone, so long as they could erect their wooden palisades unmolested. It is for this reason that the city had an unofficial nickname – “The Heroes’ Graveyard” - and that death imagery featured heavily in the artisanry and artistry of the residents.If you walked in Falkreath’s North Gate with its stone arch and intricate carved knotwork, went past the thatched homes on the way to the market square, turned into an alleyway backed in on each side by tightly packed flophouses, grog dens and the occasional brothel, and then stopped just where the alley turned north, you would find yourself standing in front of a nondescript wooden door with a little eyehole.“Here. Quiet.” said Amelie to her companions, who were looking doubtful. She knocked three times, and then another knock. A small eyehole opened in the door, and an eye looked through it.“Batwing saloon.” said Amelie to the eye in the door.“That’s last year’s.” said the eye in the door.“Tell her it’s Amelie.” Amelie pleaded. She really did not want to have come all this way to find a safe house refused them entry.“Wait there.” said the eye.“Not like I have much of a choice now, is it,” hissed Amelie, a little too loudly to be considered discreet. Moments later, the door opened, and a surly Nord woman beckoned them in and shut the door behind them. The room was windowless - the dying embers of a fire in the hearth and a couple of guttering candles on the bar provided the only light. Behind the bar, a woman with the pale skin and vermillion eyes of the Nosferatu polished glasses.“Good evening, minions,” she said, a warm expansive look on her face.“Who are you to say we’re minions?” Kova replied, offended.“Everybody’s my minion,” the woman replied, “And worlds spin on the sharpened claws of my schemes.” To illustrate her point, she took a pint glass, balanced it on the carefully filed claw of her index finger, and set it spinning. “My name is Violet, and this is my speakeasy. A safe place for all who require a safe place.”Sidheagh looked overwhelmed. The cramped, windowless space made her want to scream. She needed to see stars, sky. She cursed Amelie silently for bringing her to this crowded, cramped town where she was not only an outsider, but an enemy to be hunted twice over: once for being a Reachwoman and once for being a lycan – a blessing of Hircine, God of the hunt. Lycans could transform into wolves at will. Violet clicked her tongue sympathetically. “There is a balcony upstairs if you need fresh air.” She turned to Amelie. “I assume you’ll be staying a few nights?” Amelie nodded. “There are two rooms upstairs. Take both. Come down when you’ve freshened up.”The little party made its way upstairs to a narrow balcony with a pleasant view over the market square. Sidheagh looked visibly relieved to see the sky. She leaned on the balcony, humming a song to herself. Behind the balcony were two wooden doors, which opened into two simple rooms, each with two cots and a nightstand. Zaymar and Kova took the room nearest the stairs, Amelie took the other, and Sidheagh just stood there, on the balcony, humming to herself. There was an argument over who got to use the washstand. Amelie insisted ladies go first. Zaymar said living go before undead. Kova got in and washed while they were arguing and Amelie ceded to Zaymar, petulant since she could not be first.“So you can be a lady and a vampire and still come last?” Amelie wondered sourly, looking disconsolately at the soapy, hairy water. Kova merely smiled and tiptoed down the stairs.The evening passed pleasantly at Violet’s Speakeasy. Furtive singles and couples entered, ordered drinks and found a quiet corner to be themselves for a while. Amelie and Kova sat at the bar. Zaymar had retired, and Sidheagh remained on the balcony, singing softly to the moons and the stars.“What’s that?” Kova asked Violet, pointing to a rectangular piece of wood with some unusual carvings on it.“That, my dear minion, is a printer’s block.”“What’s that?” Kova repeated.“Rather than give you a long, drawn-out explanation, let me show you.” She went behind the bar to a back room, and came back with some paint, a paintbrush, and a piece of parchment. “This will be the future of all communication.” she said, with a touch of drama. “You just wait.” Raising her hand, she vigorously coated the block with paint. “Now, the next part is usually done in a press, but you two will have to help. When I drop the block on the parchment, squeeze! Push it down as hard as you can!”Amelie and Kova did as they were told, until Violet told them to stop. Then she turned the block over and peeled the parchment off. Amelie and Kova marvelled to see the block had stamped a beautiful poster onto the parchment.The top of the parchment now read “THE SECT PRESENTS… For One Night Only… “VIOLET in BLACK!”
