Chapter One
Darkness is an unsettling mystery to man. It hides many things, stalkers and all manner of creatures. Many have pointed fangs and claws, others prefer to drain the marrow from your bones as you live and breathe, or simply like to feed off your fear.
Cyrodiil is home to many of these monsters. I found that out the hard way as a child traveling with my parents to Cheydinhal. I was but a young Breton boy, riding in between my mother and father on our cart with Brose our horse plodding along. The warm glow of our lamp covered us as it hung suspended from the high hook on our cart. Father had found it necessary despite the large, full moon overhead.
The attack was so sudden, so fast that it blurred. The cart flipped and I flew off along with my parents. The lamp that had dangled merrily moments before shattered on the ground and erupted into a small fire on the ground illuminating Brose fighting with a monster. It had large, jagged claws and a massive set of jaws. Brose didn't stand a chance; he was disemboweled and dead with the creature feeding on his entrails noisily.
In a rush, my father stood and yelled at my mother to take me and run. The sudden shout attracted the attention of the large creature. It pawed forward into the light and I could see it for what it was a massive wolf. Being only a small child, I cried for father to come with us as my mother carried me off as fast as she could.
My father was no regular person, I hadn't known it at the time but years before my birth he had worked in the Mages Guild. He had been a man in plain fishing warders that turned into an armed warrior in my sight. That was the last I saw of him before mother rounded the bend in a frantic hurry...
The sound of the night air echoed through the thin walls of the wooden shack. The insistent buzz of insects and croaks of the swamp frogs, you got used to it. The Argonian turned in his bed, slowly drifting off into sleep.
He made a decent living trading Skooma here in Bravil amongst the other dealers. He didn't really care that he may have screwed some people over in his dealings, besides, who knew? The count of Bravil was a joke, and his son was addicted to the stuff.
A slight creak of the floor boards called his attention back to the room.
"Is someone there?" he asked as he set up in his bed.
Instinctively the Argonian reached for the long sword he kept by his bed. Grabbing at air he finally diverted his attention long enough to look for it, only it wasn't there. Truly concerned now, the Argonian looked back to the darkness of his home. He had but one window in his room from which the light of a half moon poured through, and glinting in the light was the long sword he was missing from his bedside.
"How the hell did that get over there?" he asked himself puzzled.
"Maybe I did it, Ju Nee,"
Ju Nee froze in his bed. That voice was in his ear, followed by a cold edge pressing against his throat. The Argonian gulped, feeling it catch on whatever blade was against his throat and slid on down.
"What do you want? Please, I'll do anything. Free skooma? Money!" he pleaded.
The blade pressed harder, and he could feel the breath of his assailant on his ear. Out of the corner of his eye thanks to the moonlight he could see a faint outline of the person threatening his life.
"Sithis demands a particular soul this night," the voice whispered in his ear.
The blade drew back as crimson sprayed from Ju Nee's throat over his bed. A clean portion of the sheet rose with the impression of being gripped as it was run over something, obviously the blade that had just taken the life of the Argonian, Ju Nee. Silently, the ghostly assassin left the crime scene.
It'd be an interesting mess for someone to clean up tomorrow once the body was found. Ju Nee had just crossed one too many people for his own good.
The foul night air of Bravil met his nostrils, and for a moment, the assassin had to restrain the urge to gag. The smell was so terrible; he pondered how people could stand the stench. Bravil had the potential to be a nice town if the count would only get off his ass and make it such. Regaining composure, he moved silently cloaked by his chameleon spell. Sithis would no doubt have made it evident that Ju Nee had departed the world of the living to Ocheeva in some way back in Cheydinhal before he returned.
He made a quick detour into one of the many dark alleys of Bravil. Dispelling his chameleon enchantment, Valen reached up and removed his black hood and stuffed it down the front of his glass armor. Scratching his short, brown hair he suddenly realized he was a little late on feeding. Valen reached into his carrying bag and drew out a well-sewn lump of leather. There was nothing special about the case, but he needed what was contained inside. Fangs extending, he bit down draining the blood inside.
Yes, Valen was a vampire.
Blood thirst satisfied, he dropped what had been a previously full blood roll on the ground and exited the alley. His glass shorts word waved at his side, counter balanced by the glass shield on his other arm. Unlike most of his dark brothers and sisters his gear was enchanted entirely to augment his own abilities and resistances on top of being a vampire. Fire was of no particular harm to him due to have being originally a Dunmer.
Years ago when he first joined the Dark Brotherhood he was still naive in the ways of the assassin, and a Dunmer but strong in the ways of magic from the three years he had spent in the Mages Guild. Vicente had found him to be a worthy candidate for Vampirism and shared the dark gift. All in all, he supposed he was in his late twenties now though it didn't matter; he hadn't aged a day since he turned as was typical of all vampires.
"Good evening," the guardsmen called to him.
Valen responded with a warm smile as he passed through the gates of Bravil into the filth that passed for a forest. By morning, he would be a quarter of the way to Cheydinhal, and a bounty would be out for the unseen killer of the Argonian Ju Nee.