Special thanks to the wonderful Pheonicia for betaing this little piece. And sorry for messing up your name the first time around!
The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion and all related items are copyright Bethesda Softworks.
This story is loosely based off of the film Night of the Living Dead. All items related to the film are copyright George A. Romero and any respective production companies.
Ella looked back and forth between the two men, chewing her right thumb nail so far down it became a source of pain. She'd already done the same for all of the fingers on her right hand. Gregor sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to stare solemnly down between his shoes. There was very little light in the room because Vernon would only let them light one candle. She didn't see why. It's not like the things that were outside didn't already know where they were. She could hear them scratching, testing everything—door, window, wall—in their efforts to get in, creating a horrible noise with no end. They moaned and groaned, making those horrible inhuman noises—like a growl mixed in with a sigh or gasp.
Vernon peeked out through the tiny slot he'd left in the barricade over the window. He slowly backed away after a moment, then shook his head. "They don't show any sign of losing interest. I mean...none of them are wandering off. They seem pretty intent on getting in here," the Redguard said, walking over to take a seat on the roughly carved chair, oblivious to the cobwebs between the rungs.
"How long do you suppose it'll take them to get in?" Gregor asked in a queerly flat monotone, his eyes not leaving the spot of splintery floorboard beneath his feet.
"I don't know" Vernon replied with a disheartened shrug. He sighed and looked down at the seeping wound on his forearm. "All I know is that this hasn't stopped hurting since I got it. In fact, it hurts worse now than it did a few hours ago" he said, trailing off into a shaky sigh. "Those things were down there for so long...who knows what kind of nasty diseases they could have picked up. Things like that would fester and grow in their bodies."
"Perhaps...if we applied more of the salve it would help to cleanse the wound," Ella spoke, her voice rather hoarse and barely more than a nervous whisper. The young Redguard had taken to wringing her hands, quickly causing her skin to burn.
Vernon felt anger build up inside of him, but he pushed it back down into the pit of his stomach, swallowing as if the emotion might spring up from his gullet as bitter bile. His anger was not directed toward Ella or Gregor, but at their misplaced hope that their so-called mentor could pull them out of this unthinkable situation. That made him angry at himself, because he knew he could not. No one could.
He held out his arm and allowed the young woman to apply the thick, foul smelling liquid to his wound. After the initial burn, the pain somewhat eased and Vernon thanked her, trying to make his smile as reassuring as possible.
It was only delaying the inevitable, though. Eventually the zombies that surrounded the little farmhouse would break down the door or push through a window. There would be no escape, and no way to stop them. It was all only a matter of time. Vernon looked over the younger Redguard and her Imperial friend, his heart filled with cold, heavy sorrow. He had promised to show them the ropes. He had promised them an adventure. Instead, he had delivered them into the clutches of a nightmare.
"Oh please, Vernon!" Ella had begged, making her eyes as big and teary looking as possible while poking out her bottom lip. It was her best begging face. She had tugged and pulled his arm like a child, and from that display he should have known she wasn't ready. She'd just began her studies in alchemy, but showed promise. Gregor had also begun his training, though his studies were in swordsmanship rather than potions and herbs. Vernon could see his potential, and thought he'd make a fine officer in the city watch, maybe even becoming a member of the Fighter's Guild. The two friends longed to live the romantic life of adventurers, though, and Vernon supposed he was partially to blame. When they were younger he had dazzled them with heroic tales of his days spent plundering abandoned forts, bandit hideouts, and goblin dens. He'd watched with a sense of pride as they ran around Anvil, driftwood swords in hand, creating their own tales of adventure and heroism. The grouchy novelist Quill-Weave became a fierce dragon, Arvena Thelas became a cauldron stirring witch, and Pinarus Inventius became the lord of the realm they adventured in. Childhood imaginings quickly matured into strong curiosity, and soon the two were begging Vernon at every turn to take them out and show them how it was done.
