Pinemoon Cave
Haafingar Hold

Nestor Constantius sat in the depths, overlooking his "congregation". The werewolves that the coven had taken in had strengthened them, allowing them to resist the Vigilants' attack last week. Those Silver Hand bastards who had come hunting had been given a nasty surprise as well. However, even as the younglings and the pups celebrated these recent victories, the amount of attention Pinemoon Cave had been given troubled him. By now surely their existence had been reported to the Blue Palace of Solitude.

And these rumors of a reformed Dawnguard were…worrisome, to say the least, and potentially disastrous to say the worst.

"Pater!"

A shout interrupted his broodings as Felicia, one of the new fledglings, came running down the passageway.

"What is it, child?" he asked rising to his feet, already reaching out to buckle on his sword, which leaned against his chair.

"A visitor."

"A visitor? Who?"

"Master Damn-Rune."

Icando.

Nestor never cared much for the Dunmer, but the two of them did share the same maker. He had even dwelt in Potema's Refuge until Roldan Ironshriek had finally died. This made Icando as close to a brother as an immortal vampire could have, for better or for worse.

"Show him in."

The Imperial straightened his robes and resumed his seat, trying to look as regal as possible as Icando Damn-Rune entered his coven, flanked on each side by one of the werewolves Nestor had on guard duty outside.

"The Father greet you, brother," Icando greeted, his words rolling off that gods-damned silver tongue of his.

"Molag Bal can keep his blessings," Nestor scoffed dismissively. "He generally helps those who help themselves."

"Which you certainly seem to be doing," Icando replied, the flattery in his speech palpable. "You've upgraded, it seems, from taming wolves to… Wolf-men. Very Impressive."

"Enough." Nestor snapped. "What do you want from me, Icando?

"Brother," Icando placated, feigning hurt and injury, "I want nothing from you. I have come to give you much, however."

"Oh?" Nestor said, not fooled one bit. Curious, yes, not fooled. "And what would that be?"

"A warning, and an opportunity."

"A warning?"

"Sybille Stentor mobilizes a group of legionnaires, backed by a good number of mercenaries, paid from her own pocket, to wipe you out."

A low hiss escaped the thirty or so werewolves and vampires gathered in the sanctum, or sitting just off-sides.

"Traitor," Nestor spat, furrowing his brows at the news. "You are certain?"

"I dwell beneath the city, brother," Icando said, all of his usual mirth and mockery gone from his voice, replaced by dread seriousness. "I know all."

Nestor cursed. This was exactly what he had feared and anticipated happening.

"And the opportunity?"

Icando grinned.

"Brother… Potema has returned."

Now the hiss of anger turned to shocked gasps and guffaws of disbelief from the group.

"What the daedra are you taking about?" Nestor queried incredulously. "Potema has been dead for five hundred years!"

"I do not lie, brother," Icando said, reaching out and taking a goblet from one of the empty tables. "See for yourself."

The Dunmer sunk his fangs into his own wrist, and allowed the blood to flow freely into the cup. Shocked gasps followed his action. The Truth was in the Blood. For a vampire to drink the blood of another vampire was glean and gain his darkest, innermost secrets. There was no way to lie, no possible deception, only raw unfiltered truth. Needless to say, this meant that vampires almost never shared their blood with another, unless it was to bind their newly-made slaves under their thrall. And there was no chance of that happening to a vampire Elder such as Constantius.

Nestor said nothing, but wordless took the goblet offered by his blood-brother, and drank.

A Redguard, sitting upon the Wolf-Queen's throne, the long-slumbering draugr kneeling before her.

Her eyes turning from green to a BRIGHT and unnatural blue.

"NESTOR CONSTANTIUS."

The memories of Icando, kneeling in front of a burning building [was that the Aldmeri…no, it couldn't be], the same dark-skinned woman looking into his eyes.

"COME TO ME, BLOOD-CHILD OF MY GENERAL. RULE THIS NIGHT-WORLD AT MY SIDE."

Stormcloaks falling in battle.

Draugr arising from their slumber.

Thalmor soldiers torn in two.

Then all cleared, and Nestor looked back at the faces of his coven staring intently, trying to gauge his reaction.

"How?" was the only question he could manage.

Icando grinned broadly.

