Hey everybody.
This is a little late but that's because the betaering took a bit longer then usual.
As always, I want thank both The Stann and the Lore-Master.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series. It belongs to Bethesda Softworks. The plot was created by me, The Stann and a, wished to be anonymous, user of this website.
"The wheel is come full circle." Willam Shakespeare
Chapter 2 – Start
Adrya
Two years later. 205 4th era.
The punch came out of nowhere.
The solid knuckles, of the eighteen year-old imperial, collided with Adria's jaw at full speed.
Her whole face, and body, span with the punch. She could taste the metallic taste of blood from her split lip, leaking into her mouth. Her upper, left canine felt loose. Her hand came to her lips to wipe off the blood and came back with a lot of the dark crimson liquid covering her hand. Over all, a good punch.
She looked up from where she was knelt, holding her face, at the grinning brown haired man. 'Milk it' she thought. She shifted her body and held her face in fake-fear. The imperial looked down on her with an expression somewhere between glee and power-lust. He brought his foot up, intending to kick her in the face. He was stood on one foot for merely a second but it was enough time for Adrya to strike.
She swung her left arm into his calf, knocking him over on to his side. She pounced onto his chest, as he turned over onto his back. Her long red hair hung over her face, sealing their faces from the outside in a crimson shield.
"Yield?" She asked, grinning wildly.
"Never." He replied, as she felt his knee smash against her lower spine. She gasped and was momentarily stunned, giving him a window to push her off him and stand up; get into a combat stance. She brought herself to one knee just in time to get his boot in her face.
She rolled backwards with the kick, bringing her a few meters away and on to one knee again. She slowly stood, painfully aware of the, now worse, bruises forming all over her face.
Now that she had seen and felt his moves, she knew his style.
He favoured kicks and, by the way he stood, he pivoted on his left foot. If he could, he would aim for the face, looking at the slight dent in his left jaw. 'Maybe from a previous fight' she thought. In a few seconds she had a plan.
He advanced with arrogance in his eyes, towards her. When he was close enough, he brought his right foot back, putting his weight on his left leg and swung his foot. Just before his shin smashed into her chest, she swung her arms around his legs and pulled his leg towards her. In the single moment of disorientation and confusion, Adrya struck. Using the bottom of her fist, she aimed for the dent in his left jaw.
What she hadn't accounted for was his quick reactions. Just before the bottom of her fist was about to hit his face, he caught it. She could see his brain working overtime trying to compensate for the situation. He may have lost the use of a leg but he was a kicker; he knew how to handle that. He now held her good fist and was also forcing her to use the other with his leg. He had the upper hand.
What he hadn't accounted for was her leg.
In one fluid motion she slid her foot under his; using her fist to force him to the ground faster and harder.
When he hit the floor his lungs emptied of air.
She sat down on his chest, leaving enough room for him to breathe and patiently waited for his breath to return to normal. When at last his breathing returned to normal, he grudgingly said, "I Yield."
With a wide grin breaking out across her face, she stood up and held out her hand. He took it, muttering under his breath. When they both stood and had brushed off most of the dust, the audience started clapping. A short, drunk, wood elf walked in to the arena and held up Adrya's arm, proclaiming that she was the victor.
When the applause had died down and both she and the imperial had walked off, the next combatants strolled in to the arena. One was a shirtless behemoth of a nord, the other a small dark elf. When the bosmer had announced who each of them were, they began combat. After a few swings, Adrya knew their fighting styles.
The nord was strong and surprisingly fast. He trusted his right fist, sometimes overstepping and giving the opponent a clear shot. The dark-elf was faster. He kept dodging and rolling trying to tire the nord. That wasn't going to work. She could see slight rubbings on the nord's shoulders from wearing steel armour. He was an experienced warrior. The dark elf was a more of an acrobat.
"Stop it, Adrya." She told herself. It was a thing with her that had developed a few years ago. She knew how someone would fight after a few swings. But sometimes she couldn't help it and her head was so filled with certain people's styles that she forgot the more important stuff.
She sighed and looked around at the audience. Most of them were not fighters, just spectators with money to bet. She could see some kids from the khajiit caravans in a corner talking to a young orc, holding out a bottle of skooma. She was about to march right over and smash the bottle, but then she saw a twelve year old black haired, green eyed nord pulling all of the dealer's money of his pocket. She was just able to smother her laughter. On the opposite side to the drug dealer was a larger orc, leaning against a wall, talking to a dark elf in in a black cloak. Both of them were at least in their forties, the orc probably a few years older.