One day the retired adventurer had looked at the two and realized how much they'd grown. Those childhood days had been and gone. He could no longer tell them that they were too young to go out on their own. Sooner or later they would set off, probably ill-prepared, and it would likely end with one or both of them getting injured, or worse. There is no tragedy greater than a young person with so much potential struck down before their time. He'd seen that far too often in his travels.
Late one evening he'd told the pair that he would take them out the next morning to an old Ayleid ruin that he had never before explored. He hadn't mentioned he'd chosen it because Ayleid ruins were often filled with nothing except bones, welkynd stones, and dust. Perhaps there'd be a few creatures or some undead, but nothing he couldn't handle. He figured if the sight of the undead didn't scare the two out of their romantic ideas about the life of an adventurer, the barren ruin would bore them out of it. He had even convinced his old traveling companion Azana to come along. The Khajiit was more than happy to oblige, having often served as the children's fence and informant during their days of childhood play. The idea had sounded like great fun to her.
Initially, everything seemed to go according to plan. Vernon had practically dragged the two out of their beds early in the morning. They'd moved so slowly, grumbling about in the pre-dawn gloom, it had taken nearly an hour for them to get ready. A twenty mile walk had worked to take even more wind out of their sails. When they did finally reach the ruin there was little more than rats and a few mudcrabs inhabiting the upper levels. The adventurers in-training had already dealt with those more times than they could count. As they'd descended lower into the dusty halls, they'd bumped into a few brittle skeletons, and even found themselves facing a shrieking wraith. Ella and Gregor had been ill-prepared to take on the undead, without so much as a silver dagger between them, but Azana and Vernon had dispatched them easily with enchanted blades. Eventually, the little group had reached what had appeared to be a dead end.
Vernon had turned to his young wards. "Well, did you two enjoy our little jaunt?" he'd asked, trying not to laugh at the pair. They'd been tired and embarrassed, not to mention disappointed. He'd shaken his head and knelt down on one knee, so they could see into his face. "Listen to me." He'd thought he'd sounded wise and fatherly at the time. In truth, he'd been the fool. "I know I made this whole adventuring life sound glamorous, but delving through dungeons and crypts is a rough, dirty lifestyle. You two have far too much talent to be getting mixed up in something like this. Ella, you could be the next alchemist at the Mage's guild. Gregor, you could find honor being a guard, or maybe even a hunter. Don't toss your futures away chasing after some crazy fairytale idea that you'll find fame in the bottom of a damp cave or riches in the bowels of some godsforsaken ruin." He hadn't enjoyed putting a damper on their aspirations, but it was better than finding out they'd been slain and left to rot in some grotto, or hearing months later they'd chopped up by necromancers.
"What's that?" Gregor had asked, pointing to a square of tile just behind Azana.
Vernon had turned and lowered himself down a bit further, cursing his aging eyes. He'd reached out and gently brushed his fingers along the edge of the raised square before smiling. "Looks like a pressure pad. Maybe we'll get some treasure for all our trouble," he'd chuckled, turning to wink at Ella and Gregor. The idea of finding a little something to take back home had seemed to lift their spirits. He'd placed his boot upon the pad and pressed firmly down. The action was greeted by the grating and scraping of shifting stone. Three sections of the wall beside them had slid downward.
Over the years adventurers in Cyrodiil had come to know the Ayleids for their ingenious traps. Floors that fall away into pits of spikes, sections of walls that rose up to trap you with a vicious creature, vents that spewed poisonous gas. All of these were common in any Ayleid ruin, but he'd been pleasantly surprised the ruin he'd chosen hadn't contained any such unpleasant surprises.
He'd known something was wrong from the moment that smell had met his nose. It was the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh, but he'd rationalized it away—zombies weren't that tough. Vernon and Azana had readied their weapons when they saw the first few zombies, but as the second pillar began to drop away they'd realized they were dealing with a myriad of zombies, a veritable army of the undead. What must have been over a hundred rotting, stinking, flesh-eating abominations had been unleashed, with one thing on their maggot-eaten minds.
