In the deserts, you are most aware of what you are made of
Without water, you will surely return to the dust that you are
Act accordingly
Days went by without a hitch. There were jackals to kill and the occasional desert cat (cougars usually, never had a problem with the two legged cats yet) but otherwise, things were normal, almost lazy. Claudia had to find ways to challenge herself, like waiting till the last minute before letting an arrow fly or even trying to launch the arrow from a different spot on the bow than what she was used to. It didn't help. The predators kept dying, the herds remained intact and she and the other shepherds continued on their usual path. She had to admit, she was finding the monotony a lot more mind grinding than usual.
Old Harper was the shepherd in charge of the expedition and had decades of experience herding the sheep and goats through the desert. Old Harper was covered with numerous and deep wrinkles from his many years working under the sun. His body was long and lanky, his eyes seemed to be constantly squinting. Nonetheless, while he was probably well into his golden years, he could keep up with the rest of the crowd, and often outpaced some of them. His mind and eyes were sharp and his body still spry. He was also rather handy with his staff, rapping the young hands that tended to sneak into the food back or spend too many trips to the water skin. No one doubted that he could probably knock the brain out of a jackal in one hit, a boast he liked to make often. If there any stories others might be tempted to call him out on, it was about his many supposed exploits of when he traveled as a bard with his trusty harp throughout Tamriel. That was supposedly how he got his moniker.
Old Harper liked to keep the younger shepherds entertained with all of his life stories when they were on the move and it was easy to watch the whole of the flock. The old Redguard had many life stories and Claudia was certain she had not heard too many stories repeated more than twice. She sometimes wondered how long the man had been alive since she figured with such age came greater opportunities to do more outlandish things. Or he could have easily been making a few up. It could have been a combination of both.
Claudia only half paid attention to his stories. She was more interested in making sure no members of the flock were carelessly wandering off. They were easier to deal with than people. After a while she felt herself growing rather uncomfortable. The sands were growing whiter and they only served to further reflect the aggravatingly harsh light of the sun. Her throat felt parched and she felt a biting thirst that demanded attention.
The waterskin was free for all but was carefully watched by Old Harper. Anyone who did not learn to discipline themselves in how much they took, or made too many frequent trips to it, was bound to get a scolding and possibly a sharp poke, from the old man. It was anyone's guess how Old Harper managed to discipline himself from taking too much water. The elderly Redguard often liked to joke he was half dust himself and didn't need so much water.
Pulling up to the skin, Claudia helped herself to a drag. She promised herself it would only be a swallow or two. She told herself this but soon felt the familiar prod of that staff hitting her back. She stopped and shot Old Harper a sharp look.
"Don't look so crossed at me, young lady. I'd stop you sooner but we're getting back towards Sentinel. That's the only reason I'm letting you get away with how much you just drank. I best not be seeing you come back to that skin anytime soon, though." Harper explained. Claudia wondered how much she really did drink. And why did this thirst seem like it was not slackened at all? That bothered her.
That afternoon they stopped for a break and tents were hastily erected. There was no point in trying to traverse the desert during the heat of the day when the sun was at its zenith. It did not matter that they could practically see the outskirts of Sentinel. Old Harper was insistent that they would reach the city that evening before dusk and claimed it was foolish to try and double up and travel during the day. No one was in the mood to argue with him. Claudia only wondered why that biting thirst had not gone away. She tried to control herself but she planned on draining a whole well when she got into the city. Thankful for the shade of the tent, she was surprised to see Ilik come shuffling in, cradling his hand.
"What's wrong?" Claudia asked curiously.
"Tripped and cut my hand on a rock. It's not bad but I need some linen bandages." Ilik announced as he helped himself to the medical chest.
Claudia noticed the rich, redness of the wound. The blood was already starting to clot, a dark crimson and yet it was still wet, thick. She could feel the beating underneath, the pulsing heat that promised of more blood under the wound. She found herself panting. She could practically taste it in the air and it spurned an odd hunger the clenched and coiled deep within her. That blood, she needed it, it was as if a silent stomach within her growled without noise at its sight.
"Is something wrong, Miss Vivinicci?" Ilik asked.
"What?" Claudia sputtered, awakening from her reverie, destroying the fixation she had on the wound.
"You were staring, ma'am." Ilik said.
"Uh...just...wanted to make sure it didn't look bad. You'll be fine. Just bandage it up quickly. And leave." Claudia grumbled.
Gods, what was wrong with her?
