It came to pass that Dios favored a certain group of mortals greatly. These mortals were called elves, and they were full of life. The Magus's power shone brightly in them. They were the first mortals It put Its entire self into creating, and that light was a beacon. Every elf that gave praise to the Sun, gave praise to the Light, was another spark of The Magus's power reclaimed.
Nyx grew envious.
She had no mortals of her own to play with. The elves, as She knew, feared the Night, for they could not see in the darkness. In the beginning, the elves were the only mortals worth playing with: they were the only mortals who could think. They made plans, they had dreams. No other mortal could boast such things.
And so Nyx went down amongst the elves at night, disguising Herself as a beautiful, if blind, young woman.
"Why do you hide?" She called out to them, standing in the town square.
One very brave elf cracked open the shutters to his window to respond. "It isn't safe," he explained. "You should go inside."
She shook Her head. "The Night is beautiful, if only you could see It." She beckoned the elf, and he closed the window to Her.
So it went. Nyx would cajole the elves to leave their homes, and one by one, the elves refused, until at last, a small child left her empty home. Nyx knew this child. Once in the forest, her family had been slaughtered by wolves. Nyx had watched with interest, but had not intervened.
"They won't come," the child explained. "They are too afraid."
Nyx smiled down at the child. "Why are they so afraid, little one?"
"The darkness hides fearsome beasts," said the girl. "We cannot see them to fight back."
Nyx rested a hand over the girl's eyes. "Then I will give you sight to pierce the darkness," She spoke, and so it was. The girl could see in darkness.
"The creatures are too strong to fight, Mistress," said the child.
And Nyx shifted Her hand, resting it atop the child's head. "Then I shall make you strong enough to face any challenge. No beast will be too great for you."
The Goddess did this for each member of the clan Ba'naelro, and She became diminished for her efforts. Her spark shone dark, shadowing The Magus' own, and her people were strong.
God-touched, Her children did not age. They were masters of all beasts. They were strong, and they were cunning. However, although as creatures of the light they had been able to suffer the darkness, as Children of Night, the reverse was no longer true. Sunlight burned them, as did places and things consecrated to Dios. Submersion in fresh waters weakened them, burning their skin like acid.
However, the Night was beautiful to them, and they were powerful. They became content with their new place in the world, and Nyx was content with her single clan of mortals.
One day, Dios learned of this treachery.
He raged endlessly, unable to find, much less punish, the wayward tribe. In His stead, He sent His most powerful clerics, and His fiercest warriors, to kill the Night Children.
The Night Children sent the warriors and clerics back in pieces, suffering only few losses.
So it continued for some time, and this grieved Nyx. She is above all else, a goddess of healing, not war. Her children's deaths weighed heavy on her heart, especially as they could not reproduce as mortals did to replenish their numbers.
In her grief, Nyx bestowed upon her children new powers. They would be able to become as beasts, or fine mist, and they could heal any wound
Most importantly, by sharing their blood with a true mortal, they could create new Night Children, and thereby replenish their ranks. These new creatures were the first vampires, and they did not have the divine spark their parents were given. They craved it, needed it to sustain their power - no, their very lives. Before long, they turned on their parents, killing almost every last elf of the clan Ba'naelro.
Then, when there were no more Children to be found, the vampires turned outward. They hunted down any elves they could find. Some did choose to expand their numbers, creating a great many vampires. Many did not, choosing instead to leave a wake of drained bodies behind.
So ended the time of the elves.
Showing posts with label vampire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vampire. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2012
Monday, November 28, 2011
Nobody Important 33 - Mesmerizing
((Whooooaaaa. I'm like two weeks away from an actual honest-to-god more-or-less stable work schedule. Mondays off for this week and the next. Should get a post in next Monday, too.
Not knowing when I'll have free to write makes it hard to get writing done. Plus general ill health and inability to sleep.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit this story hit 396 hits on fanfiction.net Sunday. /faint.))
If the Dunmer had wanted her dead, she wouldn't have lived to see the sunrise, painful as it may have been. That thought kept her calm when every instinct shrieked for her to run.
"Why stop?" She asked, instead.
The smith frowned ever so slightly. "What makes you think I have, fledgling?"
"I'm alive."
He nodded slowly. "There is that. Should I kill you, then? I would be within my rights, to kill a vampire in my own home, one who's hurt a mortal even." For emphasis, he gestured at the Bosmer on the bed. "The guard wouldn't care - not one person would so much as bat an eyelash, not when they saw those fangs. Would anyone mourn your passing? That boy, maybe?" She tried not to show her hurt. He was testing her, poking at her weak points. She looked down and away, ashamed she couldn't maintain her composure.
"I'll take your silence as a no."
She swallowed heavily. "I don't want to die. Not yet." She was surprised to realize it was true. She had work yet to do. Even if she didn't - even though her family was dead, even though that left a gaping wound where her heart should be, she wanted to heal. "I don't." She wanted to see Martin again, and even his Blades intrigued her.
"Should I care what you want?" He pointed at her with the blade he'd used on her bandages, expression cold. She shook her head slowly. "... Well, I do."
Her gaze snapped back to his face, she stared at him in confusion. "Fledgling ... not one person in this world will show you kindness. Most won't even show you mercy - not if they know who you are, what you are." He shook his head, sounding ... almost sad? "Most would kill you without a second thought, but you - just by your actions, you have proven you are a thinking, feeling person. You, like everyone else, have the choice to do good. Should you be slain, just because your condition makes the choice harder?"
Lyssi frowned again. "So, you don't hunt vampires."
Something about what she said must have been funny; he laughed merrily. She felt her cheeks warm once more. "No, no, fledgling. If a vampire causes problems in Anvil, I would happily rip off their limbs and stake them out for the sun. Even if I didn't, your kind cleans up their own messes. Like that beast who slaughtered the Cheydinhal guard." She stared at him once more, fear welling up. He couldn't know. "Yes, you've heard of that, haven't you. It put a lot of people on edge. I'd wager it's hard for even a normal burglar to operate in that city right now, much less a vampire."
She nodded slowly. "I had nothing to do with that." It wasn't really a lie. She hadn't exactly been in control of her actions, and she couldn't remember the details. It was almost, almost like another person entirely had done it.
He laughed again, and she smiled uncertainly in response. "Nine, no. You're a year old, fledgling. Most vampires your adge would have trouble with a gang of schoolchildren, much less the armed, armored, and most importantly, trained, organized city guard."
He reached out to ruffle her hair, laughing again when she reflexively tried to duck out of the way of his descending hand.
"Come, fledgling, help me clean up this mess, hm?"
They made their way into Anvil shortly after dusk, despite Ariel's protests. Martin couldn't explain the sense he had - it was an intuition, he supposed, and his gut had never steered him wrong. The Bosmer girl, this "Alyssia," would be necessary in the coming days. He was certain of it.
Ariel had a word for it. She called it "infatuation."
Martin didn't want to think terribly hard on why he was so focused on the girl. For one, he found it difficult to focus on the question itself. For another -
He spotted her by the city's lighthouse, and pointed her out to his traveling companions. Ariel gave him an odd look, then wordlessly produced a vial of potion, dabbing one drop onto each of her eyelids. It wasn't that dark out, was it?
He shook his head as Ariel gave the vial to Roth.
The Bosmer girl made her way down to the cellar of the lighthouse, producing a key.
"How do you suppose she got that, hm?" Ariel asked it quietly, so as not to draw her attention.
Martin shrugged in reply. "Let's go ask her, hm?"
The reek of gore was overpowering.
A dog sat, panting, at the Bosmer's heel, its mouth bloodied. There was the mark of long violence on the poor animal, and a half-crazed look in its eye, but it seemed calm - for the moment.
Nude bodies were stacked on the cellar's shelves - most had been partially eaten, and all had begun to rot.
The elf stood frozen at the center of the cellar, apparently frozen in place. Martin pushed away visions of Kvatch, walking the handful of steps he needed to reach her. "Alyssia," he murmured.
Her eyes were open wide, unblinking, the pupils shrunk to thin slits. Her nostrils were flared, and her mouth slightly open, putting her small fangs on display.
"Snap out of it, come on."
A voice called to her, serenading, crooning. It pierced the roaring triumph of the beast inside her mind, and she became a person again in bits and pieces, ever so slowly.
"Come on, let's get out of here."
Lyssi shook her head to clear it, holding up a single finger. "Need - book." She managed to bite the words out around the sick feeling in her throat. She'd spotted some kind of a journal, before she'd lost herself. Fortunately, she didn't have to explain herself any further. Understanding dawned in the priest's eyes. He covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his robe, peering about. "Is that a head?" He asked it in quiet wonder, and she nodded once.
It was, indeed, a head, set upon a plate, withered and rotted from age. The hair had just recently been brushed, and a careful hand had applied some kind of makeup to its face.
She couldn't focus, couldn't think. All she could hear was Martin's heartbeat, the blood surging through his veins. So much had been spilt and she wanted - needed - a taste. She felt herself shaking, every inch of her quivering like a skooma addict, desperate for a hit.
