The broken half of the lockpick fell from Rella's hand and she slammed her fist against the metal bars of Serana's cage, growling in frustration. She'd been so close. If she'd just been a little slower, keeping her hand steadier, she might have done it.
"The White take you, Vex," she muttered. One day, she'd exact her vengeance on the Imperial witch.
Now, she needed to find the key – likely carried by Tilde – or another pick. Neither task would be easy. Thankfully, she had skills that would be of use. Pickpocketing wasn't one of her strong suits, but sneaking was. If she could get close enough, she might be able to immobilise her.
"I'll come back for you," Rella whispered in the hope that Serana might hear her, and ascended the stone steps leading up to Fort Dawnguard's main floor.
At the top was a door, heavy and wooden, that the Dragonborn listened at for a moment to decide whether or not it was safe for her to pass. Hearing nought from the other side, she cautiously pushed it open a fraction, peering through the gap. Seeing nothing and no one, she slipped out, finding herself in the western wing of the stronghold, a short distance from the dining hall.
Voices drifted towards her and she ducked behind a stack of crates, not wishing the game to be over before it had even begun. She chanced a glimpse over the edge of the nearest container, spying Ollrod and Sorine sitting at the table. Tilde seemed to be absent, at least from the meal they were eating.
She pressed on, steps inaudible. The shadows were her veil and she blended with them as though she were one herself. The Dragonborn had Nocturnal to thank for that.
Rella crossed swiftly through the foyer, avoiding the deep orange glow of the dusk's fading sun filtering through the aperture above. She'd climbed no more than four steps of the spiral staircase when she heard someone coming down. The Dragonborn vaulted quickly and quietly over the railing and darted into the darkness beneath the stairs.
Tilde strolled across the entrance hall in the direction of the dining area; unaware of the escaped prisoner crouched just feet away from her. Rella spotted a key ring hanging from her belt, resisting the urge to simply charge at her and take it. She was too close to the others. The Dovahkiin couldn't take them all on her own, at least not until she could properly summon her Voice.
Rella made her way up to the second level, treading softly along the balcony and into the recruits' personal quarters. She searched through chests and dressers, keeping one ear alert for anyone approaching. Most of it was clothing and spare parchment, though she did find a worn dagger at the very bottom of Celann's trunk.
She twisted the blade in her hands, contemplating the fact that she might actually be forced to use it. Though it was weathered and the flat of it scuffed and scratched, the edge remained sharp as ever.
Sharp enough to kill.
Rella swallowed uncomfortably, tying the sheath's strap to one of the belt loops in her breeches. She hoped it wouldn't come to that.
These were people she'd spent months of her life with, grown to know and who in turn had grown to know her. They understood her, as well as the past that haunted her, and given her an outlet for her grief – a path of vengeance carved with silver and drowned in blood. Friendships forged in the heat of battle, loyalty unflinching.
Could she really end their lives as she'd ended so many before? The answer frightened her.
She would protect Serana, no matter the cost.
Rella prayed they didn't force her hand.
The Dragonborn moved into Isran's chamber, hastening her investigation. The food would only occupy the three downstairs for so long and they were bound to check on their prisoners at set intervals. What she still had yet to discover, in addition, was how long it would be before Isran arrived back at Fort Dawnguard. Had he been there with them, he would've already shown his face.
Had he been there with them, Serana would already be dead.
Rella found a number of potions in his desk, easily identifiable by their distinct colours. She emptied a small, pink vial into her mouth, followed by a deep draught from a large, green bottle, feeling invigorated almost instantly as the liquid slid down her throat. The lethargy in her limbs dissipated, replaced by a rush of energy that hummed in her veins. The dull ache in her shoulder faded to a point where it was virtually imperceptible.
Testing her Thu'um, the Dragonborn conjured the power from within. The action was near-effortless, and she felt it rising in her chest, strong and unwavering. She relished the sensation.
She continued sifting through Isran's belongings, finding and filling an empty purse with potions for Serana. Still without another lockpick, Rella was beginning to worry. She moved onto the third and final compartment inside the desk, closing her fingers around the small brass knob, and pulled.
The drawer jammed, the force of her tug causing the entire furnishing to jolt. The empty flasks sitting on top toppled over, with Rella managing only to snatch hold of the bigger of the two. The smaller phial hit the stone floor and shattered.
The Dovahkiin froze in place, heart thundering in her chest, deafening in her ears.
Minutes passed, and it felt like hours. She remained alert, muscles tense and ready for action. Her fingers closed around the handle of Celann's dagger, preparing for any and all eventualities.
But no one came to investigate. The Dragonborn let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, allowing herself to relax slightly.
She used the blade to prise open the wedged drawer, dismayed to discover nothing but blank vellum, fresh quills, and several inkwells.
Short of combing the entire fortress for a lockpick, it appeared her only option now was to try and get the key. Fate, it seemed, did not look kindly upon her.
Rella started to retrace her steps across the balcony, unseen and unheard. She'd just reached the top of the spiral stairs when she looked down to see Ollrod beginning his climb up. The Dragonborn rapidly backtracked, darting into an alcove and flattening her body against the wall.
Ollrod walked past, oblivious to her presence, heading for the shared bedchamber. In that moment, Rella made a decision; one that could either work in her favour or blow up in her face.
She emerged from the shadows, feet carrying her swiftly and silently towards him, and lunged, wrapping her good arm tightly around his throat. Another trick taught to her by Brynjolf, if done correctly, it would serve to incapacitate him rather than kill him.
But Ollrod wasn't going to go down without a struggle. Rough hands clawed at the Dragonborn's constricting appendage, determined to break her hold. He charged backwards, crushing her hard against a pillar of stone to try and loosen her grip. Rella's shoulder flared with fire and she nearly let out a cry of pain, the sound instead coming from her mouth as a strained whimper. Still she clung to him, unwilling to let go.
Finally, Ollrod sagged, rendered unconscious. Rella lowered him carefully to the floor, fearful that the scuffle had already drawn Sorine and Tilde's attention. She searched him in the vain hope that he might have a duplicate key, but found nothing.
Not wishing to waste any more time, the Dovahkiin crept downstairs, primed for the next encounter. Her advance was steady and vigilant, aiming to stay undetected. Sorine was still seated at the dining table, bathed in the light of at least four torches. There wasn't any way for Rella to reach her without being seen.
"ZUL, MEY, GUT…"
The Dragonborn threw her Voice to lure the Breton away from the dining area and into the foyer.
"Ollrod?" Sorine called, casting her eyes up to the gallery. "Did you say—"
The weapons expert got cut off by Rella grabbing her with the same chokehold she'd used on Ollrod. She put up less of a fight than her Nord colleague, strength outmatched by that of the Dragonborn, and within seconds her body went limp. Rella laid her down with the same level of care she'd shown to Ollrod.
Now she turned her focus on Tilde, whose whereabouts remained unknown.
She conducted a quick sweep of the cavernous area at the castle's rear, home to the alchemy and enchanting stations, and the blacksmith's forge. She half-expected Gunmar to be mooching around, but it seemed he'd either gone with the rest of the hunting party or was off on a personal errand. Still she saw no sign of Tilde.
A prickle of panic began to form in the back of her mind and she proceeded back towards the dungeon. A pained yelp echoed to her from the prison and Rella broke into a run, dagger unsheathed.
She was mere metres from the door when Tilde emerged with Serana, holding a knife to the vampire's throat. The blade, ostensibly silver, burnt a severe line into Serana's neck.
"Not another step, Dragonborn."