She tried not to let it bother her as the hours passed. She tried to occupy her mind with the task before her as she helped to take down the tarps of the hastily erected tents and get the herds together. It took a little over an hour but they were moving again, the worst of the overhead sun gone as it started to make it descent in the sky. No matter how much she tried to focus on the task ahead, of keeping the livestock from wandering or simply tallying the distance between them and the city, she could not vanquish that heavy feeling of guilt and fear within her soul. Was she losing herself? How long did she have before she succumbed?
The shepherds were accustomed to wandering the city, visiting the sights after their livestock had been locked away. Claudia found a quiet spot at a tavern table, nursing a generous goblet of wine. A lot was swirling around in her head. All things accounted for, she was in a sorry state. What had she done for this past year? The only thing she had to say for herself was that she had wandered the sands watching dumb livestock and avoiding their dung. She once hunted the undead and took down daedra and now she was reduced to hunting mindless dogs. She was not going to be going anywhere in society either. Even the Thalmor had agents in Hammerfell. They were undercover of course but the Thalmor were always watching and would be more than happy to put a blade in the back of any enemy of their empire. No one would mind a fugitive Imperial woman dead from some lowlife. And then there was her other problem.
It had taken a year but she could see the writing on the wall. Her skin seemed to burn more and more easily as time went on. The sound of heartbeats in her head was becoming more and more maddening. This wine was doing nothing to quench that thirst, that hunger. A flare of anger and frustration went through her and she nearly hurled it across the tavern. It took a great exercise of will not to do that. Upset, she slammed her payment on the table and quickly left. She had no clue where she would go, becoming more and more aware that she was in fact lost and tilting on the edge of panic.
Stepping out into the streets, she wandered the city listlessly, unsure of where to go or what to do. She made sure to avoid the areas frequented by the other shepherds and herders. She thought of the jackals driven mad by hunger and how they savagely attacked without any regard for their lives or even the well being of others. She had seen the wild dogs turn on each other if even one of their own fell or became wounded in a particularly bad season where they could not find food. She realized that could very well become her someday. She thought on how she noticed and fixated on Ilik's wound. What if she had given in? Would she have torn a child apart just to feed on them? She remembered stories from her days with the Vigilants. That was how freshly turned vampires operated while still being integrated in society.
Not her. She would not be one of them.
The answer became brazenly obvious of what she had to do. It saddened her, it frightened her and it probably was not even the right thing to do but she had no other options. She left the city on a lonely walk beyond the gates. She went in no particular direction, she only made sure that there was no one following her and that there were none to see her. She wandered for quite some time, an aimless walk with a permanent destination. When her mind finally told her it was time to stop, she realized that she was quite some distance from the city again. The ocean was more than a stone's throw ways off and there was nothing but sand in all directions. She would not be missed here. This was where the sands swallowed. They always did.
It only took some time to figure out what exactly she had to do. It puzzled her as to the exact extent of how far the vampirism had spread. She was not sure just how much of herself was mortal and how much had turned over. A simple solution formulated in her mind. She remember hearing one of the more sadistic inquisitors come up with it when she used to be a Vigilant. She pulled a flask that she had concocted herself buying one simple ingredient from the city. The flask contained a slurry of supplied the silver powder herself.
She sat in the sand a while contemplating it all. She almost laughed at the thought of the silver powder. It was a relic from her days as a Vigilant. She had always kept a pouch of the powder on her at all times. You never knew when you would need to coat your weapon in it since the undead and other demonic things would decide to rear their ugly heads. She flinched at that thought realizing that this time it was something inside her that was undead and if she did not take care of it soon then someone else would and who knows how many innocent people would suffer in the process. She had to do this. Now. She had to be courageous. Besides, she had nothing else left anymore. She had disappeared into the Hammerfell sands. The pressed clean robes and the respect of a Divine priestess had died that night in the ruins of the Thalmor stronghold up in High Rock. Now all she was was some nameless keeper of sheep. She hated to admit it but she missed those days of being a Vigilant. She never even had a chance to finish that last project and still wondered if anyone caught that mage of Peryite and his supposed schemes. And now she was turning into the very thing she had once sworn to slay.
Killing herself would be making good on that old vow, no matter how long ago it was, no matter how much the circumstances had changed.
There was nothing else to be done. She was more of a hazard than asset to society now, or she was going to be very soon. It was not as if she knew what she was doing with her life anyway. Better to go now rather than end up being one of the very monsters she used to hunt, the ones that killed killed innocents and endangered the strong and daring, challenging the foolish to untimely deaths in the process.
"What are you doing, Claudia Vivinicci?"
Claudia stopped, the flask at her lips, tears streaming down her eyes and falling as wasted water into the sands.
"What are you doing, Claudia?"