"Run!" Vernon had cried, pushing Ella and Gregor down the narrow corridor even as he'd shouted. "Don't look back! Run!"
A cacophony of wet footsteps had chased them down the hallway, the ravenous beasts behind them moaning and reaching out for their prey. He'd grabbed Azana by her leather armor and dragged her in front of him, making sure he'd been the one at the rear. Vernon had only dared to look back once. The hallway had been so filled with zombies that he couldn't accurately see where the group ended, so far back in the darkness of the halls.
When they'd first entered the ruin it had been early afternoon, but when they'd exited night had begun to fall. The darkness had made the small rocks rising out of the ground difficult to see, even for Azana with her sharp Khajiiti eyes. Her foot had struck a stone jutting out of the ground, causing her to land badly on her ankle when she fell to the ground. Vernon had turned and run back to her, reaching out to pull her off of the ground, but she'd swatted his hand away.
"Are you mad?!" she'd growled. "I can buy you some time, but you have to find shelter quickly."
He'd been horrified, and for a moment had just stood in place, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Azana, I can't..." he'd begun, but his friend would not hear it.
"You must," she'd said, pulling herself up into a sitting position. "Get the young ones to safety," she'd hissed, clutching her broken ankle.
Vernon had taken a few steps backward, still shocked by the horrific turn of events. Beyond Azana he'd seen the undead begin to pour out of the entrance, like water from an ewer. He'd turned and rushed Ella and Gregor out across the field, but he'd had no idea where he was headed. In his panic he had lost all of his bearings, and for all he'd known they could have been headed further west into nothing but open field, where they would have eventually been run down. They ran for what had seemed like an eternity, but when he'd finally looked back the zombies seemed to have given up the chase.
"Hold on!" he'd called ahead to them. The three had stopped and Vernon had surveyed the area, searching for any signs of their pursuers. There was nothing but the soft rustling of grass and the night songs of the insects. "We need to find somewhere to hide" he'd said as he'd looked around desperately for anything that might shelter them from the zombies. At first it had seemed like there was nothing around but boulders and trees, but Ella had spoken up.
"Look!" she'd cried, pointing out into the distance. At first he'd seen nothing, but he'd soon found what Ella had been pointing to. In the distance lay a small farmhouse, likely uninhabited this far out into the fields. The three had run toward their last bastion against the swarm of monstrosities not far behind.
The house had indeed been abandoned, but the door had still locked and held firm, as did the windows. The initial plan had been to stay quiet and wait until morning, when Vernon would be able to get his bearings and lead them to any nearby settlement, but within an hour that plan had become irrelevant. The zombies had quietly surrounded the house. They'd clawed at the walls and pounded on the windows. Ella had shrieked and backed into a corner, curling her knees up against her chest and pressing her forehead tightly against them. Vernon hadn't been able to think of anything else to do but barricade the entrances. He'd broken down the wooden crates and barrels that were scattered around the two-room cabin, and pried the nails from the boards he'd made. He'd been lucky enough to have found a hammer in a nearby cabinet, which he'd then broken down into barricade material, having already made use of the other furniture in the house except for the two chairs and the bed.. He and Gregor had boarded up the windows and door, and it had seemed like they would be safe, but in each of their hearts they'd known their fates were sealed.
Vernon was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of a shattering window pane. Ella shrieked and began to sob anew, her hands rubbed nearly raw from her anxious wringing. "Oh Gods, why did it have to be this way?" she whimpered, biting her lower lip fiercely in an effort to halt her crying, to no avail.
Vernon rose to his feet and grabbed a few more boards, along with the few remaining nails and the hammer. "Gregor, we're going to have to reinforce these window barricades" he said, sticking a few of the nails between his teeth as he positioned one of the boards over the window frame. Gregor didn't move. Vernon growled and set his tools down before striding over to where the young Imperial was seated. "Gregor, I know you're afraid, but this is no time to freeze up on me, damn it!" he barked, reaching out to grasp the younger man's wrist. Gregor fell over onto his side, allowing Vernon to see his face for the first time in hours. His skin was deathly pale and his eyes were glazed over.