"I will tell you all, brother. But not here. There is no time to lose: We must move south immediately, towards Hjaalmarch."

Damn-Rune looked around the room, making eye contact with each of the awe-struck coven, werewolf and vampire alike.

"My children, the Second War of the Red Diamond has begun. This is the plan…"


MOVARTH'S LAIR
HJAALMARCH HOLD

Movarth Piquine fiddled with his ring, sitting across from the dark-skinned Redguard woman. His lookout had reported 'a woman' coming through the marshes towards the cave. What he had not suspected was a small army of vampires and draugr appearing on his doorstep. Furthermore, even with the numbers to sweep aside any resistance they could have offered, the woman had simply stepped forward and requested an audience with "Movarth Piquine, of the Imperial Fighter's Guild."

He hadn't heard that last name in… gods, years. Everyone who knew him by that name was by now long dead of old age.

"How do you know that name?" he asked finally.

Tala smiled and drew a single book out of her satchel, laying it on the table.

"Immortal Blood."

"I read your book," she said simply.

Movarth bristled. "It is not mine," he clarified. "It was written by my Maker."

"You were one of the best vampire hunters of all time," Tala continued unfazed. "You hunted the Quarra of Morrowind, and the Montalion of Iliac Bay, even the great Volkihar of the North."

She gestured to the ring on his hand.

"That's why you sport the Ring of the Erudite, rather than one of Harkon's cronies."

Movarth inhaled deeply through his nose.

"You are very well-informed, girlie," he retorted. "But it will take more than knowledge of my past to impress me. What do you want?"

"I am building an army," Tala gestured towards the door, where fifty or so vampires and draugr stood just outside the mouth of his coven. "I would extend an invitation to you and your coven to join us."

Movarth scoffed. "Pass. I have plans of my own in motion."

"Yes, yes," Tala smiled, "Alva the village slut, single-handedly sleeping with and turning all the eligible men and women in Morthal."

That caused Movarth to sit up, and Alva went even paler at her place at the table.

"How in MOLAG BOL's name do you know that?" she hissed.

"ALVA," snapped Movarth, angry at the fledgling's confirmation of this woman's question.

"What did you plan to do next? Have this bitch seduce ALL the guards, then attack and enslave the town?"

Movarth held up a hand to stop Alva from springing forward then and there, but said nothing in reply.

"Yes, what then?"

Piquine furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

Tala rolled her eyes, and continued, slower. "What did you plan on doing after that? Turn to banditry? Or perhaps make a claim to be the Vampire Jarl of Hjaalmarch? How do you think the Silver Hand or the Vigilants would respond to that? Or the other jarls, for that matter?"

Silence met her words. Movarth glanced down at the table. To be honest, he hadn't planned further than the take-over of the town and draining that bitch Ravencrone dry. Maybe taking her pretty young daughter for himself.

"Morthal has no walls, no defenses," Tala continued, in a lower, more serious tone. "It's surrounded by marshlands for half the year, and frozen fjords the other half."

Movarth scowled, but Tala saw the wheels in his head turning. His was an untenable position, to say the least.

"You have a better plan?"

"Markarth," the tall Nord behind Tala answered for her. "Secure the Reach for the Forsworn and the Undercity for the creatures of the Night."

Movarth sat back, stunned at the audacity of the girl in front of him.

"And what makes you think a wisp of a girl like you can accomplish all this, hmm?"

The girl's eyes suddenly flared in anger, turning from their usual green to a brilliant, unnatural blue. Her smallish frame that had seemed dwarfed by the taller men in the room now seemed to loom overhead, filling the room with a terrible visage and an even more terrifying voice:

"I AM POTEMA SEPTIM, AND I HAVE COME TO RECLAIM MY EMPIRE, MOVARTH PIQUINE. YOU MAY JOIN ME AND WIN IMMORTAL GLORY, FAME AND POWER, OR YOU CAND BE CUT DOWN LIKE A DOG ON THE STREETS YOU OWNED FOR A FEW MISERABLE NIGHTS OF GLUTTONY AND RAPE."

Then, just a suddenly as it had come, the visage was gone, and the eyes were green once again. The soft and alluring voice seemed to comfort the jarred nerves, like silk against his skin.

"I will need strong men I can rely upon," Tala said gently, flashing a truly charming smile. "Good warriors, strong fighters. Men who know their place in a battle line."