Martin was the one to spot the leatherbound journal, its pages lying open for anyone to read. Lyssi only just managed to tear her eyes away from his neck as he made his way to the book.
Outside, she could hear the sound of someone retching, and she used that to ground herself, distracting herself, momentarily, from the ravenous hunger.
Pages turned, and she had to stop him. She had to - he would learn everything.
She couldn't let herself get any closer. Martin was the only person still living that she didn't want to have to kill. She couldn't - wouldn't - let a careless mistake jeopardize his life, and she was so hungry.
"Don't," she asked, instead. There was a note of pleading in her voice she couldn't help.
Finally, she let herself glance back in his direction - surely looking wasn't so bad, was it? She wouldn't lose control just staring at him, the way his pulse jumped and danced in his throat - no. She dragged her gaze up to his face. His mouth was set in a hard, angry line as he read.
"Please, stop?"
She refused to force him, but ... it was the only way, wasn't it?
He paused then, to look from the book to the carnage. His eyes settled on her, and his expression cut her like a knife. The disgust - the betrayal. He kept his voice even, but only barely. "I healed you - I trusted in you ... you monster. Is this why you needed to get to Anvil?"
She hadn't meant for him to follow her this far. "I ..."
"You what? This looks ... bad, Alyssia." He gestured at the severed head, laughing a bit bitterly. "You're a vampire. This ... is this your lair? Your home? Is that your mother?" He pointed at the severed head. "She's dead. You might have noticed."
Wait, what?
She shook her head, just staring at him blankly. His heart was racing with his anger, and it was impossible to think with such a distraction. He threw the book at her, and she caught it in numb fingers, looking down at it in confusion. What?
"So that's it. You needed to get back, to ... what? Finish disposing of the bodies? Feed? This is revolting." He stormed toward the door, indignation in his every step. "Never speak to me again."
"I - no - listen - "
He whirled toward her again. "So you can fill my head with lies?" His eyes were like chips of ice. "Why can't I remember our first meeting, Alyssia? Is that even your real name, vampire?" She fell silent, staring down at the ground, hugging the book to her chest.
At her heel, the dog growled slightly.
"Answer me."
She felt tears welling up, but she pushed them back, swallowing heavily. "This isn't my work." Her voice sounded tiny, even to her own ears, strong as they were.
He folded his arms. "So. Why can't I remember."
"I didn't mean - " She shook her head again, swiping at her eyes.
He laughed a bit, but there wasn't any humor to it. "You didn't mean what? You didn't mean for me to find out?" He threw his hands up in the air. "Well obviously! Why else would you wipe my memory?"
"I didn't want you to know - "
He cut her off, glaring fiercely. "You violated my mind."
She flinched, staring down at the book. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. The tears fell freely. She hung her head; her hair fell in her face, partially masking her shame.
Warmth enveloped her, and she stared up at him shocked confusion. "Nine, girl. I don't know what to do with you at all." One of his hands ran through her hair, and she sensed him giving the carnage one last look. "Just ... if this is all compulsion - no, don't tell me. Not right now."
"You should go," she mumbled into his chest. He was so warm. A tiny bite wouldn't hurt, would it? The beast inside helpfully reminded her of the euphoric high his blood gave. "Should leave me."
There wasn't any conviction to her tone. She didn't want to be alone anymore.
"I'm taking you out of here." His voice was soothing, and she found herself hypnotized. His scent, the call of his blood, overpowered even the stench of the bloated corpses. She'd do anything for another taste. "After that, we can talk, okay?"
She found herself nodding in agreement with whatever he had to say, leaning in for a tiny sip.
"No biting." He swatted her once, like he might an unruly pet. She caught the finger between her teeth, nicking his skin.
It was enough.
Lightning shot through her as the first drops touched her tongue. She suckled just so,running her tongue along the digit in long, sensual strokes. A strangled noise escaped him, and he hastily retrieved his hand.
"No." He said it quietly, strain in his voice. "Not here." Her stomach calmed after only one sip.
Lyssi obliged him, stepping back with a tiny smile.
She had the feeling she'd be smiling more often in the coming nights.
She followed Martin as he quickly vacated the cellar, hugging the book to her chest. She thought she might follow him anywhere ... if only for another bite.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Chapter 32 - Poking Holes
In which inflations are deflated.
Sated, the bestial instinct subsided completely, leaving Lyssi alone with the horror of what she'd almost done. A strangled, choked-off noise escaped her, and she pressed her left hand to the boy's throat, white light suffusing the injury.
Did she have any healing potions left? The liquid did wonders to restore lost blood - no, damn it, she'd used the last one after Ungolim.
She glanced back at the smith, panic filling her. Unthinking, she shot a Command back at the Dunmer.
Find a healer, quickly!
Why did she immediately think of Martin?
The Dunmer raised an eyebrow, lowering his weapon. Didn't he understand that time was of the essence?
"Well, then."
The man paused for another long moment, then sheathed his sword. "I'll have you know, I've shaken off worse Commands from more powerful beasts than you, girl." He shook his head slightly, as though clearing cobwebs from it. "As it happens, I keep a store of healing potions in case of emergency. If my apprentice dies before I return, you will live just long enough to regret what you've done. That's a promise."
He left her there, the young Bosmer cradled to her chest, for what felt like hours. She had more than enough time for it to fully sink in that she could actually use her left arm again, though she still couldn't really breathe. There was a ... pressure. She felt like she was holding a breath, only she couldn't exhale, either.
The smith returned moments before she was sure the apprentice would have died, bearing a heavy-looking case that she thought read "First Aid."
Inside the case, she spotted a number of small, labeled vials, a roll of bandages, and a couple of scrolls. She couldn't make anything else out from where she stood. The Dunmer retrieved three vials from the case, then carefully placed them against his apprentice's lips, one by one, making sure not even a drop was wasted.
"Have you ever considered a career in medicine? There's a good girl, help me carry him back to his room." Lyssi did as commanded, relieved to realize her strength was returning enough that she didn't need any help. The smith carried his "First Aid" kit, instead.
"I forgot how strong even a little thing like you could be, with your ... condition." The smith inspected the boy's neck, and Lyssi stepped back, away from the bed. It was a nice room, with heavy drapes. Of course, a smith could afford the best.
"As I suspected, the wounds are already closed. He'll need rest, but he should recover." The Dunmer patted his apprentice's shoulder, fondly. "As for you ..."
He turned to look at her, and she felt her gaze immediately drop to the floor. "Nine, it would almost be a mercy to put you out of your misery, I think." Her head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. Mentally, she dared him to try it. "Perhaps not. You can't speak?" She shook her head, once again making the vague throat-gesture that generally seemed to communicate her problem. "Was it recent?" She blinked, blinked again. What? She nodded slowly.
"I don't actually see any throat injuries - " the smith touched his own eyes for a moment, and she felt the low thrum of magic in the air. Then, he gently tilted her head from side to side. "Your Sire was a vicious brute, wasn't ... he? He." Callused fingers skimmed against the old scar. Experience told her that soon, it would be the only one left. The others - more recent - would likely fade quickly, if she got a chance to rest and heal fully. In response to his question, however, she could only nod.
Vicente wasn't a beast, but then, he had never bitten her.
Tears welled up unbidden.
Vicente was gone. She'd killed him.
"Focus dear, crying never helped anyone. What happened? Was it a piercing wound?" She nodded again, rubbing at her eyes.
"Ah, may I see?"
Lyssi bit her lip, glancing over at Enilroth's sleeping form. "Dear, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before and frankly, if the boy hasn't, then he could use the education." The smith gave her a long look. "None of you Bosmer women have much up top anyway. Show me."
After a long moment's deliberation, she obeyed. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves caused the dress to fall about her waist, held there only by the belt.
This garnered another long stare. "You know, I've seen worse, but it's been years. Those bandages need to be changed at the very least. Let me see." She almost jumped out of her skin when he came at her with a knife, but he was all business, cutting the cloth away with practiced ease and inspecting her injuries with a surgeon's critical eye. She noticed he wore thin leather gloves, just as Jauffre had, and was startled to spot an old bite wound on his forearm.
"I've done things I'm not proud of. I've seen good men die, and put more than a few of them down myself." She felt a pinching under her ribs, and decided she'd rather not look at what he was doing. "I'd guess you're a fledgling - less than a century?"
A rush of air escaped her chest - wasn't the problem that she couldn't take any air in?
She nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"Most vampires in your position would have dropped the boy to deal with me. They would have had to - fighters need their hands free, and it's a very, very rare mage who can cast without sound or gesture. But you ..." The smith dabbed a cold liquid against the hole he just made, and continued. "You are such a mage. But the order, 'Find a healer.'" He paused for a moment. "Try to inhale, please." She was startled to realize she could.
Inhale, exhale.
Breathing.
She was breathing!
"Good girl. How long have you been a vampire?"
She worked her jaw, taking a few practice breaths before replying. "Year?" She could speak! Her voice was all gritty, and she'd all-but forgotten how, but she could speak!
"You have remarkable control for a year-old fledgling. Military?"
She shook her head, then added a, "No," at the end, just because she could.