She had lived in Whiterun for over two decades, and in that time she rarely left the city. Her mother was way too protective. She never let her do anything. If she knew that she was in an underground fighting ring that had drug dealers and gambling all around, she would have a heart attack.
It was probably to make up for the fact that her dad was never around.
She heard applause and saw the nord in a pile, on the floor, panting while the dark elf stood on top of him dong a weird little dance.
Then the first yell came.
Every head turned to the alley way and saw a group of guards stood there with swords drawn. Most of the people ran leaving a few fighters and Adrya to face the guards. The guards advanced as a line each with an opponent of their own. The guard in front of Adrya swung at her, trying to hit her with the flat edge of his sword. First mistake.
She and the guard fought for a few minutes before she disarmed him and took his sword. She stood over him, about to knock him out, when she fell over unconscious.
She woke up, dazed, in a prison cell. Her tooth didn't feel loose anymore but she had a pounding headache, which wasn't exactly helped by the shouting from outside the door.
She could see the same guard that she had fought and hear the sharp tone of her mother.
"What do mean, 'A fighting ring'? My daughter would do no such thing." Her mother asked.
"Like I said, we found them hosting an illegal fighting ring and we had an inside informer." The guard replied, evidently not caring what her mother said. Second mistake.
"Do you know who I am?" asked her mother, her voice rising rapidly.
"Should I?" Adrya winced. Third Mistake.
"I am Alea Darkenstone!"
The guard couldn't get her and Adrya out of the jail any faster, begging for forgiveness all the time.
It was dark when they were stood outside the jail, and leaning on the wall across from them was the imperial.
"An inside informer." Remembered Adrya, when the imperial stood there with a grin on his face. He got about one second of that smile before he got her fist in his face.
Alea thankfully ignored the punch and just carried on towards their home. When they got to the top of the steps up to Dragonsreach, Alea span round, her face a mask of anger.
"How could lie to me and fight in an underground fighting ring‽ I don't care that you are fighting, you could just told me." yelled Alea.
"But you just said that I would never do that?" replied Adrya.
"Oh really, Adrya. Of course I said that. How could you do that to me?"
"To you? You won't let me do anything since Colden left!" As soon as she said it, she regretted it.
Ever since Colden had left, nearly five years before, in the middle of the night, Alea had caged Adrya up like a rabid dog. Before they would have gone out hunting, but now she rarely let her out of the city without either Farkas or Vilkas coming with. Even after half a decade Alea rarely spoke about it.
"Ma, I'm sorry. It's just that you never speak about Col-,"
"It's fine. Come on let's go home." Even though she said it, Adrya could see her eyes were slightly wet.
Walking through Whiterun with a silent lycanthrope was not Adrya's definition of fun. When at last they reached Breezehome, Adrya slid her key and opened the door and was met by the squeals of a toddler.
"Adwa!" yelled Artor. He was the last thing that connected them to Colden. Someone had come in the middle of the night two years ago with the child and then had just left him saying he was Colden's son.
"Hey, Artor. How are you?" she asked, picking him up. After a few minutes of playing with the toddler, she sent him off to bed. She sat down to eat with Alea. After a few minutes of tense silence Adrya asked, "Ma, what happened to Colden?"
Calmly Alea stopped eating and put down her beef stew on the table. "I might as well tell you. The night Colden disappeared I found him packing earlier that day. He told me that he was leaving and I could do nothing to stop him. After a long time of begging I finally got him to tell where he was going. He went to Ivarstead. He said he was going there to start a fresh, without using the Darkenstone name."
Adrya had so many questions running through her head but one seemed to overpower the others. "Mother, why do people get scared whenever they hear our family name?" Adrya had asked that question millions of times before, but had never got an answer. Maybe her mother would be in a more sharing mood.
Alea sighed. Adrya could see, in her eyes, Alea was wrestling with telling her. Finally she told her the first two words of enlightenment on the subject for over two decades.
"Your father." Then she left the table, leaving her half-eaten beef stew at the table, and walked out of the door heading towards Jorrvaskr. Adrya cleared the table and ascended the stairs to her room but then half way up then she stopped. She looked over to the other side of the dining room, to the weapon rack. Her two handed steel war axe and her hunting bow.