The eyes turned sultry, and Movarth seemed to lose himself in those green pools… so pretty.

"Men who know how best to serve their Queen."

A lustful smile slowly spread across the former Battle-Trainer of Cyrodiil's Fighter's Guild. Then he slowly stood to his feet. The bard behind Tala put a hand on the hilt of his sword, as did the two female vampires by the door. Then Movarth walked to the space between the two tables, and took a knee.

"We are with you… my Queen."

One by one, each of his coven followed suit, along with their thralls. Even Alva and her newly-turned thrall Laelette joined them, the prostitute's eyes spitting fire, however, even as she bent her head in obedience. Potema arose, blue eyes flashing.

"Forward, my children! FORWARD UNTO WAR!"


HALL OF THE VIGILANT
THE PALE

Keeper Carcette and the rest of the Vigilants of Stendarr were getting ready for the night when they heard the horses whinnying outside.

"Tolan?"

"Probably another wolf, come down from the mountains," the large Breton said, reaching for the iron Warhammer by the door. When he opened the door, however, what was feeding on the carcass of the horse outside was much, much worse.

"WEREWOLF!"

Half-dressed Vigilants scrambled for their weapons as they heard the unmistakable howl that they all knew was no natural wolf of Tamriel.

"STENDARR TAKE YOU ALL!" Tolan shouted.

"Tolan, wait!" Carcette called, too late.

Even as the large warrior charged into the icy windstorm outside, the thatch roof of the Hall suddenly gave way, and several figures dropped down into the room.

Vampires? AND Werewolves?

Impossible.

Movarth's twin daggers cut short any further incredulity from the Keeper as they both sunk into her back, even as his fangs sunk into her neck.

Those Vigilants who had run outside to help Brother Tolan found themselves suddenly facing Draugr Wrights and archers. Those who managed to raise shields to block arrows found themselves swept aside by werewolves and Death Hounds.

Tolan had caught two arrows in his back, but even so he raised his Warhammer to block the blow that the dark-skinned Redguard woman was aiming at him.

Stendarr aid us.

The blow snapped his trusted weapon clean in half, but it managed to turn the blade from his head into the meat of his shoulder. The unnatural force knocked him backwards off the edge of the hillside, tumbling down to the rocks below. Just before unconsciousness found him, Tolan heard a VOICE shouting agains the roar of the icy wind.

"SLAUGHTER THEM ALL! LEAVE NONE ALIVE!"

Skoberth Black-Song sat atop a boulder, watching the Hall of the Vigilants burn around him.

Undead horses were being raised by necromancers, to bear either undead riders or the plunder from the Vigilants of Stendarr. But the Queen had taken a large party, some from the Pinemoon Coven and some from the Movarth Coven, to a cave just up the trail from the burning compound. "Dimhollow Crypt", she had called it.

Said there was something there she needed…

He sheathed his sword, and slung his shield on his back, taking the worn lute into his hands. It had been almost seventy years since the Nord had been a member of the Bard's College, but old habits die hard. The words that had been hammering in his head began to take shape as he strummed the ancient instrument:

"When you hear the wolf howl, show no fear!
Darkness is coming! Shed no tear!
When you see the night draw nearer and nearer,
The Wolf Queen is coming! Potema is here!"


Author's Note: Full credit to griezz, for sharing the poem at the end with me.

Next chapter, we take a very familiar, yet very different journey into Dimhollow Crypt. Hope you guys will stick around to let me know what you think!

As always, your thoughts/comments/constructive criticisms are always welcome! Just leave a review or shoot me a PM!


Reviewer Responses:

Akshka, OnkelJo, Anonymous Jester, Liz, OBSERVER01, Centh97 – As far as pairings go, I do tend to think of Potema and Tala as having a mentor-student relationship, rather than anything warm and cozy like mother/daughter or even a shipping.

griezz – Maven Black-Briar is definitely someone to watch out for. In a few short years, she has single-handedly taken her family from poor shopkeepers in the Rift to the Mistveil Keep. Definitely not somebody you want your back to in a fight...

Malhavoc Shadowlord – Good call. ;)

masterdude94 – I've always wanted to try the "Open Cities" mod, but my poor computer always crashed when I tried…

jackli10345 – Thanks! :P