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Shadowed Destinies- Chapter 7: Blood on the Water

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Shadowed Destinies
Chapter Seven: Blood on the Water
/
Shuffling. Moaning. The mindless sounds of the dead swirled through the air like a vile fog as she crept along the once splendid walls of the Ayleid temple. Three of them lay in a stinking pile of ruin behind her. No telling how many more awaited her, but she didn't care; destiny, too, awaited her in the halls of the dead.

Eventually, she came upon an open chamber filled with glittering blue and white stones. Raw Welkynd and Varla stones. One day, she would discover a way to harvest them and create her own finished stones. Within the shadows where their light didn't quite reach, she saw bristling shapes that squeaked and chittered. Damn rats. Not a problem in combat, but how she hated the things. Memories of fighting them off mostly barehanded in her escape from the prison roiled in her mind, sending a shiver through her. Well, at least the stupid rodents were easy to sneak past. Crouching, her form melded with the mottled shadows, slinking along the wall toward the tree-emblazoned door at the far end.

Pausing in her stealthy trek, Ilshalys ran her fingers over the intricate carvings in the alabaster wall, detailing a rich harvest celebration that lead up to a ritualistic sacrifice of what appeared to be men of Nordic ancestry. It never ceased to amaze Ilshalys how these ancient mer could marry such beauty and cruelty throughout their culture. For months she studied their culture, immersed herself in their language, uncovering more lore and secrets to add to the University's already rich knowledge of them. On her last expedition, she discovered a tablet detailing deified artifacts, and one in particular caught her eye. The name of the deity was archaic and unfamiliar, and that alone made it worthwhile. Now if she could only reach the central citadel of the sprawling temple in one piece, the Adabal av Padhomee, the God Stone of Padhome, would be hers. The tiny passage in the ancient text told her a vague description of the magical stone but little else, as if the scribe had been frightened of what he carved into the stone. Nevertheless, she couldn't resist the challenge and made her way to Oiolorsel to find her treasure.

Too late, she felt her foot sink as it landed on a stone trigger plate. With the clunk of ancient mechanisms, the vile trap activated. From all corners of the room, greenish smoke belched out of little cubic vents, clouding the air in its fetid veil. One by one, the hapless vermin dropped dead with a despairing screech. Choking and gasping, Ilshalys forgot about stealth and bolted for the door to the citadel. The poisonous gas crept up her nose, a thousand times fouler than the stench of the prisons. Clapping a hand over her mouth and nose, she pushed and banged on the door, trying to open it to fresher air. It was no use, the door remained closed and the deadly vapor grew stronger. Her lungs burned, begging her to breathe. Her wits spinning, she gave in at last and gulped a huge breath of the gas into her aching body. In an instant her lungs were on fire, the poisoned breath trapped inside erupting from her throat in a loud scream.

Then, the door was gone. The ruin crumbled about her and disappeared. All that remained was the vile smell and a single surviving rat that regarded her with glittering oil-black eyes. Its whiskers twitched nervously at the tip of its small pinkish nose. She screamed again and reached for her daggers. They too were gone. It was then that she felt the softness beneath her and saw the worn stone walls of a different room.

"Ah, you're awake! Good morning, Little Sister!"

Looking up, still slightly panicked, she saw Gogron seated at the dining table, juices from the slab of pork he feasted on dripping from his grinning tusks. Seated next to him was Telaendril, who punched his armored shoulder.

"Now hush you. Poor girl is obviously distressed about something." Rising, she shooed the rat away from Ilshalys and knelt next to her. "What's the matter, dear? Bad dream?" Genuine concern shimmered in the elf's soft brown eyes, and she patted the bard's sweaty hand reassuringly.

With a cough to expel the noxious air still lingering in her lungs, the bard rubbed her teary eyes and nodded, bringing her heaving chest back under control, "Sort of...felt real..." She coughed again, covering her sensitive nose. "Not quite as bad as the smell in here, though. What is that?"