"Ah, well. Who was that boy you pictured? He must be important to you." The smith wrapped a fresh roll of bandages around her chest, fastening them in place with an odd metal clip. It looked a bit like a small butterfly.
"I ... that is ..."
The smith stood fully again, peeling off the gloves with some care. "Try not to blush, it wastes blood." He rubbed a clear gel between his hands. It smelled like alcohol; she wrinkled her nose. "And don't make faces. Basic sanitation prevents the spread of diseases like yours."
She took a moment to try and process what he was saying. "How do ..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"How do I know all this? Dear girl, I've been hunting vampires longer than I'd wager you've been alive."
((Sorry about going MIA Monday - excessively common that. Starting my new position, in training again, no time at work to actually do bloggery anymore. Might/might not post for the next couple weeks. Probably at LEAST one a week though.))
Sated, the bestial instinct subsided completely, leaving Lyssi alone with the horror of what she'd almost done. A strangled, choked-off noise escaped her, and she pressed her left hand to the boy's throat, white light suffusing the injury.
Did she have any healing potions left? The liquid did wonders to restore lost blood - no, damn it, she'd used the last one after Ungolim.
She glanced back at the smith, panic filling her. Unthinking, she shot a Command back at the Dunmer.
Find a healer, quickly!
Why did she immediately think of Martin?
The Dunmer raised an eyebrow, lowering his weapon. Didn't he understand that time was of the essence?
"Well, then."
The man paused for another long moment, then sheathed his sword. "I'll have you know, I've shaken off worse Commands from more powerful beasts than you, girl." He shook his head slightly, as though clearing cobwebs from it. "As it happens, I keep a store of healing potions in case of emergency. If my apprentice dies before I return, you will live just long enough to regret what you've done. That's a promise."
He left her there, the young Bosmer cradled to her chest, for what felt like hours. She had more than enough time for it to fully sink in that she could actually use her left arm again, though she still couldn't really breathe. There was a ... pressure. She felt like she was holding a breath, only she couldn't exhale, either.
The smith returned moments before she was sure the apprentice would have died, bearing a heavy-looking case that she thought read "First Aid."
Inside the case, she spotted a number of small, labeled vials, a roll of bandages, and a couple of scrolls. She couldn't make anything else out from where she stood. The Dunmer retrieved three vials from the case, then carefully placed them against his apprentice's lips, one by one, making sure not even a drop was wasted.
"Have you ever considered a career in medicine? There's a good girl, help me carry him back to his room." Lyssi did as commanded, relieved to realize her strength was returning enough that she didn't need any help. The smith carried his "First Aid" kit, instead.
"I forgot how strong even a little thing like you could be, with your ... condition." The smith inspected the boy's neck, and Lyssi stepped back, away from the bed. It was a nice room, with heavy drapes. Of course, a smith could afford the best.
"As I suspected, the wounds are already closed. He'll need rest, but he should recover." The Dunmer patted his apprentice's shoulder, fondly. "As for you ..."
He turned to look at her, and she felt her gaze immediately drop to the floor. "Nine, it would almost be a mercy to put you out of your misery, I think." Her head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. Mentally, she dared him to try it. "Perhaps not. You can't speak?" She shook her head, once again making the vague throat-gesture that generally seemed to communicate her problem. "Was it recent?" She blinked, blinked again. What? She nodded slowly.
"I don't actually see any throat injuries - " the smith touched his own eyes for a moment, and she felt the low thrum of magic in the air. Then, he gently tilted her head from side to side. "Your Sire was a vicious brute, wasn't ... he? He." Callused fingers skimmed against the old scar. Experience told her that soon, it would be the only one left. The others - more recent - would likely fade quickly, if she got a chance to rest and heal fully. In response to his question, however, she could only nod.
Vicente wasn't a beast, but then, he had never bitten her.
Tears welled up unbidden.
Vicente was gone. She'd killed him.
"Focus dear, crying never helped anyone. What happened? Was it a piercing wound?" She nodded again, rubbing at her eyes.
"Ah, may I see?"
Lyssi bit her lip, glancing over at Enilroth's sleeping form. "Dear, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before and frankly, if the boy hasn't, then he could use the education." The smith gave her a long look. "None of you Bosmer women have much up top anyway. Show me."
After a long moment's deliberation, she obeyed. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves caused the dress to fall about her waist, held there only by the belt.
This garnered another long stare. "You know, I've seen worse, but it's been years. Those bandages need to be changed at the very least. Let me see." She almost jumped out of her skin when he came at her with a knife, but he was all business, cutting the cloth away with practiced ease and inspecting her injuries with a surgeon's critical eye. She noticed he wore thin leather gloves, just as Jauffre had, and was startled to spot an old bite wound on his forearm.
"I've done things I'm not proud of. I've seen good men die, and put more than a few of them down myself." She felt a pinching under her ribs, and decided she'd rather not look at what he was doing. "I'd guess you're a fledgling - less than a century?"
A rush of air escaped her chest - wasn't the problem that she couldn't take any air in?
She nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"Most vampires in your position would have dropped the boy to deal with me. They would have had to - fighters need their hands free, and it's a very, very rare mage who can cast without sound or gesture. But you ..." The smith dabbed a cold liquid against the hole he just made, and continued. "You are such a mage. But the order, 'Find a healer.'" He paused for a moment. "Try to inhale, please." She was startled to realize she could.
Inhale, exhale.
Breathing.
She was breathing!
"Good girl. How long have you been a vampire?"
She worked her jaw, taking a few practice breaths before replying. "Year?" She could speak! Her voice was all gritty, and she'd all-but forgotten how, but she could speak!
"You have remarkable control for a year-old fledgling. Military?"
She shook her head, then added a, "No," at the end, just because she could.
"Ah, well. Who was that boy you pictured? He must be important to you." The smith wrapped a fresh roll of bandages around her chest, fastening them in place with an odd metal clip. It looked a bit like a small butterfly.
"I ... that is ..."
The smith stood fully again, peeling off the gloves with some care. "Try not to blush, it wastes blood." He rubbed a clear gel between his hands. It smelled like alcohol; she wrinkled her nose. "And don't make faces. Basic sanitation prevents the spread of diseases like yours."
She took a moment to try and process what he was saying. "How do ..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"How do I know all this? Dear girl, I've been hunting vampires longer than I'd wager you've been alive."
((Sorry about going MIA Monday - excessively common that. Starting my new position, in training again, no time at work to actually do bloggery anymore. Might/might not post for the next couple weeks. Probably at LEAST one a week though.))
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Chapter 31: Bloodlust
((Only a month 'til Skyrim! Better get cracking on this!))
Stay quiet, follow me.
Lyssi kept her focus on the other Bosmer as she gently tugged him away from the staircase, toward a side door she'd noticed before. His eyes were wide, and he'd become almost as pale as she was, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak. She made sure of that, focusing every bit of her power on that one thought.
Stay quiet, follow me.
She sat him down on a barrel in what appeared to be a storage room, then shuffled her backpack off of her shoulder. She'd been expecting the torches and pitchforks response, and she'd expected to have to flee. It landed with a heavy thump, the thin blanket following. She fished the dead drop out of her pack, holding it up for the boy to see.
Enilroth became as pale as the white-gold tower of the Imperial City, trembling so badly that it shook the barrel he sat on. He recognized the package. She could taste his fear in the air, and it took too much work to convince herself she didn't enjoy it. The predator inside her knew the scent of an easy kill.
She split her attention now, letting the boy speak if he chose to - she scratched letters into the air, light following her fingertips.
"Who gave you this." The boy's suspicious activity was too recent. Combined with, his age, his raw terror - he was prey, not predator. He wasn't the traitor, he wasn't even a Brother. He had never taken a life, she was as sure of that as she was her own name. He was shaking almost violently, now.
"I'm... I'm sorry!" The boy barely got the words out past his terror. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong ... it ... it was the robed man!"
The traitor. Yes. She grinned to herself. Finally.
Enilroth was apparently encouraged by her smile. Maybe he was just terrified - probably, he was just terrified. "He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel. The ... the coins, I still have them, if ... I mean, I meant to ... please don't hurt me?" The boy swallowed heavily.
"The man." Let the boy think she'd kill him if he didn't tell her more. It was almost amusing.
"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He ... he called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there! Or he did, anyway? I don't know. He ... He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"
Leaving. Her grin became a scowl. The traitor had slipped out of her grasp because she was weak. She felt her fingers flex. Because of the demons, and the priest-turned-emperor, and her gods-cursed festering wounds, she hadn't been fast enough to intercept the traitor.
And now she was forced to wait another day ... she found herself pacing, trying to think of a way to protect herself from the sunlight.
There was nothing for it. She'd have to investigate this lighthouse, but she was confined to the smithy until the sun set. "You're ... you are, aren't you?" The boy sounded nervous still, but also curious. For the moment, she'd forgotten he was still there - of course, she stood between him and the door.
She glanced over at him, scratching her response into the air. The light flickered, shimmering into - and out of - existence, dying mere moments after she'd finished writing. She was almost out of magic. "Are what."