There was a picture of a woman dancing, holding a long knife. Drops of liquid, presumably blood, were falling off the knife and raining onto a puddle.Amelie looked at Violet, and back to the poster.“That’s you, isn’t it?” Violet nodded. “That address, that’s in Imperial City.” Amelie declared. Violet nodded again. “How did you wind up here?”“That, my dear, is a long story.”“I’m not busy, are you busy Kova?” Kova ignored her. He was investigating how the indecipherable writing on the block became legible to anyone on the parchment.“A long time ago, before these wars, in the time of the Potentate, when you could watch a public execution any time of day you liked, there was… a cabaret. A cabaret is like a performance. A show, usually held in a restaurant or tavern. You need to understand the climate of the times… the Akaviri emperors were as bloodthirsty as they were paranoid. Everyone was a Reman sympathiser, and Reman sympathisers all needed to be put to death. People were frightened. Public executions, forced confessions and mass graves will do that to a population.”“But The Emperor did not have it all his own way, no, there was resistance. Those responsible for the daily atrocity of those machines that took the heads off people, some of them wound up in back alleys, dead. People spoke in whispers, they did not stop speaking at all. Well, as we were singing and dancing, and making jokes in restaurants and taverns, we started to take a few little risks. Meaning we’d find ways for our innocent gags and wordplays to be interpreted… as possibly expressing disdain for the atrocious behaviour of the Potentate.”“There were three of us at the heart of it all. Myself, Lucius and Sophia. Sophia organised the bookings, I did the publicity and Lucius put the bill together. There were some nights we’d have five… six… seven hundred paying guests. We became well known, which meant we had to walk a very fine line with what we said or did, onstage, that is. Backstage, it was a riot… imagine a room full of Alessians blaspheming “Molag Bal take the Eight!” while wine flowed, breasts fell out of bodices and tables were too crowded with dancing to hold a bottle and glass.”“Lucius and I were lovers, and our romance was written over this… amazing tapestry, of the defiance of ordinary people against an irredeemably evil ruler with all the power. We were a little delirious I suppose. We did everything laughing. Printing handbills laughing. Writing script, laughing. Running through the street in costume, laughing. And that was the way that it was… until it stopped.”“I won’t trouble you with the details. There were people screaming, soldiers bellowing, people climbing out of windows. They took everyone they could get their hands on.”“Including you?”“No, not me. I disappeared into the mist, as we Nosferatu do. They got Lucius though. And Sophia.”“They were mortals.”“Yes they were, and they had no way of helping themselves, and I had no way of helping them. Three days later I went to the square where they... did what they did. They’d shaved all their heads and dressed them all in grey smocks, so everyone looked the same. No matter how bright their spark, they were just another condemned in a grey smock. I watched. I made myself watch. They had seven of their machines working on a platform. The condemned lay down in the machine. There was a piece that came down to hold them in place, then the blades were raised and all at once they fell. Seven heads landed in baskets, and the crowd made a sound like a wounded animal, some awful admixture of disgust, rage and terror. Blood ran through the platform and onto the cobblestones, like a river. Bodies and heads were piled into carts all a-jumble and taken to mass graves outside the city.”“I made myself watch, while they did that to him. To my love, my only love. And then they did it to everyone I knew. I was left with no one, and at the time I wished it had been me up there in the grey smock, because life without your people is no life at all.”The room was silent. Everyone in the room was hanging on Violet’s next word.“I travelled, then. I travelled all over, from Windhelm to Senchal, from Daggerfall to Mournhold, to see if leagues and new horizons could soften this stone I carried, this grief. I eventually found my way here. Why here? I can’t tell you for sure, but I soon discovered, my people were being hunted, my people were being hurt. So I opened a speakeasy. And my people came. They came in sad, haunted, hunted, broken, alone, but they came.”“See this wall over here?” Violet picked up a candlestick and moved across the room to a wall which was filled with graffiti. “Those who come, they make their mark here. I was here. I had thoughts and dreams and loves, and lusts, and jokes that weren't funny. I was here! And if I am bound to a pyre in some dirty no account village sometime soon, well… at least I know this one thing is true: I was here.”Amelie and Kova slid off their stools, to come and read the inscriptions.“Viggo, 14th Last Seed, 566”
“I am the darkness!”
“Rise! We will rise!”
“Lena, 7th Rain’s Hand, I will be lucky.”Amelie noticed moisture under her hand, where it was resting on the wall. She picked it up and looked at it. A red stain. Blood? She smelt it, tasted it. Blood.“I don’t know where it comes from,” Violet said. “Sometimes I imagine that somehow, it’s that river of blood that was spilled in the city, come all this way to remind us, that they were here! They had thoughts and dreams and loves. They were vampires, they were mortals, they were lycans, Daedra even. They were here! They were here too.” Violet placed her hand in the place where her heart used to beat. Some signs and symbols can not be replaced, even when undeath makes of them an absurdity, like locating a passion or a love in a cold, lifeless heart that no longer beats.Amelie looked at the little spot of blood on her hand. She tasted it. She watched as little rivulets of blood ran down and followed the line of the carved letters, bringing them to life. Amelie felt the desperate urge rising, the one she had been suppressing for days. She looked at Violet, her face filled with yearning.“Go on. You will not be the first.”
Amelie placed her whole palm on the wall. It sprang to life, like a little spring, and she drank, and drank. She licked at the wall and at her crimson hand. She licked and drank until she was satisfied.
Kova watched. He well knew his friend's hunger, and was glad to see her satisfied.Amelie rose, feeling the satisfaction of her feed. She turned to the wall, thought a moment, and with a claw, she carved “A.C. I was here too.” Kova joined her. He inscribed the following message:“Kha'jay krimir iso jer, hirsiniit an ma'a di keth.”
“What does it mean, Kova?” Amelie asked.
“Moon's luck in this place, you will find your way.” The Khajit hollowfang replied.
“It’s beautiful.”Violet smiled and said nothing. She walked behind the bar and continued polishing glasses.