Telaendril chuckled and helped her to her feet. "Our dear Antoinetta fancies herself a great visionary in the world of food." She led her to the table and gestured to an untouched plate of what appeared to be slivers of venison smothered in eggs and onions. Six whole cloves of roasted garlic lay nestled among the folds of egg. "Her latest creation. Calls it 'Omelette de Fantastique'."

Ilshalys' stomach turned violently as the smell crept up her nose. Shaking her head, she went to her pack and pulled out her lavender poultice. Telaendril smiled at her resourcefulness as she applied it to her upper lip. "Here, it helps," she murmured as she handed the paste to the assassin. Smiling gratefully, she mimicked the bard's action, taking a cautious sniff and sighing in relief.

"Much better. Gogron?"

"Nah, no need. I can take it. Besides, once you get past the initial gagging, it's not that bad a dish!"

"'Not that bad?' Not even Schemer would taste the stuff!" Telaendril laughed, gesturing to the retreating rat. "Gogron's little darling," she explained to the pale bard. Ilshalys shuddered and sat at the table. She poured herself a little mead and tore a hunk of bread from the loaf. It wasn't nearly as crusty and perfect as the loaf she shared with Lucien, but it was soft and tasty. Still, she found herself wishing for some of that sweet, creamy butter he brought along.

"Yes, so sorry if he scared you. Little feller just loves new arrivals!" Gogron bragged, holding a wedge of cheese under the table. Skittering claws raked the stone floor as the pet rat hurried back to accept the gift. Instinctively, Ilshalys scooted away from the thing, intent on her breakfast. The orc only laughed, not offended by her repulsion. "Don't fret, little elf! You'll get used to him!"

Telaendril rolled her doe-brown eyes with a smile at her brutish companion. "You'll get used to him, too."

With a light laugh, Ilshalys went to work on a chunk of roasted meat. Tough but palatable, and thankfully no odd flavor combinations. She looked back at the odious concoction on the far table, feeling a little guilty about joining in their ridicule. "Would be rude not to try it?"

"Not at all, just tell her you're allergic to something in it," Telaendril whispered. "It will spare her pride, but it might not be enough to change her ways. Poor Vicente still cannot be in the same room as her cooking. The garlic does not agree with him."

Gogron sobered suddenly, his dark eyes darting about. "I'd almost forgotten about that. We should probably get rid of it, or Vicente might not agree with her. You remember what nearly happened last time."

Telaendril shook her head, though she did rise to dispose of the offensive food. "Vicente is loyal to Sithis to his core, Brother. He would not dream of disobeying the Tenets."

"Sending someone to their sickbed for a week doesn't break the Tenets, Sister. Loopholes like that are why laws just don't work," Gogron grumbled, "even our laws. How else did our last Speaker end up like she did?"

With a flash of death in her eyes, Telaendril spun on the orc, her mouth thin and tight. "You watch what you say and how you say it, Gogron. If Ocheeva heard you..."

Waving a massive paw in her direction, Gogron nodded tiredly. "Don't get your frillies bunched up. I know that the Tenets are important and I follow them. I'm just saying, even with them in place, I need to watch my own back. No words on paper, no matter how old or threatening can stop a knife in the gut. Only your wits and will to live."

Ilshalys nodded, agreeing with the orc's cold logic. She had gone over the Tenets the night before, studying them and pondering the "Wrath of Sithis". From what she learned on her own and from her talks with Lucien Lachance, she gained a healthy respect for Sithis and the Night Mother. These Tenets were their will and command, and she resolved to follow them to the letter. Still, what Gogron said was quite true. Anyone could find a way around the law if the right circumstance came about. Why else was Jillik set free? Why else was Rufio running from his past instead of rotting in a cell when she found him? Laws could only do so much. The rest was up to her.

Satisfied that the orc meant no disrespect, Telaendril's mouth relaxed and her eyes grew soft again. "I understand your apprehension, Brother. Hennial's death has taken a toll on us all, but she left us in good hands. Lucien will take care of all of us."

