Hevnoraak had been pathetically weak, something that proved frustrating to him. The ghostly warrior guarding Valthume had proven stupid, not even realizing he was not there to keep Hevnoraak's power hidden and locked away, trusting the first stranger he found to defeat the Dragon Priest. The Draugr had proved no challenge to him whatsoever, even armed with their Shouts and single-minded, unwavering purpose.
Hevnoraak had been a sorcerer of unbelievable power, a man who had favored poisons and sickness as gifts to his enemies. He had found the remains of the Dragon Priest's experiments chained to walls within Valthume, prisoners that had probably been left screaming for freedom as Hevnoraak's men laid down in black coffins and cut their own throats.
All of Alduin IV's Dragon Priests had been formidable in their prime, supposedly undefeatable. They'd been strong enough to cheat death, and to commit treason successfully. In Alduin IV's time, Hevnoraak had been the SecondClaw, Arch-Dragon Priest and High-Blood.
None of that had amounted to anything beneath his blades, of silence, shadow, and stealth; a dagger to a vital strain of mummified flesh; a strike so quick it was a blur slipping past both shield and sword.
"Hevnoraak, you're sulking again." He jerked himself out of his thoughts, slicing the pad of his thumb against the dagger he had been toying with. Morokei's small hand tugged his injured hand away from his chest. A soft pulse of aqua light surrounded his wound and it vanished, skin closing over as the cut healed instantly. A soft grunt escaped him as he sheathed his weapon. Morokei settled beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as they waited. Nahkriin was asleep on the bench across from them, her mask resting on the floor beneath her fingertips. Krosis was cursing softly under his breath as he worked on a lock, his frustration tangible even from across the room.
"Konahrik said Vokun and Volsung will arrive soon." Morokei said suddenly. He nodded absently.
"It will be nice to get new siblings." He murmured, again reaching for his dagger. Her hand stopped him and he sighed.
"Are you agitated, FourthClaw?" He looked up as Alduin V entered the room, black scales shifting and bubbling as the World Eater took on the form of man.
As far as he knew, no Alduin had ever walked as man except for his. But, then again, no Alduin had ever been born without pure Dov blood.
"I am, Lord." Hevnoraak said, bowing his head as the World Eater collapsed beside Nahkriin. The SecondClaw lifted her head, murmured something sleepily to Alduin, and then lay her head on his lap, eyes drifting shut again. Absently, Alduin stroked her hair.
"Do you care to elaborate?" He smiled slightly beneath the cool touch of his mask at Alduin's words.
"Rumors of a Dovahkiin wandering Skyrim's land have sprung up again." He said. Nahkriin's eyes snapped open and Krosis fell silent. Morokei's fingers tightened around his own.
"Do they hold truth?" Alduin asked softly.
"I apologize deeply for interrupting, but yes, my Lord, they hold truth to them." Konahrik's voice was welcome, but the strain to the elder Dragon Priest's voice sent everyone to their feet. Rahgot, bleeding heavily from a wound on his side, was being half-dragged in by the FirstClaw, a strange-looking one-handed blade clutched in his other hand.
"What-?!" Krosis's cry of shock and anger mirrored everyone's thoughts. Hevnoraak stood, Morokei at his side and hurried towards the injured Dragon Priest, taking his massive weight from Konahrik.
"Who did this?" Alduin demanded. Morokei was already whispering a spell beneath her breath, aqua light pooling from her hands onto Rahgot's wound. The strange weapon clattered to the floor and Rahgot slumped down, sighing.
"The Dovahkiin, Lord Alduin. We heard a Dov in distress and followed the sounds of battle. She struck the fatal blow just as we arrived, and the ThirdClaw attacked. He managed to disarm her and take her weapon, but the damage was done and I had to get Rahgot away." The FirstClaw bowed, expecting punishment for his failure.
"Rise, FirstClaw. I thank you for your information. There is no need for punishment. You are valued for your wisdom and power, not your battle prowess, and it was the ThirdClaw's duty to protect both you and the Dov. He has suffered enough at the hands of my sister, I believe."
"Hev, can you help him to bed? I need a few minutes before I can heal the outer damage and stop the bleeding." Morokei asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. He nodded.