"A - a vampire. You really are a vampire, aren't you?" He sounded more curious than afraid, now. Suddenly, she wished she'd thought to bind him. Something about his curiousity unsettled her. He wasn't afraid enough for that kind of a revelation. She nodded once, hesitantly. "You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're real pretty and ... well, you don't have wings, or ... or claws, or cloven feet or anything. You're practically a real person."
Pretty? She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, folding her arms - or well, folding her right arm over her chest. Her left arm still hung limply.
He leaned forward. "What's it like? When you bite people, I mean. You - do still, you know, bite people, right?" She frowned slightly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't fed recently. She thought she might be on the mend - she no longer felt sick just thinking about food. "In all the stories and everything, I mean ... that is ... they all say it feels ... um."
In fact, she could go for a bite after all. She smiled, making sure he could see her teeth.
He swallowed heavily, and she put a finger to his lips.
Then she leaned forward, tugging his head gently to the right. She lapped at his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her careful ministrations. He would enjoy this, she'd make sure of it.
She had enough control for that, at least, didn't she?
Her fangs were razor sharp - she knew it didn't hurt when she applied just a little pressure, but already he was bleeding. He was so nervous, and his heart beat so quickly. She let herself enjoy his fear, licking at the tiny wounds she'd made. Just a taste, before the main course.
The boy actually moaned quietly. She knew he'd enjoy it.
She sank her fangs in again, this time a bit deeper, blood shooting into her mouth when she suckled, ever so gently. It tasted like she imagined ambrosia might. Hunger always had been the best spice, and she hadn't realized how starved she'd let herself become. She felt the blood knitting her injuries back together. The boy wouldn't miss the little blood she needed to survive, she reasoned - only, some rational part of her pointed out, she'd taken far more than she normally did.
She ignored that rational part. Her left arm joined her right in holding the boy still - he didn't seem to be able to hold himself upright anymore.
The door slammed open, and she heard steel scrape on steel.
"That's enough, I think."
Stay quiet, follow me.
Lyssi kept her focus on the other Bosmer as she gently tugged him away from the staircase, toward a side door she'd noticed before. His eyes were wide, and he'd become almost as pale as she was, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak. She made sure of that, focusing every bit of her power on that one thought.
Stay quiet, follow me.
She sat him down on a barrel in what appeared to be a storage room, then shuffled her backpack off of her shoulder. She'd been expecting the torches and pitchforks response, and she'd expected to have to flee. It landed with a heavy thump, the thin blanket following. She fished the dead drop out of her pack, holding it up for the boy to see.
Enilroth became as pale as the white-gold tower of the Imperial City, trembling so badly that it shook the barrel he sat on. He recognized the package. She could taste his fear in the air, and it took too much work to convince herself she didn't enjoy it. The predator inside her knew the scent of an easy kill.
She split her attention now, letting the boy speak if he chose to - she scratched letters into the air, light following her fingertips.
"Who gave you this." The boy's suspicious activity was too recent. Combined with, his age, his raw terror - he was prey, not predator. He wasn't the traitor, he wasn't even a Brother. He had never taken a life, she was as sure of that as she was her own name. He was shaking almost violently, now.
"I'm... I'm sorry!" The boy barely got the words out past his terror. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong ... it ... it was the robed man!"
The traitor. Yes. She grinned to herself. Finally.
Enilroth was apparently encouraged by her smile. Maybe he was just terrified - probably, he was just terrified. "He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel. The ... the coins, I still have them, if ... I mean, I meant to ... please don't hurt me?" The boy swallowed heavily.
"The man." Let the boy think she'd kill him if he didn't tell her more. It was almost amusing.
"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He ... he called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there! Or he did, anyway? I don't know. He ... He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"
Leaving. Her grin became a scowl. The traitor had slipped out of her grasp because she was weak. She felt her fingers flex. Because of the demons, and the priest-turned-emperor, and her gods-cursed festering wounds, she hadn't been fast enough to intercept the traitor.
And now she was forced to wait another day ... she found herself pacing, trying to think of a way to protect herself from the sunlight.
There was nothing for it. She'd have to investigate this lighthouse, but she was confined to the smithy until the sun set. "You're ... you are, aren't you?" The boy sounded nervous still, but also curious. For the moment, she'd forgotten he was still there - of course, she stood between him and the door.
She glanced over at him, scratching her response into the air. The light flickered, shimmering into - and out of - existence, dying mere moments after she'd finished writing. She was almost out of magic. "Are what."
"A - a vampire. You really are a vampire, aren't you?" He sounded more curious than afraid, now. Suddenly, she wished she'd thought to bind him. Something about his curiousity unsettled her. He wasn't afraid enough for that kind of a revelation. She nodded once, hesitantly. "You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're real pretty and ... well, you don't have wings, or ... or claws, or cloven feet or anything. You're practically a real person."
Pretty? She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, folding her arms - or well, folding her right arm over her chest. Her left arm still hung limply.
He leaned forward. "What's it like? When you bite people, I mean. You - do still, you know, bite people, right?" She frowned slightly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't fed recently. She thought she might be on the mend - she no longer felt sick just thinking about food. "In all the stories and everything, I mean ... that is ... they all say it feels ... um."
In fact, she could go for a bite after all. She smiled, making sure he could see her teeth.
He swallowed heavily, and she put a finger to his lips.
Then she leaned forward, tugging his head gently to the right. She lapped at his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her careful ministrations. He would enjoy this, she'd make sure of it.
She had enough control for that, at least, didn't she?
Her fangs were razor sharp - she knew it didn't hurt when she applied just a little pressure, but already he was bleeding. He was so nervous, and his heart beat so quickly. She let herself enjoy his fear, licking at the tiny wounds she'd made. Just a taste, before the main course.
The boy actually moaned quietly. She knew he'd enjoy it.
She sank her fangs in again, this time a bit deeper, blood shooting into her mouth when she suckled, ever so gently. It tasted like she imagined ambrosia might. Hunger always had been the best spice, and she hadn't realized how starved she'd let herself become. She felt the blood knitting her injuries back together. The boy wouldn't miss the little blood she needed to survive, she reasoned - only, some rational part of her pointed out, she'd taken far more than she normally did.
She ignored that rational part. Her left arm joined her right in holding the boy still - he didn't seem to be able to hold himself upright anymore.
The door slammed open, and she heard steel scrape on steel.
"That's enough, I think."
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Chapter 30: Following A Lead
(Even if I'm not really restricted from playing games this week, I did promise myself I'd do some more work on this thing.)
Lyssi felt the wood between her fingers splinter and crack, shards of the barrel embedding themselves into her right hand and drawing blood.
No.
If she kept denying it, her eyes squeezed tightly, maybe it wouldn't be true.
She opened them again. The package remained. She let go of the edge of the barrel, reaching down into it to pick up the oddly-light parcel.
She sat heavily on the decorative ledge that surrounded the base of the statue, stripping the paper from the box with her teeth. Empty. It was empty, except the letter, a hollow congratulations and another target. Did the traitor mean to kill every last Dark Brother and Sister in all Cyrodiil? It seemed so - the note mentioned a woman named Arquen.
Numb.
She was numb, all over, and so, so tired. This was it then.
She hadn't even gotten paid.
Lucien would be killed. Hells, but she wouldn't be far behind. Too many people wanted her dead, and she didn't really care if they succeeded anymore.
Her eyes felt a bit wet, and red clouded her vision.
She was just so tired.
A man's quiet voice brought her attention back to the present.
"You're looking for Enilroth, aren't you?"
Lyssi looked up and over, her eyes settling on the old Dunmer. She nodded once. Enilroth?
The old Dunmer smiled gently at her. "He's been coming around this statue for a couple of days now, acting guilty. I thought he'd gotten caught up in something ... well, nevermind. I certainly hadn't expected the boy to ... ah, Nine help me. I didn't think he liked girls, you understand."
She nodded once, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Blood?
She was crying?
"Ah, here now, don't cry." She ducked her head, letting her hair cover her face as she wiped at her eyes. She couldn't let him see the dark crimson smear. "If you like, I can fetch him for you ... oh, where are my manners. I'm Enilroth's master, Varel Morvayn. I am the smith here in town." The dark elf sat beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder. The absurdity of it was almost enough to make her laugh.
Lyssi wiped her hands off on the dress, thankful she'd stolen a red outfit. She smiled up at the man, uncertainly.
"Shy then? I don't bite, I promise. Say - I haven't seen you around Anvil before, are you new in town?" She nodded once, gesturing vaguely at her throat. "Ah, I see."
She looked either way, feeling slightly guilty. She thought she might have just enough power ... it felt wrong. The smith was being so nice to her ... She reached up, uncertainly, then retracted her hand, shaking her head. No, she wouldn't make him tell her.
He gave her a long, odd stare, before speaking again. "Look, you seem like a good kid, and I wouldn't feel right leaving you out here. If you like, you can stay at my shop for the night, all right?" He forced a smile, and she relaxed some, smiling back. "There's a good girl." He stood, holding his hand out to her. She took it, following suit.
There was an odd roaring in her ears as she stood up, and her vision grayed out around the edges. She didn't remember anything after that.