She ran across the room picked up the weapons from the rack, and her prized ebony dagger from its case, and her steel armour from the chest at the foot of her bed. She grabbed a few potions from the alchemy store at the back of the house. When she had all she needed she slid out the door. The guards were the only real problem. She had lived in Whiterun for over twenty years, but the guards always tried the same trick.
"Now where would a young lady like you be going off to in the middle of the night?" It seemed that no matter what you wore, the guards always had stupid questions like that.
"I'm off hunting." She said, holding up her bow and quiver, full of steel arrow.
"What's with the axe?"
"Wolves."
"Fine. Just be back before dawn, Jarl's getting mighty suspicious 'bout them vampire attacks.'"
She walked round the path down towards the stables, gazing up at the stars and the constellations. When she got there, she found the stable master just closing up.
"Have you got any horses left?" she asked.
"Sorry just sold the last one to a dark elf. Shady figure. Just paid and rode off."
Slightly annoyed at this, she carried on down the path towards Riverwood. Now that she had no horse she would have carry on through the night through Riverwood and the wreckage of Helgen straight to Ivarstead.
The journey to Riverwood took her two hours and two sore feet. When she arrived at the town she was tempted to buy a room and go to sleep. The soft glow of candle light leaked out of the window and under the door of the Sleeping Giant. It wouldn't hurt anyone just to go in and get some sleep.
"Snap out of it." She reminded herself that if she slept, her mother would hunt her down in the morning, with half the companions in tow. With that scary idea in her head, she carried on down the road.
Then she came across stones. The stones looked like ordinary stone pillars, but they had drawings down them. They were easily twice her height. Then she noticed dotes and lines underneath the drawings. She walked to the stone on her right. Starting at the top, she worked her way down, running her finger down each line from dot to dot, until she reached the bottom. She brought her finger away slowly.
Nothing. Even after a few extra seconds of waiting, nothing.
She was about to turn around and carry on up the hill, when the lines began glow. Then the circle in the stone lit up like a blue fire. Finally a beam of light shot up in to the night sky, rising into the heavens. After a while the lights dimmed down somewhat, until they were gone. 'Subtle,' she thought sarcastically. Every bandit in a five mile radius knew she was here now. 'Better get moving then.'
She turned round to head up the hill, when-
BANG!
The last thing she remembered before she fell un-conscious, 'OW!'
She awoke in a large cage, her arms hung up in chains and her legs chained to the floor. The cage was as wide as a Dragonsreach cell, but it was much longer, allowing for her chains to reach up and attach to either side of the cell. The bars were made of solid steel. Her armour and weapons were gone. She could see other prisoners in more cages opposite and next to her. Most were nord or breton. All were women.
Stood in the shadows in front of her was a man.
"It's getting harder to find anyone nowadays. Especially with that arrogant fool up north chasing us out of our hunting grounds," said the man in the shadows to someone behind him.
"Ah it looks like our guest has woken up, Delhar." said the man, stepping out of the shadows. Adrya jolted back at the sight of his eyes. 'Vampire'. He was a middle age Breton with brown hair and unblinking orange eyes.
Another figure slid out of the shadows behind him, a vampire also, but this one a hunger in his eyes, and not just for her blood. This one was a surprisingly short high elf with snow white hair.
"Oh, she's a pretty one, master. She'll taste delicious," said Delhar, she assumed.
"She will, but not now. We need to conserve our cattle. Hunting's getting harder," the master said.
"Oh. Just one bite won't hurt anyone." With that Delhar jumped towards Adrya. Adrya flinched and closed her eyes, giving in to the inevitable. When the bite didn't come she looked up, confused. The master held Delhar by the back of the neck. Suddenly he threw Delhar backwards to the floor. Delhar was on the ground for barely a second before the master plunged his hand in to his mouth. The master then yanked out his arm, a ripping noise emerging from Delhar's mouth, as he pulled out Delhar tongue.
Blood started to pour out Delhar's mouth on to the floor. The master rose and turned to Adrya, still holding Delhar's tongue. He leaned into to whisper in Adrya's ear.
"Now I have you all to myself."
Final mistake.
She threw everything into the change. Her mouth grew in to a snout as her muscles doubled in size and strength. Finally the chains snapped, releasing a fully shifted, angry, werewolf.