The Elder Scrolls V: After the Oblivion Crisis (Page 3 of 6)

Drac was looking across the tavern table at a man who had required his particular "help" with some personal manner or another.

"He's part of a necromancy cult, and has wronged me more times than I can count.  I forgave him of some transgressions, but he continues to make my lfe impossible.  I will gladly pay you if you can eliminate him."

Drac didn't question the "why" of the request, he just nodded, and left the tavern, drawing his hood up in the process.  He recalled hearing some beggars talking about a party of mages leaving the city, although the reasons why were varied.  Some said that they were going for a picnic, others that they wer ehunting a fugitive, and still others that they were hunting necromancers.  If it was the latter, then Drac would have to hurry; they already had a head start on him.

Some more helpful talks with the beggars revealed that Nenyon Twyll seemed to be a home to many of the death-loving necromancers.  He doubted their accuracy in this statement, but as it was the best lead he had had, he took them up on it.  He set out of the city at a light jog, hoping to be able to cover more ground in less time than if he was simply walking.  And when he found his target, well, he would make sure that his one wouldn't be able to ressurect himself...

Nazg cursed himself.  Nenyond Twyll was never this popular...

But he wasn't willing to sacrifice the lives of his followers.  He let go of his invisibility spell and that drew a start from one of the Knights.  The leader calmly regarded him. 

"And you are?"

"Arch-Mage Nazg Sindarin.  Leader of the Mages Guild in Cryodiil.  Who are you and what is your business here?"

The knights lined up and faced the mages. Valthonin took a step forward from the knights and the sun hit the gold trim on his armor. It was truly a magnificent sight. Valthonin had spent much back breaking effort to gather all the Relics of the Crusader, and it was worth it. It was a powerful set of armor and weaponry.

"I am Lord Valthonin Lenthinard of the Knights of the Nine. We four have come to rid these ruins of the necromancer cult that plagues the surrounding lands. If you have come to battle the necromancers as well, we would join forces with you and divide spoils equally. If you have come to assist them or join them...prepare to die. Which is it?" Valthonin said camly. He meant business.

Drac made good time, taking a fraction of the time he had expected to take to get to his destination.  When he arrived, he noticed a cluster of horses tethered to the trees nearby.  There was also a group of people wearing robes, and others wearing armour making their way into the caves.  {i]Drat. They beat me to it...[/i]

Drac snuck quietly around the forest, and searched for an alternate way in.  Finding none, he took a deep breath, and slipped inside the caves as well, sticking to the comforting, concealing shadows, keeping out of sight of the advancing party.  When he found his target, he would kill him and leave, hopefully without these ones even knowing he had come.

“She’s getting worse and not better.  Why doesn’t she trust me enough to tell me what’s wrong; what’s eating at her so deeply?”

The Elder puffed his pipe thoughtfully.  “In all the years since you brought her to our camp, there has been no other person she trusts more then you.  Trust is not the issue.”

“Then what is it?”

“It could be many things.  She experienced a very terrible ordeal. However, she is a very strong willed girl; not one to ask for help lightly.  She probably wants to face these demons alone.  It’s also possible that there is more to her suffering then we know.”

“What do you mean?”

“One does not become a slave when in the care of company of loving guardians.  We know nothing about her childhood or her time before you discovered her.  There are many dark secrets locked in her mind, things that might even be secret to her.  All we can do is wait, and be here for her when she needs us.  And she will need us in time.”

Drakus nodded.  “Our food is running low, and the men need to stretch their sword-arms. We are traveling west to raid some of the marauder forts near Anvil.  We should be back before the week is out.”

“Very well.  Tell Xanaan I will need the herbs I told her about, then.  I’ll be needing to make more healing potions after this no doubt.”

“You alchemists and your weeds” said Drakus with a grin.

“We alchemists and our weeds are what keep you walking” snapped the Elder in his dry, raspy voice. 

“Ha ha.  Not me; but I’ll tell her.  Just don’t turn my poison and marksman expert into a druggist.  I’ll see you in a few days old one.”

“If you make it back alive, you young rooster” the Elder gabbed back.

Drakus’s laugh echoed through the caves as he headed back down the tunnel to his Clan.

"It's time to go" said Drakus as he held out Xanaan's bag of potions and poisons.   

“Where are we going this time?” she asked as she stood; the mid-day sun reflecting brightly against her raven black hair. 

“West.  The marauders are getting bold there again; I think it’s time we paid them a visit.  The goods they’ve taken from the caravans heading from Anvil to Kvatch should make them ripe for plunder.”

As Xanaan took her bag and headed back to Dasek Moor and the waiting Clan, Drakus surveyed the scene for a moment.  He was never one for pretty views or such things, but he had to admit this was a fine place to sit back and think.  The wooded knoll above the Strid Rive seemed so far away from any troubles or worldly concerns.  It was a peaceful place, and one where he could always find Xanaan if she was not with him or with the Elder. 

Pulling his helmet on, he followed Xanaan back to the hideout. Back to business.....

Ralin Vahkure 

Ralin listened to his own footsteps echo off the walls as his boots clicked on the stone floor.  His black cloak swayed with the motion of his stride.  Though is oversized hood was pulled low over his brow, he was completely aware of his surroundings; his heightened senses telling him everything.  He could ‘hear’ the heart beating in the rat across from him in an abandoned chamber.  He could ‘smell’ the blood flowing through the wolves that guarded the upper levels of the sanctuary. 

Stepping through the newly created archway into Crumbling Mine, Ralin thought back to the surprised looks on the faces of the bandits who had dug their way so far.  They had been digging for a secret way into the city sewer system, and instead found their way into the first level of the vampire sanctuary; a long sealed and forgotten Imperial fort basement. 