She woke to a strange bed, in a strange room, feeling as though her skin were on fire. She opened her mouth in a silent cry of pain, covering her face with a thin blanket to protect it. A voice she didn't recognize greeted her. "I didn't know what you would want for breakfast so I brought you some - hello? Are you all right?"
She drew the blanket up, holding it like a makeshift cloak, the corner dangling in her face. Her skin felt tight where the sunlight had fallen on it, and she peered out from under the blanket at the other Bosmer. He looked young, barely out of boyhood himself.
Her eyes caught his, and his eyes went wide. The tray of food fell to the ground with a loud crash, and he scrambled out of the room, screaming incoherently. "Monster! Monster! Varel! Come quickly! Monster! There's a monster in the bedroom!"
She rubbed at her face, trying to return feeling to it.
There was some juice, and some bread and meat on the floor, so, after wrapping the blanket about herself properly, she stood and looked around. Apparently the smith had made her a bedroll at the base of his bed, raising a question or two in her mind of where the apprentice slept. Probably he stayed at the inn or something.
Oh, hellfire. The apprentice was the boy Enilroth, and she had to try and talk to him, didn't she?
Lyssi spotted her backpack in the corner of the room, the torn package sitting neatly beside it. She collected the package with deft fingers, careful to let no errant beam of sunlight near her skin. Then, she picked her way across the floor, careful not to step on any broken ceramics or now-soggy bread. Hopefully the apprentice didn't expect her to clean ... oh, who was she kidding, he was probably breaking out the torches pitchforks as she worked her way stiffly down the hall. Cleanup was the least of her worries.
"That is a woman, not a monster, and our guest besides. Be polite." The smith's voice came from downstairs.
Enilroth sounded a bit out of breath. "But Master - she ... she's a ... "
The old man seemed ... calm, she decided. "A vampire?" He laughed a bit. "My dear boy, the girl is a bit pale, that's it. Vampires aren't real, and whoever told you otherwise is filling your head with lies. Now, you go back up there, and apologize. I have to watch the shop."
"But Master - she ... her eyes, and ... and she ..."
Lyssi stood at the top of the stairs now, and she could see the balding Dunmer smith shake his head. "If you're that concerned about some red eyes, you must be just terrified of me. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the girl was a halfbreed, but a vampire? Ridiculous. Go talk to her. You'll see she's perfectly normal, if a bit malnourished."
"Yes Master."
The boy trudged up the stairs, looking apprehensive, and she wished she didn't have a good reason for him to be so.
I'm sorry.
She reached out and grabbed his arm.
His scream died before it ever reached his lips.
Nobody Important
Chapter Thirty: Following A Lead
In which a conversation conveniently concludes concerns.
By: N3k0
Lyssi felt the wood between her fingers splinter and crack, shards of the barrel embedding themselves into her right hand and drawing blood.
No.
If she kept denying it, her eyes squeezed tightly, maybe it wouldn't be true.
She opened them again. The package remained. She let go of the edge of the barrel, reaching down into it to pick up the oddly-light parcel.
She sat heavily on the decorative ledge that surrounded the base of the statue, stripping the paper from the box with her teeth. Empty. It was empty, except the letter, a hollow congratulations and another target. Did the traitor mean to kill every last Dark Brother and Sister in all Cyrodiil? It seemed so - the note mentioned a woman named Arquen.
Numb.
She was numb, all over, and so, so tired. This was it then.
She hadn't even gotten paid.
Lucien would be killed. Hells, but she wouldn't be far behind. Too many people wanted her dead, and she didn't really care if they succeeded anymore.
Her eyes felt a bit wet, and red clouded her vision.
She was just so tired.
A man's quiet voice brought her attention back to the present.
"You're looking for Enilroth, aren't you?"
Lyssi looked up and over, her eyes settling on the old Dunmer. She nodded once. Enilroth?
The old Dunmer smiled gently at her. "He's been coming around this statue for a couple of days now, acting guilty. I thought he'd gotten caught up in something ... well, nevermind. I certainly hadn't expected the boy to ... ah, Nine help me. I didn't think he liked girls, you understand."
She nodded once, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Blood?
She was crying?
"Ah, here now, don't cry." She ducked her head, letting her hair cover her face as she wiped at her eyes. She couldn't let him see the dark crimson smear. "If you like, I can fetch him for you ... oh, where are my manners. I'm Enilroth's master, Varel Morvayn. I am the smith here in town." The dark elf sat beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder. The absurdity of it was almost enough to make her laugh.
Lyssi wiped her hands off on the dress, thankful she'd stolen a red outfit. She smiled up at the man, uncertainly.
"Shy then? I don't bite, I promise. Say - I haven't seen you around Anvil before, are you new in town?" She nodded once, gesturing vaguely at her throat. "Ah, I see."
She looked either way, feeling slightly guilty. She thought she might have just enough power ... it felt wrong. The smith was being so nice to her ... She reached up, uncertainly, then retracted her hand, shaking her head. No, she wouldn't make him tell her.
He gave her a long, odd stare, before speaking again. "Look, you seem like a good kid, and I wouldn't feel right leaving you out here. If you like, you can stay at my shop for the night, all right?" He forced a smile, and she relaxed some, smiling back. "There's a good girl." He stood, holding his hand out to her. She took it, following suit.
There was an odd roaring in her ears as she stood up, and her vision grayed out around the edges. She didn't remember anything after that.
She woke to a strange bed, in a strange room, feeling as though her skin were on fire. She opened her mouth in a silent cry of pain, covering her face with a thin blanket to protect it. A voice she didn't recognize greeted her. "I didn't know what you would want for breakfast so I brought you some - hello? Are you all right?"
She drew the blanket up, holding it like a makeshift cloak, the corner dangling in her face. Her skin felt tight where the sunlight had fallen on it, and she peered out from under the blanket at the other Bosmer. He looked young, barely out of boyhood himself.
Her eyes caught his, and his eyes went wide. The tray of food fell to the ground with a loud crash, and he scrambled out of the room, screaming incoherently. "Monster! Monster! Varel! Come quickly! Monster! There's a monster in the bedroom!"
She rubbed at her face, trying to return feeling to it.
There was some juice, and some bread and meat on the floor, so, after wrapping the blanket about herself properly, she stood and looked around. Apparently the smith had made her a bedroll at the base of his bed, raising a question or two in her mind of where the apprentice slept. Probably he stayed at the inn or something.
Oh, hellfire. The apprentice was the boy Enilroth, and she had to try and talk to him, didn't she?
Lyssi spotted her backpack in the corner of the room, the torn package sitting neatly beside it. She collected the package with deft fingers, careful to let no errant beam of sunlight near her skin. Then, she picked her way across the floor, careful not to step on any broken ceramics or now-soggy bread. Hopefully the apprentice didn't expect her to clean ... oh, who was she kidding, he was probably breaking out the torches pitchforks as she worked her way stiffly down the hall. Cleanup was the least of her worries.
"That is a woman, not a monster, and our guest besides. Be polite." The smith's voice came from downstairs.
Enilroth sounded a bit out of breath. "But Master - she ... she's a ... "
The old man seemed ... calm, she decided. "A vampire?" He laughed a bit. "My dear boy, the girl is a bit pale, that's it. Vampires aren't real, and whoever told you otherwise is filling your head with lies. Now, you go back up there, and apologize. I have to watch the shop."
"But Master - she ... her eyes, and ... and she ..."
Lyssi stood at the top of the stairs now, and she could see the balding Dunmer smith shake his head. "If you're that concerned about some red eyes, you must be just terrified of me. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the girl was a halfbreed, but a vampire? Ridiculous. Go talk to her. You'll see she's perfectly normal, if a bit malnourished."
"Yes Master."
The boy trudged up the stairs, looking apprehensive, and she wished she didn't have a good reason for him to be so.
I'm sorry.
She reached out and grabbed his arm.
His scream died before it ever reached his lips.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
28: Gossip (fanfiction)
Nobody Important
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gossip
In which not much happens.
By: N3k0
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"What was that about?" Ariel raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking toward the tent flap.
Martin sighed, disgusted with himself. And for what? He hadn't actually done anything wrong. "Nothing."
"I see. It looked like something, to me." She folded her arms, watching him with a level expression. There was ice in her pale blue eyes. "Tell me about it."
The Nord pushed open the tent flap. He was a towering bear of a man, and he had to duck to fit inside the tent that fit its other occupants more easily. "The vampire is leaving the camp." He fell silent again after making the report, somehow making the half-hunched pose look almost dignified.
Ariel glanced back at the Nord. "Ah." Her eyes returned to Martin, and she waited for him to speak.
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She knew she was being followed. It had started sometime after midnight, she thought. Worse, the person - or people - trailing her made better time than she was. They kept out of sight, but every so often the wind would shift, and she'd catch a sound or a scent to let her know they were still there, just around the bend.
There wasn't really much she could do about it though - placing one foot in front of the next took all of her strength, and she saw gray, flickering shadows at the edges of her vision almost constantly. Despite that, the roads were empty, save herself and her tail. Just before sunrise, she found herself at a little inn. Anvil stood proudly, just down the road, but she couldn't make it if she tried. She felt like she had lead in her bones, weighing her down. Every movement was sluggish, and she rested her forehead on the door briefly, before opening it.
