The hunt was exhilarating. To know we had just gone from prey to predator added to the rush. They fled from us like deer in the Heartlands. Or, more accurately, they fled from the Champion of Cyrodiil. Having seen the things she could do, I did not blame them.
It is one thing to hear about people's exploits; it's another to witness them for yourselves. The vampire – Clarafus, if I have to call him that archaic name – was an astounding opponent. He exerted a kind of pressure that made your defence seem feeble, your weapons useless.
Now the Champion. The Champion defeated the vampire. That I had no doubt of. I knew little about him, but I do not think he would've allowed the Champion to invade our hideout if he still drew breath. Not that he did still draw breath, being undead and all. The point still stands that the Champion defeated him. Overpowered the over-powered, so to speak. So what did that make the Champion? Far beyond an astounding opponent. As I said: the hunt was exhilarating.
The big Nord was the first to die. Invisibility was all well and good from a distance, but it could not hold up to mastered Chameleon. There was a distinct shimmer to the first that even an untrained eye could spot. My eye was not untrained. Nor was the Champion's. She was also a lot quicker than the Nord.
Umbra passed straight through his heart from behind, shattering the feeble attempt at Invisibility as it went. The Champion didn't slow, not for a second. She span as she ran, pulling her sword free, sending the big Nord whirling to the ground behind her. It was mesmerising to watch.
A few of the braver members of the Dawn had entered our hideout deep within the cave. Three to be exact. One was felled by the Champion, another by Neek, the flick of his sword slicing through the weak point in his armour. The last fell down screaming and writhing, Ko'Vair's claws having left long gouges across his face. I slowed my pursuit just long enough to watch the skin bubble as the poison took effect, before I sped through into the heart of Shinbone Cave.
Whether it was my newly awakened senses or something else that alerted me to the danger, I do not know still to this day. "Champion," I hissed, just loud enough for her to hear me and pause. The others followed suit.
"What do you want?" she advanced on me, and though I could sense she no longer wished us all dead, there was still a good deal of aggression aimed my way.
"They'll have hostages," I said. "Young ones, untainted by the Vampire." I did not need to say that stealth would be a more viable option. I could see she understood. "You three get into position. I'll give the signal when to act. You'll know what it is."
Ko'Vair and Neek nodded instantly, moving off into the shadows. The Champion stood staring at me a while longer. I couldn't guess what thoughts were going through her head but I stood my ground. Eventually, she turned and stalked off, vanishing with a muffled flash of purple.
There are many tools an assassin can utilise on its prey. The preferred method, for me in particular, was my shortswords. Longer than a dagger, yet quicker than a Longsword, I always found they worked perfectly in my hands.
But sometimes up close and personal did not fit the given circumstance. That's when range attacks became a highly useful skill. I had always preferred the feel of steel in my hands. I placed a lot of trust in my swords.
Bows I did not like. They were clunky to carry, and what's more there were too many variables that could go wrong in a shot. Your aim could be perfect, true, travelling on a direct course to pierce either brain or heart. But personal experience had left me with a bitter hatred for the luck involved in such a shot. The worst had been an opponent sneezing. Something so simple, so innocent, and their life had been spared. For a few seconds at least. Now I only used bows when I felt it necessary. I had no doubt I could sneak up on the Dawn, draw blood with my swords. But with hostages, there was more of a risk. There's that second between acting and execution where your opponent has a chance to react. A blade held at a throat. A flinch as an enemy realises they're being targeted. A spurt of blood as the blade bites into the neck, by accident or purpose, it doesn't matter. No, range was the way to go.
I've already specified my dislike of bows for their weight. That's why I never carried one. I crouched and focused for a few seconds, channelling my magicka into my left hand. Then I released it, and felt the warm sensation of conjuration, a mystic bow appearing in my hand. A few more seconds of concentration, and a quiver of arrows appeared at my hip. I was ready.
I crept forwards, using the corners and rocks as cover. I could not hear anything, save for a stale wind blowing a gentle path through the darkness. Then light came from the room ahead and I knew I was getting close.
Fire is a source of danger for those seeking its comfort. You may have increased visibility, but for those far enough away to avoid its illuminating light, it lends them the advantage. Seven hostiles sat or stood around the fire. Seven hostages were held close to each. Was this all that remained of our initiates? The thought was not encouraging, yet now was not the time to dwell on such things.