"On three. One…Two…Three!" Together, both he and Rahgot lunged forward, pushing themselves up. Hevnoraak slid an arm around the ThirdClaw's bulk and together they shuffled out of the Main Hall, Morokei anxiously hovering around them.
"Hevnoraak-when you are done helping the FifthClaw, I wish to speak to you. High-Blood, can you prepare your blades?"
"Yes, Alduin. I'll go get them." Krosis's voice made his lips twitch into a smile. It was unusual for an EighthClaw to possess the title of High-Blood, Alduin's personal assassin, and even more unusual for the youngest and most immature Dragon Priest to hold the title. But it fit, and Krosis had yet to let anyone down.
"She was about your age, Hev. Couldn't be older than you, was small. Built like Rokei and Kro. Not a warrior." Rahgot hissed, obviously furious at his defeat.
"The previous Alduin was defeated by an assassin. Scrap of a Dunmer, what was his title? Listener, I think. Basically the High-Blood for Sithis. This Dovahkiin is of his bloodline. Makes sense." He pointed out, as Morokei pushed open the door to the ThirdClaw's chambers. Rahgot snorted.
"She looked terrified, Hev. Like she was only fighting because she couldn't flee. When she drew in the Dov's soul, I expected her to start crying. Probably would have if we hadn't have attacked." A flash of Morokei's light blinded both of them for a moment, and Rahgot's muscles relaxed beneath his arm. He withdrew as the ThirdClaw gingerly stretched.
"Don't strain yourself. It could reopen the wound." Morokei said sharply.
"Rokei, you hear about Volsung and Vokun? They're twins. Konahrik is gonna go get them after this settles down. Probably tomorrow." Rahgot suddenly exclaimed, ignoring Morokei and changing the subject at the same time.
"Rahgot? Can I have the weapon?" Hevnoraak asked, shifting with a sudden wave of barley pent-up energy. Rahgot's amused expression made him scowl.
"Still searching for that perfect weapon of yours? Yeah, sure. It's too weird for my tastes. And, we both know Lord Alduin is gonna send you and the High-Blood out together. If you see the Dovahkiin, stab her with it for me." It took all the self-control he possessed to only smile a ridiculously pleased smile into the cool embrace of his mask as he murmured a quick thanks and hurried out of the room, Morokei's laughter floating after him.
When he emerged into the Main Hall Alduin sat with Krosis and Nahkriin, no sign of Konahrik anywhere. He bowed to the World Eater and snatched up the Dovahkiin's blade, sitting down cross-legged on the floor in front of the others before examining it.
"Konahrik informed me that my sister wore the armor of the Blades. I'd like you and Krosis to go scouting for their hideaway for now. See if your informants have any information you could have missed." Alduin instructed, frowning absently.
"Alright. Let's go to Markarth, Hev. I have a feeling that's where the Blades go to for supplies and information and stuff. Solitude's totally clean, and the minor holds are too, and we know they're in that generally direction." Krosis said, jumping to his feet. The lock he had been working on earlier was in pieces on his chair, a bundle of lock-picks beside it.
"We're staying in Valthume then?" He asked, standing. Krosis nodded. It was somewhat typical of the EighthClaw. Valthume was Hevnoraak's seat of power, and Krosis enjoyed searching through the other Dragon Priest's citadels.
"Alright, Kro. We'll meet here in an hour and leave. Go pack." Krosis grinned and snatched up his lock-picks, half-skipping towards his room.
"He's very enthusiastic about this. Did you say he could kill anyone he wanted to?" Hevnoraak asked, glancing up at Alduin from his inspection. The World Eater smiled, shoulders lifting and falling.
"I…May have not explicitly forbidden it." He snorted at his Lord's words and left, gaze locked on the weapon. It was the most remarkable, beautifully crafted sword he'd ever held. The balance was perfect, edge razor sharp, and it was made of a material he had never seen before.
He'd spent years searching for the perfect weapon. He'd tricked Daedric Lords out of their artifacts only to toss them aside like they were trash because they did not satisfy him. He had searched through Nordic and Dwarven ruins, seeking out a weapon such as this. One that fit him, suited him, matched him. He'd accumulated so many odds and ends throughout his search that Valthume was littered with piles of enchanted weaponry and armor-not to mention his room here, in Alduin's main hold.
He was certain that by the time Krosis left, his piles would be considerably smaller.