The door creaked loudly, and her ears pinned back.
"Oh, hello!" A woman in a blue velvet dress walked up to her, smiling a predator's smile. Lyssi matched in kind, waiting for her eyes to fully adjust. "Are you a, ah ..." The woman caught sight of her bare toes. Even her feet had been more-or-less covered in bandages, though they were a bit dirtier than they'd started out, now. Her gaze skimmed up Lyssi's form, apparently trying to read her. For her part, Lyssi closed the door and leaned back against it, watching for any wrong move from the too-friendly stranger. "Hm. Are you a traveling merchant, perhaps?" The woman seemed like she didn't believe that possibility, though her eyes lingered on Lyssi's heavy-looking backpack. Lyssi glanced down at the thing, herself. Once inside, she'd dropped it to the floor.
She nodded anyway, despite herself. A traveling merchant, maybe one that fell on hard times, that would be a passable cover, anyway. "Oh, you are?" The woman's eyes lit up, and suddenly the lie seemed ill-advised. Lyssi would need to watch this woman. "Aren't you worried, what with all of the attacks?"
Attacks? Lyssi raised an eyebrow. "You haven't heard? There's a killer on the loose, one who targets helpless merchants traveling the road to Kvatch. I would be ever so afraid, were I you."
Oh yes. The woman had heard it.
Lyssi tried to think of a way to express her need for a bed - preferably in a room with a strong lock, maybe a dresser she could use as a barricade - without using language. The woman continued speaking, oblivious. Apparently she didn't really need any input from her prey. "If you really want to stay here, you can talk to the publican, he's sleeping downstairs yet. Be careful now!"
She took the woman's appearance in, so if she happened to come across her in the road, she'd be able to steer well clear. A bad liar, this woman was blonde, and much taller than Lyssi was - probably an Altmer, given the ears. If she was an Altmer, then she'd be magically inclined. The woman didn't have the muscles or calluses from weapons-work to be anything else, and the high elves did, as a rule, prefer magic, didn't they?
In order to purchase a room, Lyssi first had to wake up the publican, which involved poking him in the side a bit. Then she had to get him to understand what she wanted, which involved a small game of charades and an exchange of coin that took more time than she wanted it to. Especially since she had to point out that she was literally incapable of speech ... though she left the exact reason out, not that he'd be able to guess unless she outright showed him the injuries.
By the time she was done getting the room, she was wrung out and exhausted. She closed the door, setting her pack down beside it, and slid down to slump against the solid wood. The last dregs of her energy went to finding a potion in her packs, pulling the cork out with her teeth, and drinking it. Setting the vial aside, her eyes slid closed. Probably, she should have stayed back at the camp.
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A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, through her chest.
It was a stirring, half-waking, half-sleeping. She bit into a delicious chunk of meat, stolen from a nobles' feast, but the insides were crawling with maggots. The maggots crawled into her mouth, and ate her way out of her stomach.
A flash of pain.
She held a single septim in her hands, her last coin. As she watched, it turned to ash. Her hands hurt, throbbing and sore, until her fingers began to rot away.
A flash.
Digging, clawing her way up through a grave, the coffin collapsed in under the weight of soil. She inhaled dirt, coughed and choked, her chest heaving with gargantuan effort. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe - she forgot she didn't need to, thrashing wildly at earth that may as well have been stone for all she could move it.
Pain.
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Lyssi woke, dotted with sweat, some time later. Her eyes fluttered open, and she felt herself struggling, once again, to try and breathe. She'd kept herself in the habit, so if she needed to, she could talk. Now, the effort made her entire chest throb with pain. She hadn't slept very long, but no one had entered her room, for once. She let herself drift, eavesdropping on the conversations downstairs.
She could distantly hear voices. A male voice, familiar, chatted softly with a female - the woman in blue velvet. The woman laughed at something or other, and it sounded polite rather than amused.
That woman would be a problem. Lyssi would eat someone's boot - since she didn't currently have any of her own - if that woman was genuinely concerned for her well-being. That meant she was probably the attacker, which meant that Lyssi would have to deal with the mage one way or the other, preferably before she headed to Anvil. Her ideas basically boiled down to 'wait for the mage to sleep, then drain her.' She'd probably leave the woman alive - did she still have any disease-curing salves? She didn't want to create a vampire mage ... it might be safer to just kill the woman.
She didn't have any particular qualms about doing so, but ... some part of her wanted to prove she wasn't really a monster anymore. That she could be a good person, now.
Of course, she had no idea what a 'good' person acted like. That was a bit of a problem, but she was fairly sure good people didn't kill others just because they were inconvenient. Maybe just a sleeping drug? She was hungry, ravenous even, that was part of the problem.
"... hear about Cheydinhal?" Lyssi's ears perked up a bit at the mention of her home. Sithis save her ...
A male's response, too soft to hear.
The woman continued. Her voice carried well, piercing the thin wood walls easily. "I heard that an entire clan of vampires stormed the city. They killed several guards and a few civilians, and then they got away. Nobody has seen them since, but everyone is on alert for suspicious, nighttime activity. They've even called on professional vampire hunters. Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
The man said something else, but Lyssi still couldn't quite make it out, nor did she care to.
She wouldn't be able to sleep now. What would happen if she was caught by vampire hunters in her sorry state? She felt drawn and tired.
Part of her wondered, dully, what it would be like to die, as she let her eyes drift closed.
The next pair of voices were much closer, tugging her awake before she'd properly fallen asleep.
"Roth, you didn't." The woman sounded genuinely worried, and there was a rustle of chain armor, a thump. Then, a sloshing, liquid noise. The woman heaved a heavy sigh. "That girl isn't one of your strays, you have to know that. She'll savage you, just like the wolf did that one time, just like the falcon did."
The man's rumble didn't seem terribly concerned. "You cannot blame an animal for its nature."
"You nearly lost your eye!" There was a pause, and vague sounds Lyssi couldn't quite make out. "All right, all right. I can accept the animals. And you did take care of the housecat, even if it turned out to be a Khajiit in disguise, whatever! The puppies all found decent homes. But this girl had a choice. She - it - chose to be a killer. It chose to be a monster."
Lyssi liked animals, too. The Nord rose even higher in her estimation. She'd never been able to keep a pet, but she wanted to. Maybe after this last job.
"Did she have a choice?" Roth's voice held a challenging tone. She didn't really understand why he was defending her, though she appreciated it. It was futile, of course. Ariel was right, and more importantly, she believed she was right. "Do you know her so well?"
There was a long silence. Lyssi found herself drifting off, before the woman's quiet, almost haunted voice brought her back.
"You know what her kind did to my family. You - you've seen my scars."
Suddenly, Lyssi didn't want to hear any more.
"That girl has scars of her own."
Another silence, though not as long.
"I don't trust her."
The man sighed. "I never said you should."
"I'll take first watch. That potion should return some of your strength, but try to get some rest, all right?" The sound of a door opening, then closing again.
The man's voice rumbled through the wall. "Good night, little one."
Had he known she could hear them?
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gossip
In which not much happens.
By: N3k0
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"What was that about?" Ariel raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking toward the tent flap.
Martin sighed, disgusted with himself. And for what? He hadn't actually done anything wrong. "Nothing."
"I see. It looked like something, to me." She folded her arms, watching him with a level expression. There was ice in her pale blue eyes. "Tell me about it."
The Nord pushed open the tent flap. He was a towering bear of a man, and he had to duck to fit inside the tent that fit its other occupants more easily. "The vampire is leaving the camp." He fell silent again after making the report, somehow making the half-hunched pose look almost dignified.
Ariel glanced back at the Nord. "Ah." Her eyes returned to Martin, and she waited for him to speak.
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She knew she was being followed. It had started sometime after midnight, she thought. Worse, the person - or people - trailing her made better time than she was. They kept out of sight, but every so often the wind would shift, and she'd catch a sound or a scent to let her know they were still there, just around the bend.
There wasn't really much she could do about it though - placing one foot in front of the next took all of her strength, and she saw gray, flickering shadows at the edges of her vision almost constantly. Despite that, the roads were empty, save herself and her tail. Just before sunrise, she found herself at a little inn. Anvil stood proudly, just down the road, but she couldn't make it if she tried. She felt like she had lead in her bones, weighing her down. Every movement was sluggish, and she rested her forehead on the door briefly, before opening it.
The door creaked loudly, and her ears pinned back.
"Oh, hello!" A woman in a blue velvet dress walked up to her, smiling a predator's smile. Lyssi matched in kind, waiting for her eyes to fully adjust. "Are you a, ah ..." The woman caught sight of her bare toes. Even her feet had been more-or-less covered in bandages, though they were a bit dirtier than they'd started out, now. Her gaze skimmed up Lyssi's form, apparently trying to read her. For her part, Lyssi closed the door and leaned back against it, watching for any wrong move from the too-friendly stranger. "Hm. Are you a traveling merchant, perhaps?" The woman seemed like she didn't believe that possibility, though her eyes lingered on Lyssi's heavy-looking backpack. Lyssi glanced down at the thing, herself. Once inside, she'd dropped it to the floor.