I raised my bow, targeted the hostile directly in front of me. He stood, tensed, even facing towards me. His hostage was held close, one arm around their waist, another with a dagger to their neck. I notched an arrow, drew the bowstring tight. My eyes took in the surroundings, spotted my next target, to the right of the main man. He was sat down, apparently at ease. His hostage was bound next to him, and I could only assume there was a blade against the small of their back.
I let fly. No sooner had the arrow left than I was notching another, swivelling my body twenty degrees, firing again. The first arrow caught the first hostile straight between the eyes and he fell back. The initiate luckily had the sense to push his arm away before the dagger could cut their neck.
The second arrow caught the other hostile in the chest as he started to rise. He promptly sat back down. I notched another arrow just in case but my signal had been seen by all. Two hostiles fell without any apparent wound. That I could only assume was the Champion's work.
The next had their arm pulled sharply up, before a blade entered their throat. Neek's impeccable execution, protecting the initiate from harm at the same time. Ko'Vair scratched another's wrist, making his blade drop, before her paws clamped over his nose and mouth, claws digging into his face at the same time. It was a gruesome sight. I swear I heard a laugh, too.
The seventh and last hostile, none of us touched. His moment of distraction at the movement around him was all the time the initiate needed to twist away from his grasp, and drive his own sword up through his brain. They promptly moved on to free the bound initiates still around the fire.
We all gathered around the fire, checking the dead. I dispelled my bow and quiver, and the arrows embedded in my foe's vanished, leaving gaping holes in their vitals.
"You did well," Neek said to the initiate. "What's your name?"
They turned towards us, red eyes staring. A Dark Elf. Young, but skilled already. "Melsvay," she said, cutting the last initiate's bindings. Her gaze turned to the Champion and she took an involuntary step back.
"Don't be afraid, Melsvay," I said, turning towards the Champion myself. "We've reached an understanding. I hope."
She looked right back at me, Umbra still in her hand. I did not feel an overwhelming aura from it, not anymore. "Let us talk, kinsman," she said.
"Let us check for any more survivors, first."
The Champion nodded, sheathing the Blackened Blade.
Of the twenty or so initiates that we had, only nine still lived.
The seven hostages inside the cave were uninjured. A few bruises and cuts, maybe, but nothing serious. We found two outside, amongst the dead. I would claim that you get used to the sight of the dead, but you don't. And you certainly never learn to deal with the indignation that comes from sifting through the bodies. These were our charges, too. My charges. I was responsible for their deaths as much as any man.
One of the two was completely unscathed. "I learnt how to play dead when I was young," the Argonian said. "When they started killing the others I couldn't think of anything else to do."
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Neek said. "Not many are smart enough to think as quickly as you did. Go inside, rest. You're safe now."
The last initiate was barely what I would call alive. She had multiple stab wounds in the chest. Blood leaked from them, her hands covering the worst of them in a vain attempt to stem the flow. The Champion knelt by the High Elf, frowning as she examined the body. "She cauterised her own wounds." She pointed to three points on her chest, where the cloth had burnt away and blistered skin could be seen underneath. "It seems she passed out before she could seal the others."
"Ko'Vair knows this one," the Cat said. Her voice wavered, whether with sorrow or anger, I could not tell. "Ko'Vair remembers scolding her for playing tricks on the others."
With a gentleness I did not expect, Ko'Vair picked up the initiate and carried her back into the cave.
"It seems you have some smart initiates," the Champion said.
"There's a reason we recruited them to hunt the Dawn," Neek said. There was a pointedness to his words that I doubt the Champion missed.
"I was unaware that the Dawn had rebuilt enough to launch an attack of this scale."
"There is a lot you're unaware of."
The Champion's gaze snapped up to lock on Neek. "Do not think I will not slay you where you stand, lizard. Just because you hunt the Dawn does not excuse you from your other misdeeds."
"Please," I said, moving between the two of them, hands raised. "Let's talk first. Bloodshed after, okay?"
The Champion scoffed a laugh. "Fine. Talk first. Then we shall see if your fame outweighs your infamy."
Sanirion came round soon after. Neek and I had moved him to one of the many beds spread throughout the living quarters, before heading off to the common room in order to discuss things with the Champion.
The High Elf wandered in, disorientated, rubbing at his head. Upon seeing the Champion, sat calmly at one of the chairs, numerous emotions flitted across his face. Neek stood up before things could escalate again. "Peace, Sanirion. She's here to talk. This time."
