While looking over the lore, I discovered the existence of a holiday from Daggerfall, and noticed that the celebration and timeline of a certain Dark Brotherhood sister added up all too well…
Rated T for violence.
People, she had concluded long ago, would look for any excuse to celebrate. Their lives were so dreadfully dull that the most meager event warranted a war or a festival or a tournament.
A successful harvest? Break out the wine.
A meager harvest? Break out the wine anyway.
Some dead king's birthday? Raise a glass! Break the bread!
Some dead king's death-day? Build a wooden replica of the bastard and sing while you watch it burn.
People would celebrate anything.
However, there were boundary lines.
Babette eyed the middle-aged Breton from her corner in the inn. She sipped the blood in a health potion bottle calmly, tilting it to swirl the liquid so it didn't clot.
The Breton clapped his hands and waved his bottle of ale, yelling for the bard to keep up the music. He stomped his feet, adding his own noxious warbling to the sounds of the lute.
Ordinarily, Babette would have hardly noticed such a display. She found pleasure draining the life from her victims, contentment in the feeling of a neck growing cold as the minutes passed.
Who was she to judge some fool from High Rock for losing his mind in a cup?
No, it had been his drunken encouragement that had made her own blood boil. From the moment the idiot had stepped into the inn and spoken to her, he'd taken celebration too far.
"Oh, here, little girl! Have a sweet roll on me! It's Children's Day, after all!" And on that note, he'd tossed two shiny septims onto her small table and sauntered off.
Babette stared at those septims, gleaming in the dim light of her candle. Draining the rest of the blood, she tucked it carefully back into her small pack before putting the money in her coin purse. Nodding to the exhausted inn keeper, she quietly went out the door.
Stretching in the light of the half-moon, Babette ran her tongue over her teeth. The overly sharp canines were smooth like pearls.
Babette headed leisurely for the outcrop of rocks left on the hill behind the inn. Dawn was many hours away, and she would still make it back to the Sanctuary before the next evening.
For now, she had a holiday to celebrate.
They had come in the middle of the night. She hadn't even woken from her slumber before one of them was carrying her swiftly down a road toward the water.
Terrified, her throat had squeezed shut in the crisp fall air. Panicked tears fell from her cheeks and disappeared in the air behind them as the large group dashed for the boats. It wasn't until she saw the face and demonic eyes of one of the kidnappers behind her that she began to scream.
A large fistful of dry cloth was shoved quickly into her mouth, muffling her cries to pitiful whimpers in her throat. Twisting her body, she felt the bonds around her wrists and ankles for the first time. Her throat grew hoarse against the force of her obstructed screams.
She was thrown into a small boat, knocking her fragile skull painfully against the curved bottom. Moaning in dazed agony, she struggled to sit up and run.
Mama! Papa! Her words sounded like gibberish to her own ears. Her face was slick with sweat, tears, and the gentle trickle of blood that now ran down from her temple. Help!
Another body landed next to her, lying utterly still as the craft was pushed away from the dock and set adrift. A large figure paddled in front of her, the movements quick and efficient.
Scrambling to put her feet in the ground, she lunched for the side of the vessel, hoping to throw herself into the water. To her ten year old mind, escaping into the water had been all that mattered.
A cold hand grabbed her by the back of her head, twisting her hair back. It jerked her head backwards until her neck felt as if it would snap.
"So you want to take a dip in the sea?" Abruptly the hand shoved her toward the edge, crushing her upper body against the boat's side.
Her head was submerged before she could think to draw breath. The fowl tasting salt water rushed into her open mouth, lingering in the cloth before pushing down her throat. It filled her nose and eyes and she struggled, lungs burning as they filled with water.
Dark colors swam behind her eyelids as the world faded into foggy oblivion, only to come back into focus when the monster tossed her, soaked and choking, back into the boat.
"Stupid bitch. I'll drown you next time." The water was stuck in her throat, unable to escape her lungs through the cloth. The monster scratched her lip when she ripped it out. Dirty sea-water spewed from her mouth and onto her already drenched clothes, her tongue burning from the acrid taste.
After the boat, it had been a dismal trek on foot through a dirt path. The bag over her head smelled of soil and blood. She had cried the entire way, and the other children had echoed her. She hadn't know how many there had been until years later.
Then it had been the cave; dark, dank, and freezing, with only a little water to sustain her. Still, she'd preferred her cage to what had come next. Each night she heard the screams of another child as they were dragged from their cell into another room, only silenced many minutes later.
Finally, it had been her turn. Weak from hunger, she struggled against them none the less. The vampires had only laughed as they wiped her neck clean and pushed aside her hair. A dirty cloth was pushed into her mouth again.
"This one has some fire in her. Maybe she'll survive."
Pain exploded at her neck as one of the beasts began to drink. She felt the horrible suction drain the blood from her, leaving the world edged with darkness. Eventually it stopped, and a strange red light was drawn out of her body. It made her chest hurt, and she cried out weakly. Moments later, a healing potion found its way to her mouth, and she gulped it down.
"That's good, little one. Now rest up. The next few days will be long for you," a cloying voice whispered into her ear. Her body collapsed as she was carried to a bed, left comfortable for the first time since they'd taken her.
Three horrid days of weakness and illness later, the life finally left her body. The light of the candle at her bed became painful to her eyes, and she swatted it away with unusual strength. Shocked, she looked at her hand, frightened by its pale color. Her own teeth cut into her lip, blood spurting out of the deep gash. It tasted like the most delicious nectar.
The others had had to hold her down until her strength faded as she screamed.
They kept her for three years, plying her with fresh blood, teaching her magic. "Our little one," they'd called her. "Our kitten."
When they'd thought her utterly under their control, they'd given her some freedom. She was one of the only children they had. They wanted to see her in action.