She nodded anyway, despite herself. A traveling merchant, maybe one that fell on hard times, that would be a passable cover, anyway. "Oh, you are?" The woman's eyes lit up, and suddenly the lie seemed ill-advised. Lyssi would need to watch this woman. "Aren't you worried, what with all of the attacks?"
Attacks? Lyssi raised an eyebrow. "You haven't heard? There's a killer on the loose, one who targets helpless merchants traveling the road to Kvatch. I would be ever so afraid, were I you."
Oh yes. The woman had heard it.
Lyssi tried to think of a way to express her need for a bed - preferably in a room with a strong lock, maybe a dresser she could use as a barricade - without using language. The woman continued speaking, oblivious. Apparently she didn't really need any input from her prey. "If you really want to stay here, you can talk to the publican, he's sleeping downstairs yet. Be careful now!"
She took the woman's appearance in, so if she happened to come across her in the road, she'd be able to steer well clear. A bad liar, this woman was blonde, and much taller than Lyssi was - probably an Altmer, given the ears. If she was an Altmer, then she'd be magically inclined. The woman didn't have the muscles or calluses from weapons-work to be anything else, and the high elves did, as a rule, prefer magic, didn't they?
In order to purchase a room, Lyssi first had to wake up the publican, which involved poking him in the side a bit. Then she had to get him to understand what she wanted, which involved a small game of charades and an exchange of coin that took more time than she wanted it to. Especially since she had to point out that she was literally incapable of speech ... though she left the exact reason out, not that he'd be able to guess unless she outright showed him the injuries.
By the time she was done getting the room, she was wrung out and exhausted. She closed the door, setting her pack down beside it, and slid down to slump against the solid wood. The last dregs of her energy went to finding a potion in her packs, pulling the cork out with her teeth, and drinking it. Setting the vial aside, her eyes slid closed. Probably, she should have stayed back at the camp.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, through her chest.
It was a stirring, half-waking, half-sleeping. She bit into a delicious chunk of meat, stolen from a nobles' feast, but the insides were crawling with maggots. The maggots crawled into her mouth, and ate her way out of her stomach.
A flash of pain.
She held a single septim in her hands, her last coin. As she watched, it turned to ash. Her hands hurt, throbbing and sore, until her fingers began to rot away.
A flash.
Digging, clawing her way up through a grave, the coffin collapsed in under the weight of soil. She inhaled dirt, coughed and choked, her chest heaving with gargantuan effort. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe - she forgot she didn't need to, thrashing wildly at earth that may as well have been stone for all she could move it.
Pain.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lyssi woke, dotted with sweat, some time later. Her eyes fluttered open, and she felt herself struggling, once again, to try and breathe. She'd kept herself in the habit, so if she needed to, she could talk. Now, the effort made her entire chest throb with pain. She hadn't slept very long, but no one had entered her room, for once. She let herself drift, eavesdropping on the conversations downstairs.
She could distantly hear voices. A male voice, familiar, chatted softly with a female - the woman in blue velvet. The woman laughed at something or other, and it sounded polite rather than amused.
That woman would be a problem. Lyssi would eat someone's boot - since she didn't currently have any of her own - if that woman was genuinely concerned for her well-being. That meant she was probably the attacker, which meant that Lyssi would have to deal with the mage one way or the other, preferably before she headed to Anvil. Her ideas basically boiled down to 'wait for the mage to sleep, then drain her.' She'd probably leave the woman alive - did she still have any disease-curing salves? She didn't want to create a vampire mage ... it might be safer to just kill the woman.
She didn't have any particular qualms about doing so, but ... some part of her wanted to prove she wasn't really a monster anymore. That she could be a good person, now.
Of course, she had no idea what a 'good' person acted like. That was a bit of a problem, but she was fairly sure good people didn't kill others just because they were inconvenient. Maybe just a sleeping drug? She was hungry, ravenous even, that was part of the problem.
"... hear about Cheydinhal?" Lyssi's ears perked up a bit at the mention of her home. Sithis save her ...
A male's response, too soft to hear.
The woman continued. Her voice carried well, piercing the thin wood walls easily. "I heard that an entire clan of vampires stormed the city. They killed several guards and a few civilians, and then they got away. Nobody has seen them since, but everyone is on alert for suspicious, nighttime activity. They've even called on professional vampire hunters. Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
The man said something else, but Lyssi still couldn't quite make it out, nor did she care to.
She wouldn't be able to sleep now. What would happen if she was caught by vampire hunters in her sorry state? She felt drawn and tired.
Part of her wondered, dully, what it would be like to die, as she let her eyes drift closed.
The next pair of voices were much closer, tugging her awake before she'd properly fallen asleep.
"Roth, you didn't." The woman sounded genuinely worried, and there was a rustle of chain armor, a thump. Then, a sloshing, liquid noise. The woman heaved a heavy sigh. "That girl isn't one of your strays, you have to know that. She'll savage you, just like the wolf did that one time, just like the falcon did."
The man's rumble didn't seem terribly concerned. "You cannot blame an animal for its nature."
"You nearly lost your eye!" There was a pause, and vague sounds Lyssi couldn't quite make out. "All right, all right. I can accept the animals. And you did take care of the housecat, even if it turned out to be a Khajiit in disguise, whatever! The puppies all found decent homes. But this girl had a choice. She - it - chose to be a killer. It chose to be a monster."
Lyssi liked animals, too. The Nord rose even higher in her estimation. She'd never been able to keep a pet, but she wanted to. Maybe after this last job.
"Did she have a choice?" Roth's voice held a challenging tone. She didn't really understand why he was defending her, though she appreciated it. It was futile, of course. Ariel was right, and more importantly, she believed she was right. "Do you know her so well?"
There was a long silence. Lyssi found herself drifting off, before the woman's quiet, almost haunted voice brought her back.
"You know what her kind did to my family. You - you've seen my scars."
Suddenly, Lyssi didn't want to hear any more.
"That girl has scars of her own."
Another silence, though not as long.
"I don't trust her."
The man sighed. "I never said you should."
"I'll take first watch. That potion should return some of your strength, but try to get some rest, all right?" The sound of a door opening, then closing again.
The man's voice rumbled through the wall. "Good night, little one."
Had he known she could hear them?
Friday, April 15, 2011
On Oblivion
Nobody Important: Listener
Chapter 21: A Gate to Oblivion
The Oblivion Gate was massive, standing even taller than the walls around it.
It towered where the entrance to Kvatch used to be, a doorway into Oblivion itself, swirling with ominous, reddish light and scribed with runes of power. What Lyssi could make out of the land beyond it didn't really look habitable. If there was any way to avoid walking into the depths of Hell itself, she would have taken it.
She didn't have much choice though.
As it stood, she had a list of goals and a time limit.
She had to get out of the city to make her way to Anvil. That was where the next Dead Drop would be, that was where she'd intercept the traitor. She'd catch him red-handed, and then kill him. That took precedence, was what made the other goals so pressing: she just didn't have time for an apocalypse.
In order to get out of the city, she needed to bring down this Gate. Once the Gate was down, Martin Septim could go with his Blades, and the fate of the Empire would rest in their capable hands, not hers. The less the heir had to interact with a murderer like her, the better for everyone.
His blood had been so rich, so powerful.
She knew she couldn't resist it, even if she hadn't been starved and injured.
Next time she might not be able to stop at just a taste.
Taking in a breath she didn't really need, she reached out to hold her hand in the center of the swirling vortex.
There came a sick, wrenching sensation.
And then … nothing.
Chapter 21: A Gate to Oblivion
The Oblivion Gate was massive, standing even taller than the walls around it.
It towered where the entrance to Kvatch used to be, a doorway into Oblivion itself, swirling with ominous, reddish light and scribed with runes of power. What Lyssi could make out of the land beyond it didn't really look habitable. If there was any way to avoid walking into the depths of Hell itself, she would have taken it.
She didn't have much choice though.
As it stood, she had a list of goals and a time limit.
She had to get out of the city to make her way to Anvil. That was where the next Dead Drop would be, that was where she'd intercept the traitor. She'd catch him red-handed, and then kill him. That took precedence, was what made the other goals so pressing: she just didn't have time for an apocalypse.
In order to get out of the city, she needed to bring down this Gate. Once the Gate was down, Martin Septim could go with his Blades, and the fate of the Empire would rest in their capable hands, not hers. The less the heir had to interact with a murderer like her, the better for everyone.
His blood had been so rich, so powerful.
She knew she couldn't resist it, even if she hadn't been starved and injured.
Next time she might not be able to stop at just a taste.
Taking in a breath she didn't really need, she reached out to hold her hand in the center of the swirling vortex.
There came a sick, wrenching sensation.
And then … nothing.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Games: Video, Vampire
3/9/11
Trying out this InkPad app.
In which I decide to live up to my claim of NOT being a Slender Man blog. (My deit(ies)y, Ava and Reach. Feel bad for them.)