The woman spun around, she knew that voice. She had heard it once before. Suddenly, against her will, the flask shuddered and fought its way out of her grasp, glowing as it did while levitating in the air. The vessel spun itself bottom over top and the toxic brew spilled into the air before solidifying into quicksilver and the rays of the sun. Claudia recognized that avatar. The upturned chalice with liquid flowing from it was the symbol used by the Imperial Cult to represent Stendarr.
"Was it mercy or justice that you sought from this bottle? It can supply neither."
"I...I can't-"
"Indeed you cannot. You cannot do anything, not unless by the grace of the Divines and the turnings of fate. The will of utmost good will be exercised upon the world of Nirn, for injustice walks upon its face and another evil rises. It has gone on too long. Tell me Claudia, was it justice that you tarried, that you did not try to stop it after so long?"
"I-I don't know...what you're talking about..." Claudia sobbed.
"Go. Go find them."
"Find who?"
"The one called Sibylla a daughter of Skyrim. Find the one named Bann-Je, one who crawled out from the Black Marsh. Find Do'Ravier, a walker of the Elsweyr sands. Find them. Execute this justice and you shall find mercy. Seek first the will of that which is good and then all shall fall into place."
"But...what am I to find them for?"
"You know the answer. But should you need it clarified, it shall be revealed to you very soon. Do not seek this brew again. It will surely kill you. The silver will first."
And with that, the flask became mundane again and landed with a wet plop on the sand. Claudia dropped with it, tears sliding down her face and mixing with the sand to create rivulets of water and mud. It was what she needed but it was also too much. She realized she had seen the easy way out within her grasp and now even that was denied. She had too many questions and not enough answers and yet still here was another direction she was being told to go.
The next morning, Claudia left the caravan groups. The last anyone of the group saw of her was the archer leaving in her blousy robes, hood over her head, rapier at her hip and the bow over her shoulder. She also left with a bit of a swagger. Old Harper thought the woman must have found something last night because none of them had seen her with that kind of jaunty step either.
Most of it was bravado. Claudia had no idea what exactly she was doing. She had explained to Old Harper everything that he needed to know, the more shadowy parts she left out. As far as the old man was concerned, she had decided on a new course in her life, one where she could better help the Divines. She knew what she wanted to do and was sure in her actions. Ilik took it well. Clearly he was sad that she was going but the Redguards of the cathedral that sent them were all for people venturing off for new things in life. After all, wasn't life an adventure?
Claudia wondered where her first step should be. She considered praying at one of the local temples but decided that would be redundant. Stendarr had already jumped out and grabbed her attention and sent her off. She was no theologian but believed that going back so soon after a revelation might greatly infuriated the Divine of mercy. Besides, it was information she needed. There was only one person she knew in Sentinel who might have the facts she needed, or at least the network to find them.
She needed to find that bastard Sticky.
There were many merchant groups in Sentinel and many of the more established ones had a reputation. Most of them sought out publicity and proud images. One group promised the finest in jewelry that came from all over Tamriel. Another proclaimed the very best in metals, both industrial and precious and the ability to supply any and all of them in a timely manner. The list went on and on but Sticky's group was the stark opposite of everyone else. Sticky's organization did not have a name, they were only known by his moniker and perhaps by his boast that his group could supply anything you wanted whenever you wanted so long as you could pay the price. Anything was a commodity. Such a strong boast tended to make business "a little confusing to the authorities, it's best they not see how everything went. Nothing illegal of course, it's just questions are so troubling and they take up valuable time," to use Sticky's own words.
She had heard of him earlier while she was in Sentinel. Most of the more respectable people did not talk about him though the guards grumbled his name in frustration. In the Redguard tongue he had many names, not all of them were polite. However, "Sticky" was the translated name into the common language of the Cyrodillic empire and since Sticky had a tendency to do business with all kinds of people, near and far, Sticky was how he was known by most everyone. It was the name to drop so that anyone would know who you were talking about.
Simply put, Sticky was the grandmaster of Sentinel's gray market. No one knew why it needed to exist but Sticky liked to say it was because it helped everyone else. Most of the merchant factions would never admit it but at some point or another they had to make a deal with Sticky, a deal that helped elevate them to their position but also ensured they'd never want to make a bad deal with Sticky as well as making sure they helped prevent other people from screwing the wily Redguard over. Sticky had made sure that while there would be mutually assured prosperity, there would also be a generally one sided destruction in the event someone tried to hoodwink Sticky through any means. Claudia shuddered at the thought of going to find him but right now he appeared to be her only option.
She figured she would probably want to bathe afterwards. The rumors were that anyone who made a deal with Sticky usually did want scrub themselves thoroughly after even negotiating, much less making a transaction. In Sticky's defense, he was usually polite about the whole affair. For a fair fee, he was willing to sell you the soap and bathwater you'd need.