At the mention of his name, Ilshalys felt that fiery blush paint her cheeks. A rush of goose bumps prickled her flesh. She ducked her head to hide it in shadows, but Gogron caught sight of her reaction immediately. He grinned rakishly, nudging the bard so hard that she nearly toppled from the chair. "I see someone who'd like to be 'taken care of', eh Sister?"

Ilshalys glared at him, the hairs on her neck bristling. His laughter subsided as the light left her eyes, but try as she might, she could think of nothing clever or biting to say. Rather than be embarrassed further, she pushed the chair back and stomped out of the room. She heard Gogron call out in apology before the smack of a hand on plate metal and a scold from Telaendril silenced him.

"Damn it, why do I keep doing that?" She mumbled, slamming the immense door behind her. She pressed her hands to her cheeks to relieve the fire blazing in them. They came away coated in a light sweat that made her shiver in the cool air. Why did that man have such an effect on her? She was not a child, not some silly girl with moonlit eyes for a crush. Was she?

Her cheek tingled as she recalled the spider-touch of his hand, and she laid her own over the spot, trying to bring back that moment. Her stomach flipped thinking about his voice humming over her ear. That voice...if he asked anything of her, she knew that she would do it without a thought and not because of the Tenets alone. She felt frightened and excited, her body growing hot and cold at the same time. Leaning against the wall, she willed her heart to slow down, closing her eyes against the blood rushing about in her body. What a child she was. He was the Speaker, her superior. Besides that, they had only just met. Such a child. Perhaps now would be a good time to find this Vicente Valtieri and work out these emotions in blood.

A shadow passed over the wall as a cat-like creature in blue robes rounded the corner.  His ears lay flat against his tiger-striped head and his whiskers twitched in annoyance as he muttered under his breath. She could not hear what he complained about, but he caught sight of her and deepened his glare. His maw pulled back over a set of formidable teeth, but she only straightened and stared blankly back. She could only assume she had finally met the irritable M'raaj-Dar: merchant, mage, and mood killer.

"So, you're the one everyone is raving about. The outsider," he growled, his thick accent rolling over each word. She merely crossed her arms and smirked at him. Her silence seemed her make him even angrier. He took two large strides and shoved his furry face into hers, his wet nose pressing hers flat. She did not flinch. "Look, the Tenets prevent me from killing you, but that doesn't mean I have to like you. I'll sell to you, but only because Ocheeva's making me. We clear?"

His bluster and overt but impotent threat sailed past her, not impressing her enough to make her raise an eyebrow. Faintly, she remembered a trick she used to play on her family's pet kitten when she was a child. Would it produce the same effect on one of these catlike beings? Pulling back slightly, she blew a sharp puff of air into the Khajiit's muzzle. Promptly, he pulled away, sneezing and pawing at his tickled nose. Turning enraged green eyes on her, he flexed his clawed hands, itching to tear her pretty face. She faced him, lifting her chin in defiance, her face a mask of mild amusement. "Well?"

With a snarled curse, he spun around and stormed into the training room, leaving her with a final insult, "Foul-smelling ape..."

A man's throaty chuckle behind her stole her moment to gloat in her minor victory. A chill ran up her spine and a faint hope that she might turn to see Lucien's face flitted through her mind. No, this laugh was not deep enough and carried the hint of an accent. Pushing her adolescent fantasy down again, she turned and saw a well-manicured Breton leaning easily against the wall. His hair was the color of warm ashes and pulled into a low ponytail. He looked to be quite old, but his eyes glittered out of the shadows with youth and...something else.

"Masterfully done, my young sister. Not many can send that feline out without raising their voices or matching insults. You certainly live up to the wit that I've heard of." Smoothly, he stepped into the light, and at last, she saw his eyes. Scarlet. His thin lips pulled into a friendly smile adorned with fangs. Her face drained of color, as if her body was pulling its lifeblood away from him.