So, I've gone back to playing Vampire the Masquerade - Bloodlines again. Not a bad game, by far. Buggy at base game, but that's what player-made mods are good for. I wouldn't willingly play Oblivion without the Unofficial patches, and I can't play VtM-B without one; trying to do so caused a game-breaking "you shall not pass" style bug, where my progress was stopped by a kind of Groundhog Day cutscene loop.
Very frustrating.
So, as you might be able to guess, my very favorite old World of Darkness vampire to play is Malkavian, because they put the "crazy" in Crazy Awesome. They're literally an entire clan full of Cassandra Truths and Power Born of Madness.
And in a video game with limited dialogue choices, they REALLY capitalize on the potential to see the future and pretty much outline the entire plot in the first act, while being circuitous enough in their speech patterns that you only really figure out what you mean by what you're saying after the event you're referring to has already happened. The difference between a normal playthrough and a Malkie playthrough is significant enough that it's definitely worth doing... Though if you're averse to spoilers, you should avoid it on first playthrough. Sometimes, the Malkavian ISN'T that difficult to comprehend, especially if you know your pop-culture and mythology.
I bring all this up as a wonderfully shameless plug for my Malkavian Let's Play, incidentally. You should totally check that out.
4srs.
Actually it sucks. So meh.
Trying out this InkPad app.
In which I decide to live up to my claim of NOT being a Slender Man blog. (My deit(ies)y, Ava and Reach. Feel bad for them.)
So, I've gone back to playing Vampire the Masquerade - Bloodlines again. Not a bad game, by far. Buggy at base game, but that's what player-made mods are good for. I wouldn't willingly play Oblivion without the Unofficial patches, and I can't play VtM-B without one; trying to do so caused a game-breaking "you shall not pass" style bug, where my progress was stopped by a kind of Groundhog Day cutscene loop.
Very frustrating.
So, as you might be able to guess, my very favorite old World of Darkness vampire to play is Malkavian, because they put the "crazy" in Crazy Awesome. They're literally an entire clan full of Cassandra Truths and Power Born of Madness.
And in a video game with limited dialogue choices, they REALLY capitalize on the potential to see the future and pretty much outline the entire plot in the first act, while being circuitous enough in their speech patterns that you only really figure out what you mean by what you're saying after the event you're referring to has already happened. The difference between a normal playthrough and a Malkie playthrough is significant enough that it's definitely worth doing... Though if you're averse to spoilers, you should avoid it on first playthrough. Sometimes, the Malkavian ISN'T that difficult to comprehend, especially if you know your pop-culture and mythology.
I bring all this up as a wonderfully shameless plug for my Malkavian Let's Play, incidentally. You should totally check that out.
4srs.
Actually it sucks. So meh.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
I Feel Like A Monster
Like a vampire, specifically. Agh. I have problems falling asleep at night, and waking up before noon is a special kind of hell for me. As such, I have, off and on, been testing energy drinks' effectiveness on me, since most kinds of jobs tend to be scheduled for the daytime hours. The most amusing one I've tried came in a pseudo-blood pack, actually. Colored red, it tasted a bit like Flintstones vitamins: fruit punch with a vaguely chalky aftertaste.
The ex warned me off of 5 Hour Energy since they apparently taste bad, and he's got the taste buds of a smoker. Also apparently it's going to kill him someday. Given how little he sleeps, I tend to agree.
I tried a Monster last night, by which I mean early afternoon, by which I mean I stopped drinking it, at the latest, by 4 or 5 PM.
I then became annoyingly bubbly for the next six or seven hours and abandoned my ability to think in a straight line. Around 11:30 I laid down because I knew I had work this morning, and around 1 AM I finally stopped being wide awake. I think I finally fell unconscious around 1:30 AM.
All I can say is, I can't wait for next Monday. Seven AM is slowly, but surely, killing me.
Oh: the Monster tasted suspiciously close to the "bloody" energy shot, this post was written sometime last week, and I decided to get another Monster around noon of that day. No serious negative side effects, anyway, that I could see.
Sir, we have a containment breach ... we've lost them. They're out in the open.
The ex warned me off of 5 Hour Energy since they apparently taste bad, and he's got the taste buds of a smoker. Also apparently it's going to kill him someday. Given how little he sleeps, I tend to agree.
I tried a Monster last night, by which I mean early afternoon, by which I mean I stopped drinking it, at the latest, by 4 or 5 PM.
I then became annoyingly bubbly for the next six or seven hours and abandoned my ability to think in a straight line. Around 11:30 I laid down because I knew I had work this morning, and around 1 AM I finally stopped being wide awake. I think I finally fell unconscious around 1:30 AM.
All I can say is, I can't wait for next Monday. Seven AM is slowly, but surely, killing me.
Oh: the Monster tasted suspiciously close to the "bloody" energy shot, this post was written sometime last week, and I decided to get another Monster around noon of that day. No serious negative side effects, anyway, that I could see.
Sir, we have a containment breach ... we've lost them. They're out in the open.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Other Things Not To Do While Flying
Because friends don't let friends fly their dragon while drunk (in World of Warcraft anyway).
You'd think that speaks more to the dragon's sobriety than yours - I mean, it is a fully sentient mount and all. I would think it doesn't want to die. Unless maybe it's a bronze dragon, at which point it gets to the end of the fatigue bar, dumps you off, and teleports through space and time to go home. Then it wouldn't die so much, huh?
Anyway, so I was trying to think of something else to do in between Archaeology digsites, since we've established Plants Vs. Zombies is right out, when I came across this wonderful idea. Which is to say, my computer is beastly, and I can run The Sims 3 in the background.
So I do that, and I boot up an old save I barely remember anything about because I just don't ... really ... do The Sims 3 that much anymore. I've been meaning to do a legacy challenge justice, but it just hasn't really worked for me. It's the short attention span thing, I think. This old save isn't actually that old: the Sim in it turns out to have become a moderately famous vampire, in Riverview. She's a 'retired' firefighter, since firefighters mainly work during the day, and vampires are somewhat flammable.
She's also pregnant.
So I walk her through the pregnancy, pick some fruits and vegetables and generally, things are going peachy.
Then the babies happened. Babies, as in twins. As in why on earth did I ever think the fertility treatment was a good idea? Friendly Sim babies - which one of them is friendly - are monsters. Soul-consuming monsters. My poor Sim. She's also not married yet: she decided to seduce the maid, which wasn't really especially hard, being a mind-reading vampire with the Master of Seduction reward.
So, the babies. They never really stop crying. One mood meter fills out, another drops, and it's all my Sim can do to stay conscious. They're screaming and bawling about how they're tired, and they just used their diapers, and they're hungry, and they're just. So. Lonely. For the entire three-day period that my Sim has had these babies, they have not shut up long enough for her to even get the 'nap' moodlet, and believe me when I say that my Sim started trying to stage an organized rebellion against God just to get some shut-eye. I actually felt bad for her, and she's just an amalgamation of code strung together behind a very painful-looking assortment of pixels. That poor woman.
Then they grow into toddlers and I realize why they're such unholy monsters. They've been literally draining their mother of every last drop of energy, running her ragged.
The two rather-odd looking babies?
Are also vampires.
You'd think that speaks more to the dragon's sobriety than yours - I mean, it is a fully sentient mount and all. I would think it doesn't want to die. Unless maybe it's a bronze dragon, at which point it gets to the end of the fatigue bar, dumps you off, and teleports through space and time to go home. Then it wouldn't die so much, huh?
Anyway, so I was trying to think of something else to do in between Archaeology digsites, since we've established Plants Vs. Zombies is right out, when I came across this wonderful idea. Which is to say, my computer is beastly, and I can run The Sims 3 in the background.
So I do that, and I boot up an old save I barely remember anything about because I just don't ... really ... do The Sims 3 that much anymore. I've been meaning to do a legacy challenge justice, but it just hasn't really worked for me. It's the short attention span thing, I think. This old save isn't actually that old: the Sim in it turns out to have become a moderately famous vampire, in Riverview. She's a 'retired' firefighter, since firefighters mainly work during the day, and vampires are somewhat flammable.
She's also pregnant.
So I walk her through the pregnancy, pick some fruits and vegetables and generally, things are going peachy.
Then the babies happened. Babies, as in twins. As in why on earth did I ever think the fertility treatment was a good idea? Friendly Sim babies - which one of them is friendly - are monsters. Soul-consuming monsters. My poor Sim. She's also not married yet: she decided to seduce the maid, which wasn't really especially hard, being a mind-reading vampire with the Master of Seduction reward.
So, the babies. They never really stop crying. One mood meter fills out, another drops, and it's all my Sim can do to stay conscious. They're screaming and bawling about how they're tired, and they just used their diapers, and they're hungry, and they're just. So. Lonely. For the entire three-day period that my Sim has had these babies, they have not shut up long enough for her to even get the 'nap' moodlet, and believe me when I say that my Sim started trying to stage an organized rebellion against God just to get some shut-eye. I actually felt bad for her, and she's just an amalgamation of code strung together behind a very painful-looking assortment of pixels. That poor woman.
Then they grow into toddlers and I realize why they're such unholy monsters. They've been literally draining their mother of every last drop of energy, running her ragged.
The two rather-odd looking babies?
Are also vampires.
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