Valthume never felt like home. Bodies of Forsworn stupid enough to try and enter always littered the door, always half-decomposed and torn apart by the creatures who patrolled the outside of the ruins. Unlike Nahkriin, he had no living servants. There were those he kept where the previous Hevnoraak had held his own experiments, but they were not willing nor bound to him.
Krosis delighted in mocking him because of that-that was, of course, when Krosis wasn't poking around in his stuff.
He was asleep in the room he had killed the previous Hevnoraak in when something landed on his chest, heavy and definitely not welcome. He let out a cry, hand shooting out of the warmth of his blankets for a weapon. He encountered nothing but stone and his eyes snapped open. Krosis, mask-less and dressed in leather armor, laughed from his perch on his chest.
"What are you doing, little brother?" His voice was rough and raspy with sleep, which only made his companion laugh harder. Krosis slid off of him and landed on the stone floor, apparently so amused by the incident he could barely breathe. Hevnoraak pushed a hand through his hair-he hadn't cut it in a while, and it was almost long enough to tie back-as he rolled out of his bedroll and stood. A set of leather armor was piled beside his pack, different than the EighthClaw's. There was no metal protruding out of it, and it was enchanted to make absolutely no sound as he walked. It was made of Dovah scales whereas Krosis wore normal leather. He dressed quickly and then settled cross-legged next to the remains of his bedroll, lifting a flask to his lips.
He took one drink and spit it out, narrowly missing Krosis.
"I told you not to get into my poisons!" He snapped, unscrewing the cap and dumping the liquid-pure water-onto the stone. Krosis laughed again.
"Do you have any idea how weird it is that you drink that stuff straight? Rokei put me up to it, anyway! It's unhealthy."
"It keeps you out of my stuff." He snapped back, reaching into his pack. He withdrew a pair of brown glass bottles and popped the seals on them, dumping them carefully into the flask.
"So what's that? And no, it doesn't keep me out of your stuff."
"Lotus Extract." He said, glaring. Krosis smiled cheekily.
"You drink rare and deadly poison on a daily basis?"
"After I absorbed the previous Hevnoraak's power I just started doing it. Same way you obsess over your locks, EighthClaw. They don't hurt me, and they do taste pleasant."
"Then fill up now." Krosis muttered, standing.
Hevnoraak sighed and began gathering essentials together. He couldn't bring too much, lest those they hunted realized what he was, but he had to bring enough to be believed when they said they were simple hunters passing through the Reach to get to Solitude.
He packed his by-now-damp bedroll and enough poisons to get him through a couple of days, some food, gold, pelts, alchemic ingredients that could easily be procured from dead animals, and some spare clothing. The weapon Rahgot had taken from the Dovahkiin he found a few feet away, where Krosis had obviously tossed it. He nursed it carefully as he checked it for scrapes or nicks.
He had yet to put it through the final test-battle-but he had a feeling his search was finally over.
"Are you ready yet?" He glanced up at Krosis. The boy stood impatiently in front of the door, looking as disheveled and unorganized as the best thief in Skyrim possibly could.
The thought gave him pause. Unlike the others, he had not truly had a life before becoming the FourthClaw of Alduin V. He had always, for as long as he could remember, been entirely dedicated to the World Eater. As a child, he'd wanted to become a Dragon Priest, after listening to his parents tell tales of their power, their duties.
The fact those tales gave nightmares to other children had not mattered to him.
At fifteen, he'd begun seeking out a perfect weapon, and had met Krosis-before he'd become EighthClaw. They had journeyed together until he'd picked up tales of Hevnoraak's mask. Seventeen then, and he'd claimed Hevnoraak's power as his own, thereby dedicating his existence to serving Alduin V.
A month later, Krosis had joined their number. Krosis had been on his way to becoming the youngest Guild Master of the notorious Thieves Guild in Riften. The boy had abandoned that to serve Alduin. Pride swelled within his chest as he studied his companion, one he had long ago come to feel was a little brother. Two years after that, Krosis was now seventeen, and they were hunting down the Blades.
"Hey old man, let's get going. There's a Dovahkiin that needs killing and I'm not getting any younger."
"Watch it, Kro. My friends a little farther in would love some company." The threat made the boy laugh aloud, and the thief turned and left. Hevnoraak shouldered his pack and followed momentarily.