She'd slaughtered five travelers before the night was out, drinking them nearly dry and building her strength. They loved to watch her work. She was the darling of their clan.
A year later, she decided that she didn't want her clan anymore. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the killing. She did. But she decided with her skills and abilities, she didn't want to stay with her abductors anymore.
They were overconfident. They never saw it coming. Neither did her fellow vampire children.
She'd killed her original kidnapper first. A Dumner with a nearly unpronounceable name. The rest had followed soon after.
Foolish little thing that she had been, Babette had actually tried to go home. Invisible and soundless, she'd boarded a small trade ship heading to Betony, determined to see her family again. She remembered her loving, beautiful mother and her wise, doting father. From eavesdropping around the town, she learned of the day of mourning for the stolen children that everyone on the island honored each year. How happy her parents would be, she thought, to have their child returned to them.
They had shrieked at the sight of her, screaming for the guards to help them as she stood in their kitchen, pleading with them to see reason. She was still their daughter, wasn't she? She was still their little girl!
But her mother clutched another baby girl to her chest, and her father brandished his sword at her with one hand and a torch with the other. And her eyes had darkened with rage, the last tears she would ever shed falling from her eyes as she lunged at them.
A cool feeling of detachment overcame her as she observed their bodies, white and cold. Their eyes were fixed open in terror, and it seemed that even the infant had known fear before she'd destroyed it.
Wiping her bloodied hands and face with a cloth and bucket of water, she bent to kiss her mother's and father's cheeks.
"I'm leaving now, Mama. You should have been kinder to me, you know. You as well, Papa. I came all this way just to see you!" Shaking her head in bemusement, she marched out of the house and into the night.
Her mind felt curiously blank now. The sky was calm, with plenty of stars glinting merrily above her. Sighing in boredom, she headed for the docks once more.
The old Breton staggered out of the inn just as dawn broke across the sky. Her eyes narrowed coldly as she stood, hopping down to the stone road.
"Oh, sir!" She called gaily, skipping up to him as he stopped at the well in the square to turn around.
"Ooh, a little quieter, girl. My head's not so well this morning." He squinted at her groggily. "What do you want?"
"Do you know what Children's Day is, sir?" She asked sweetly, bouncing her shoulders in a portrayal of absolute innocence.
"What?" He asked, eyes blinking slowly as she smiled at him. "The Children's Day?"
"Yes, that's right." She heard his heart beat languidly in his chest.
"Wha- well it's, some sort of youth celebration." He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Look, kid, I'm not in the mood to chat right now. And you should scurry on home-"
"You're wrong," Babette said, her voice dropping an octave. "Quite wrong, in fact." The man hardly seemed to acknowledge her words. "Do you want to know what it truly is?"
The man blew a spit-riddled breath out of his lips.
"Hell if I'm going to-"
"You will listen," she ordered, utilizing her daily ability. Vampiric seduction from a child had a variety of effects on the recipients, but obedience was generally one of them. Luckily, she hadn't needed it for her kill a few hours ago.
The man stopped talking, eyes glazing over as he stared at her. "Are you listening?" Babette asked in the saccharine voice she had perfected over the decades.
"Yes," the man said a little breathlessly.
"Good. Now, Children's Day," she began, taking him by the hand and drawing him away from the well and any prying eyes, "was actually a memorial day for, well, as you can guess, children." She led them behind the inn, casting a look around for any guards. "But no ordinary children. No, these were the children who were stolen by the dozens in the middle of the night." Babette brought him to the stone wall, sitting him down like a child being told a bedtime story. "Their families never knew what happened to them, and it was considered so awful that their homeland created a special day just to pray for their souls." She readied a potent calming spell in her hand. The seduction never lasted long. It was meant for quick, yielding kills. "But after, oh, a few decades," she hissed, launching the spell straight into the man's face. His eyes widened comically, his head lolling to one side before he righted himself. "The people forgot that they were supposed to be mourning the dead. Instead, they started feasting and making merry, encouraging their children to do the same and forget the true meaning of the holiday." She ran her tongue over one canine again, anticipation building inside of her. "Do you know what it's like to visit your hometown after a hundred years, feeling queerly nostalgic, and discover the citizens celebrating the night you were stolen? Do you?" She asked mockingly, rolling up her sleeves as she tilted the man's head to his left. She deftly undid his collar ties, exposing the wide veins of his neck. "Of course you don't. You're just a stupid little mortal who doesn't mean anything. The only purpose you'll serve now," she eyed her prey cattily, "is to be my breakfast."
The man's eyes remained unfocused, and so Babette waited patiently for competency to return. She tapped two fingers against his neck idly, making the veins stand out against his skin.
Half a minute later, the man jerked under her grip, whipping his head around to stare at her. Her hand closed tightly around his throat, cutting off the building screams.
"Happy Children's Day!" Babette said brightly, sinking her teeth much harder than necessary into the man's neck. Gulping down a few healthy swallows of blood, she cut her head sharply to the right. The skin of his neck tore and left the shredded veins exposed to the morning air. The blood flowed heavily down his neck and soon coated his right side. His torso twitched as a hand jerked upward, only to fall heavily to the ground.
Sticking her right foot against the side of his head, she kicked it until he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.
It wasn't that she wasn't content with her lot. On the contrary, she owed those bloodsucking fiends a thank you. Over three hundred years as a child, free of any serious responsibility, consequences, or liability outside of her Dark Brotherhood bonds and oath? Free of the burdens of adulthood, of physical desire, of aching bones and ripping muscles and wrinkling skin? Babette would take that opportunity again in a heartbeat if given the option.
Still, it was the principle of the thing.
So, that got dark. Rate and review! I'd love to know what you thought!