"For now," the Champion added, rather unnecessarily in my opinion. Tension was high enough without her throwing out threats like that. Sanirion never really let his guard down. His fingertips crackled with lightning, eyes never wavering from the Champion.
"Now, I think you owe me some answers." The question was directed at me. I looked at Neek and Ko'Vair but all the Argonian did was nod. The Cat just ignored me.
"An answer for an answer," I replied.
A moment's pause; Sanirion's sparking fingertips the only sound. "If you insist," the Champion said. "What is your purpose?"
"To hunt down the remainder of the Mythic Dawn," Neek said.
"I believed that saga of my life to be behind me."
"They remain, lingering still. Their strength has lost most of its potency. You did the hard work; we deal with the stragglers."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Argonian."
"Our turn, then," Neek said, refusing to bristle at the comment. "What was the Vampire to you?"
"You mean Clarafus?" The Champion looked between us all, for the first time an almost human expression crossing her face. "You do not know?"
"The Vampire was not the most hospitable of leaders," Sanirion said. I could not tell if it was my imagination, but the lightning on his fingertips seemed to be crackling less.
"You are his spawn, are you not? You are he as he is you."
"You think we chose this life?" My words were full of venom. Even the Champion seemed taken aback. "You think I wanted to be turned? That any of us did?" I pulled my jerkin to the side and showed the wound the vampire had given me during my 'test'. It had healed, but not to the naked eye. The wound was ugly, gaping, even. Some foul magic lingered in its pores, no longer poisonous to my undead skin. "This is the reason I was turned. I do not know what magic lay on the vampire's blade; it was not a deep cut. But I lay in agony, before the vampire put an end to it. It was that or death." I glanced in Neek's direction before continuing. "We are vampires for a purpose; it gives us an edge that we desperately need against an enemy that vastly outnumbers us. Pass judgement on us if you wish, but I have no intentions of using my undeath for crimes of evil."
A stillness settled over the table. Everyone stared at me, yet I used to back down. I kept my gaze straight, forcing the Champion to look back at me. She was searching me with her eyes, I could tell. Testing to see if what I said was true, if I really meant the words I had spouted.
My morality had changed drastically since finding the Dusk, I realise when I look back at the events. I was lost before the Dusk took me in. Wandering, with no purpose, seeking for a thrill that I didn't even know existed. How would I have dealt with the Mythic Dawn, I wondered, if I'd found them? Would I have accepted their beliefs as readily as I accepted the Dusk's? I liked to think I would've resented them and left, but the truth is, at that point in my life, I think I would've taken it. Joined their ranks, rubbed shoulders with brothers and sisters. Perhaps found some form of contentment.
Now, though, the idea made me sick. Now I fought for the other side, with brothers and sisters to call my own, mutual respect between us all. I even respected Ko'Vair, after a fashion. There was a thrill to our task, and I relished it. But there was also a purpose. Not quite righteous, but good enough that my soul may yet be saved from the plains of Oblivion. I like to think that now, years on from my time with the Dusk, that I have done enough to outweigh my dark days.
The Champion was still staring at me. She was unreadable. "Clarafus," she began, her voice soft. I could hear the pain in it. "The vampire, as you know him, is the reason I am what I am today. You would think I would be grateful, but there's been too much pain mixed in with the success."
"He framed you," I said, suddenly remembering the Champion's words before she engaged the vampire in combat. There had been too many potencies coursing through my body at the time for the words to stick. "He was the reason you were in the cell; the reason you met the Emperor."
"Bittersweet, is it not?" She spat on the cave floor. "My way is paved with heroics, yet my existence before that fateful encounter, before I came into possession of the Amulet of Kings, is far from songworthy." She looked between all of us, seemingly surprised by the fact that all our attention was on her. "Do you truly wish to hear the tale? Most have little interest of what I was before; what I became is where the interest lies."
"We have all heard of all your tales," Neek said. "All of us have tasted our own heroism, after a fashion."
"Our interest lies in your relation to the vampire," Sanirion said, his lightning disappearing, the absence of the crackling like a void in the quiet cave. "And how it nearly ended in our deaths."
"Very well. Be warned, we'll be going back a long way. Before I grew powerful, before my fame outweighed my sins." The Champion grinned. "I hope none of you are light of heart."