Sanctuary, Kennedorn, she chanted inside her mind, holding onto the impulse to leap at him in defense. Safety...don't panic... "Uh, how...how long were you..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sister. I had hoped that my other siblings would have told you about my nature. I do hope I didn't frighten you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vicente Valtieri." He extended a hand her way. His hand was white-fleshed, thin, and bony, but Ilshalys knew how strong his grip would be. Thankfully, her instinct to throw a fireball into his drawn face did not make an appearance as it had been with the Dark Guardian yesterday. Perhaps the fact that she had previously met the Count of Skingrad made this encounter a bit less frightening. After all, a vampire who wanted a meal took it; they did not bother with pleasantries.

No longer hesitant, she took his hand and shook it, offering her smile to him. "Ilshalys Kennedorn, Brother Vicente. Pleased to meet you."

"My, you're taking this better than poor Antoinetta did. Wouldn't come out of the living quarters for a week," he said with a wider grin. The torchlight glimmered against his ivory fangs, and she shivered involuntarily. "Please do not let my appearance unnerve you. The needs and Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood come before my needs as a vampire."

She studied his face, knowing just how little this man fulfilled those needs by looking at him. His cheeks were so hollow that his facial bones poked sharply from beneath his dry flesh. Janus Hassildor at least looked human. She thought it best to keep that comment to herself. M'raaj-Dar may be unworthy of her respect, but Vicente's polite demeanor merited her kindness. "So, how do you stay fed, if you don't mind my asking?"
Vicente chuckled, his eyes mild as they could be considering. "Do I hunt on my contracts? When it's convenient. As I said, the Brotherhood comes first. More often than not, I receive a few gifts from a... friend in Leyawin. She owns a 'vineyard' of sorts for those of our ken."

Ilshalys swallowed hard, thinking of the cruel vampiress she put down in Castle Leyawin's dungeons a few weeks ago. Well, how was she to know? Besides, it was her or poor Amusei. For all of his foolish bravado, the Argonian was a decent sort and a fine tracker for the Fox. "Uh, I hate to tell you this, but I don't know if you'll be getting anymore from her," the bard confessed, unable to meet his eyes. How would a vampire react to the death of one of his own?

"Dead, then? Pity. Well, it happens. She was foolish to think it could last forever, especially in a respected Count's own castle," he shrugged, but he couldn't hide the flicker of hungry disappointment in his eyes.

She decided to change the subject, thinking of the reason that she needed to speak with him in the first place. "Ocheeva told me to come find you. I am ready to serve the Brotherhood."

Vicente smiled, his eyes glittering with a different hunger. "Yes, I see Lucien was right about your ambition. Very well, let us begin. How do you feel about pirates?"

/

On the deck of the Marie Elena, blood dripped into the bay, glowing redder in the setting sun's light. Standing bloodied and victorious, a group of Imperial soldiers patted each other heartily and congratulated themselves in the dealing of justice.

"Damn pirates, why the Captain lets them dock here is beyond me," one muttered, wiping his sword on the tunic of a slain Dunmer, the temperamental first mate of the doomed vessel.

"He's new, give him time. Soon we'll shove them all out to sea, and let the slaughterfish take them," his friend answered, giving the door to the captain's cabin a look. "Think we should get the old man out? He's to blame for this crew."

Giving it a moment's thought, the first shook his head. "Nah, let him be. If he wants to make a complaint, that's his business. We're done here."

As the pair made their way back to their patrols, Ilshalys bided her time behind a pair of crates, invisible to all eyes. It had been an easy thing to set off the volatile crew. If an angry pirate ever tells you not to do something and you want them dead, do it. The guards were her solution to get the crew out of her way. That was done: now to the captain.