It’s been so long since I oversaw the opening of the fort under-works...........and the unearthing of Narceytar, his home for untold centuries now.  Ralin reminisced over the events of his long, dark past as he walked through the mine’s chambers; the vampire guards standing at attention as he passed, their wolves standing faithfully at their sides.     

As he exited the mine, another vampire stood by, holding Shadow by his reigns.  The black stallion pawed impatiently into the ground, the gold inlays of his ebony armor shining in the moonlight. 

Swinging into the saddle, Ralin pulled his cloak low even his face.  “I shall return within the week.  See to it that the affairs of the Clan remain in order”

“Yes Master” replied the vampire as Ralin rode off into the darkness.

Ralin Vahkure

As always, Shadow made excellent time.  Leading the steed into the Imperial City’s southeast sewer entrance an hour before sunup, Ralin handed the reigns to a vampire who was waiting in the first chamber.  Walking the stinking stone halls, he followed the chain of torches that had been set leading to the Bloodworks below the Imperial Arena.  Not that he needed to.  This was a path he’d walked many times before.  As always when a meeting of the High Counsel was called, vampire warriors patrolled the route, guarding against any creatures or prying eyes.

Entering the Bloodworks, Ralin approached a door guarded by the three warriors of the highest skill and rank among their cast in the Vampire nation.  Two were armed with pikes and in mostly Daedric armor, with the other had a book in his off hand, and a Daedric longsword hanging from his belt. 

“Your name?”

“Lord Vahkure of Chorral” responded Ralin in the customary fashion.

Checking off the name from his list, the warrior stood aside while the others opened the doors.  “You may enter my Lord” he said with a bow.

Ralin returned the gesture and entered.  Though nearly all knew him, custom demanded that he be cleared by the Watchmen Elect.

Stepping down the white stone steps of yet another Ayleid sanctuary, Ralin pondered what schemes would be plotted this time........   

Drakus

Drakus sniffed the air.  The warm night air around him swirled as the storm clouds moved over.  The sound of thunder was growing more and more ominous from his hilltop position.

Below him the rest of the Clan rested and tried to get some sleep.

“This storm will be a wet one” came a raspy Argonian voice from behind.

“So it seems” Drakus replied.  Kesorath had decided to stay here with him on watch tonight.  As always, Xanaan had wanted to stay, but Drakus had forbid it.  She was too tired.  Her naturally red Dunmer eyes were showing a strain no one could miss. Perhapes I should have had her stay behind this time.  She'll do her part.........but at what cost to her body and mind?  Time hasn’t healed whatever wound still bleeds within her heart.  What else can I offer her?

Drakus shook the thoughts from his head. Now isn’t the time for this.  Battle is at hand.

“For those marauders” Drakus motioned into the darkness toward Fort Strand, “something worse is coming then the rain...........”

Drakus

“What, you’re sending me?”

Drakus grinned.  “You will have you’re share; just don’t forget to leave some of them for the rest of.......”

Drakus’s words were cut off by the sound of horse’s hooves pounding into the wet soil.  In a heartbeat his bow was drawn.  “Can you seen him??” Drakus whispered to Kesorath, who had his shortsword and one of his daggers out.

“Yes, a lone rider..............  By Azura’s blood; he looks like something from a nightmare.”

As the rider came within Drakus’s view, he could see what Kesorath was talking about.  The horseman’s mount was darker then anything he’d seen before, and even at the distance, Drakus could see that there was something different.....something evil looking about the creature’s eyes.  And it’s body was protected by armor that looked like it had been forged from the hottest pits of Oblivion.  The rider was little different.  His entire form was hidden in a billowing black robe and hood, masking his features completely. 

Trying to avoid the camp, the rider trotted near the lookout’s position.  Stopping to survey his surroundings one last time, he was easily within Drakus’s range.

Kesorath watched intently, ready to charge if necessary.  “Are we going to take him??” he whispered excitedly.

Drakus held his aim, waiting for a false move.  The rider, apparently satisfied he’d passed undetected, spurred up his mount and started east again. 

Releasing the tension from his bowstring only after the rider was out of both sight and earshot, Drakus returned his arrow to it’s place behind his back.  “That rider has the mark of pure evil.  I think it’s best if we never see him again........”

Nazg saw that Lord Valthonin was hesitant to enter. 

"Fine.  I shall go first.  Who knows what untold magical evils are in this place."

Nazg tread carefully for he did not know what traps were laid.  He cast a spell his eyes were flooded with light.  He loved night eye.  And he saw the first targets.  They were illuminated by the torch light.  He motioned to one of his mages who silently moved up and slit his throat.  The knights were trying to be silent with their armor on.  They made it to the second basement level without much more of a problem.  And then all hell broke lose.  One of the necromancers noticed them and yelled out Valthonin was on him a second too late.  A clamor was eard throughut the halls.  Suddenly the torches were put up by magic.  Judging by the noise there were many more necromancers here than Nazg had first imagined. 

"Well.  Looks like our plan have changed.  Prepare yourselves."

His Ebony battle axe blazing, Var'ryk Warbrynger was finally in his element. He shattered the form of one skeleton with his axe, while his knife was launched from his hand. The blade sunk deep into the eye socket of a skeletal minion. As its bony hands reached for the hilt, it screamed with an unearthly anguish as fiery cracks split its form, and it burned for a second before shriveling up and crumbling to ashes, fallen victim to the knife's drain enchantment.

The knife leaped from the ashes, back to the orc's hand, just in time to parry a short sword strike from another skeleton, who was torn in half by Var'ryk's axe, its armor crumbling from the axe's Disintigration spell. A knee-fist-head butt combo dropped another skeleton before the knife claimed it as well.

The Orc roared with delight.