Ella softly gasped, her eyes filling with new tears. She covered her face and cowered even further into the corner. Vernon sighed softly and let his gaze drop to the floor. How? How had it all gone so horribly wrong? Why would just Gods allow things like this to happen to innocent children? Why would they allow it to happen at all?
The Redguard noticed something on the floor, just beneath the bed—a soft glint in the candlelight. He reached out and picked up a tiny glass bottle, still wet inside. Putting the mouth of the bottle to his nose, he tentatively sniffed. Nightshade.
He stood and turned toward Ella, holding the bottle out so she could see it. She seemed to understand, giving him a faint nod even as she broke into ragged sobs. Gregor had wanted to spare himself the indignity of such a grisly death at the hands and teeth of the ghouls outside, so he'd ended it on his own terms.
Vernon stared long and hard at the bottle, mind racing in different directions, but always coming back to the same place. "How many more of these do you have, Ella?" he asked, setting the bottle down on the bed next to Gregor's corpse.
"What? Oh...three...maybe four. Why?" she asked, though Vernon was sure she already understood.
"I want you to take one yourself" he said, not even cringing as two more of the window panes broke in unison. The zombies were becoming more desperate, pounding furiously on the window barricades while growling, malicious hunger in their ragged moans.. "There's no good way to die, but...to die at the hands of those things out there...I can't think of anything worse," he said. He thought of poor Azana, wishing he could have spared her the fate she'd suffered. "I also want to say...I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean anything right now, but I am. I brought you out here to teach you a lesson, and now...look what's become of my good intentions" he said, tears welling in his eyes. "You did nothing to deserve this, Ella. You or Gregor." His voice began to crack.
Ella stood up, drawing two bottles of poison from her bag. One she handed to Vernon, the other she kept for herself. "It isn't your fault, Vernon. I was the one who begged you to take us out. You were only trying to protect us. That's all you've ever tried to do" she said, not looking up at him, but placing her small hand gently upon his arm. "No one could have known this was going to happen, and no one can say that it wouldn't have happened to us anyway," she soothed.. Her voice was still hoarse from crying, but it was steady now. She said nothing else as she sat on the bed, next to her dearest friend's lifeless form. Her eyes found the empty bottle beside him. "I had mixed these last night, before we left. He was going to use them to lace his blade, but I guess he never got the chance," she said, brushing the young Imperial's hair away from his brow. She leaned over slowly to kiss Gregor's cooling forehead. "I think...that we will meet again soon," she whispered, tipping the bottle to her lips before laying down next to him. The poison was quick. It only took a few minutes to do its dark work. She went quietly, just like Gregor.
Vernon looked upon the two, laying side by side on that bed. He then stared at the small bottle in his hand, and flicked the tiny stopper out with his thumb. Within seconds he could smell the earthy scent of the poison. He held the bottle out toward the dying candle and looked at the liquid inside for a moment, before turning to the two teenagers who'd been taken before their time. The two he had wanted to save from the very fate he had delivered them into.
Dropping the small vial to the floor, he crushed it underfoot before sitting in the small chair beside the dwindling candle. He looked one last time at the two on the bed, realizing that no matter how much they had grown or how big they had gotten they would have always been children with driftwood swords in his eyes. In a way, they were still innocent children with harmless dreams of glory and romance. He had been the one who was at fault and he believed that a swift death was something far too merciful for one who would sacrifice the innocent. The zombies were pounding furiously now. He could hear the wood cracking, giving way under their relentless blows. He drew his sword and set it across his lap, leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands over the cool blade. The door was beginning to splinter, bulging inward, spitting tiny puffs of dust with each blow that it received.
It was only a matter of time.