Sneaking around to the larger crate, she climbed atop it and gauged the distance between her perch and the tiny balcony on the stern of the ship. The distance was not overwhelming, but she still took comfort in the enchantments on the new armor Ocheeva had given her. It really was a marvelous gift. It fit her like a second skin, gave her body an allover lightness, and matched the shadows she took to so well. With a frown, she wondered why the Thieves' Guild had never outfitted her like this. She certainly made them enough gold. They probably used it to furnish the Fox's comfort, the greedy sneaks.
Shrugging off these thoughts to focus on the task ahead, she braced her feet under her and sprang across the water. Silently, her feet landed on the balcony and she tucked herself into a tight ball, listening for any hint that anyone heard her. Silence. Before tackling the lock, she stood and looked over the water, watching the sun bleeding into it as it sank out of sight. What a view this must be out on the open ocean! How many nights did the captain spend out here, plotting and surveying his kingdom? How many mornings did he watch little islands appear in the early mist?

She hoped he never took it for granted. He would never see it again.

Inside the cabin, Tussaud slept peacefully, chortling and mumbling in his dreams of gold and conquest and wenches, completely unaware of his approaching trip to the Void. Ilshalys softly lifted the brass key from his belt and padded about, slipping trinkets and scattered coins into her pockets. The chest came next, opening with a soft click to display its hidden treasures to her. The gold reflected in her eyes, glittering with the promise of the new and better.

A mutter from the bed caught her attention, sending her into a tight crouch, flashing her eyes in her intended victim's direction. He slept on, tossing about, giggling at some imagined dock girl.

Now, how to do it? Did she wake the man and let him defend himself? Did she simply plunge Marrowstone into his throat and watch him choke helplessly on his own blood? Ilshalys heard it said that the coward only hoped to die in his sleep, and the brave man only hoped to die in battle. Why bother with a good adage? As she raised her paralyzing blade in line with his pulsing vein, she paused as a rather interesting idea bloomed in her mind. Sheathing her weapon, she crept back into the other room and grabbed a bottle of cheap wine, dumping it out into a large tankard. She poured a little water from her skin into it and sloshed it around. Creeping back with the now clean bottle, she drew Marrowstone and opened the thick, pulsing vein of the captain's sun-browned throat, slapping her hand over his mouth as he woke. Unable to move, he moaned and slathered under her hand as his hot blood gushed out from the precise wound. She managed to maneuver the bottle over the tiny geyser, letting the blood squirt directly into it.

After a few moments, Marrowstone's stiffening enchantment wore off, but the fight was all but over. Tussaud's shaking hands pawed at the bard, attempting to push her arms off. A few final spasms pushed a bit more blood into the nearly full bottle. At last, the pirate's hand fell limply from her arm, a thin of blood trickling down to drip from his pale fingers to the water-warped floor.

For a few moments, she stood there staring down at the twitching corpse of Captain Gaston Tussaud. His skin grew pale as the blood that remained in his body began to recede. His eyelids flicked half-closed, his muddy eyes losing all focus. Removing her hand from his mouth, she watched his jaw slacken as if his body desperately tried to hold onto life and draw one more breath. Slowly, the blood stopped its tapping on the floorboards. Then, all was silent and still, as if some spell held everything in place.

Footsteps pounded on the floor beyond the door, drawing her awe-struck glance away from her work. Popping the cork back into the bottle, she stuffed it into her pack and exited onto to the balcony just as a concerned crewmember knocked on the door, inquiring of his captain's safety. Slinging herself over the rail, she dropped into the water with a small splash and lingered beneath the surface for a moment, letting the cool water pull the sticky blood away from her dark armor. A wail of promised vengeance thundered out from the captain's cabin as they discovered her bloody work. The door to the balcony exploded open to a pair of enraged pirates, calling for her to reveal herself. With a snicker, she swam languidly to the shore beyond the Waterfront streets. Turning back to the rabid pirates, she gave serious thought to getting a bead on them and sending them to join their fallen leader.

In the end, she decided to be generous and instead set her eyes to the east. There would be time to deal with them later if they so desired.

It was time to go home.

/
Chapter seven! Contracts aweigh! This chapter gave me a lot of grief, but I think I got it to cooperate. Tell me what you think!

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Lesliewifeofbath's avatar
I'll agree that the Dwemer ruins all pretty much looked the same. The only problem that I had with Oblivion was that everything seemed so dark. I wish there had been a little more warmth in their lighting.