Shadows moved back and forth. Shadows evolved around the deadly doom. In
the greatness of the Vivec hall, created by Vivec himself in his days prior
to becoming a god, a person sent forth a thundering flail. So strong was
this wind that the air compacted and the water in the air was squeezed out,
so that a mist seemingly appeared where there once was none. Tiber Curio,
no relation to the chain of Emperors, walked slowly midst this mist, moving
without movement. It seemed like he was possessed. He was not possessed,
for in order to be possessed, a spirit needs to possess it. There was no
extraneous entity.
Tiber's soul was by itself, trying to break away an insuperable barrier. It was as if his soul had dipped into a pool and was trapped, it was as if its hands were banging against the reflective crust of the water, that pale layer that gives back your reflection so you see nothing of the soul trapped inside the water. It was as if. His soul was trapped in a place where oblivion is not, nor was the mortal realm, but as in Kenil's dream, he was sent to a realm in between.
Yet it still remained in his body; trapped. Thus, his body was a dull, empty vessel made of only flesh and bones, his own flesh and bones an impermeable barrier.
Tiber limped through the room of mists. He could feel the shocks sizzling through the air but it made no difference to him whether he died here or later, for - of course - he had no soul. He walked through the room without care.
In front of him was a chasm wide enough to engulf the room. Tiber kneeled before the emerging figure within the chasm. He could hear something of a dark nature. A voice was sent from inner hell, a shadow twisted and turned upwards, slowly making its progress through the chasm, and into the mortal realm.
--
Vivec could feel the awesome power of the oncoming force. But, like the Archmagister, he could not ascertain where it was. Vivec - Vivec the god, Vivec the honorable, Vivec the leader of all Dumner - Vivec did not know where the force came! Was it possible? Surely, this was a sign by the daedric lords to hint of his incomplete form. For he was neither daedra nor aedra, a fake god, made by the Tools of Kregnac, forged by Kregnac himself, and he was no god. Now, the true gods devised a way to taunt him. Surely, this must be it. He could not see, yet, and that was enough to doubt his powers.
What was happening? Vivec drew fear of this question, for he did not know. From where in Tamriel did this black cloud originate? Slowly, Vivec paced himself out of the altar in which he had stood in solace for centuries. Rarely did the peace of Morrowind demand his attention. The current government was satisfactory enough. Yes, Vivec could see the imperials speak amongst themselves to ascertain Morrowind's fate. He knew (he had known) what they'd say, what each individual soul and mind would come to think, and from all those small bits of information, he had been satisfied with what results they'd make. Now. now he felt mystery. There was no power left in his godly eyes that look everywhere at once yet remain nowhere.
No power. No power.
The words stung, even to a god it stung. Perhaps more so for a god than any mortal being. No power meant no immortality. No power meant no strength. It meant mortality. Perhaps, Vivec feared, he trembled - VIVEC TREMBLED? - when had it come to this point? He checked his senses. There were none. He checked his mind, it saw none. The gates to oblivion bolted before his eyes, limited to such degree were his eyes now, he could not see the daedra gods chanting amongst themselves. He knew nothing. Where was Molag Bal? Where was Marithea? Where was Methuen Dagon? He did not know.
And abruptly, for the first time in ages, he was reminded of a memory, of a time when he had been a young chimer... he lost his footing on the altar - and fell.
--
The Black Shalk Cornerclub was one of the larger bars in Vivec. It hid between its walls sometimes one to fifty thieves, hundred even for those mischievous days. Who knew? They'd all attest they were innocent, anyway. Sometimes, it was the place where plots were plotted, strategy between dissident factions planned, the administrations of dark might and power lied between two chairs facing each split by a table between each. So large was the Black Shalk that it spanned three stories in Vivec, although none knew, the third led a secret passage way to the fourth. The Commona Tong resided in the club; enough to lead people astray. That is, people who were vulnerable to threats and abuses. Decent people never came here. Everyone else, however, was welcomed, provided one carried a frightening weapon and a "don't mess with me or I'll send you to a place worse than hell and rape the rest of your family while I do it" look. The DMWMOISYTPWTH look. A daedric slang had a pedestrian guessed.
The looks on the bartenders' faces were all the same. This is a privileged bar. There are no rules except no vandalism. Brawling is acceptable if only one does not damage any tables or chairs. If you do, we will spill even more blood than that which you have wrought. Attack any of the bartenders and you will be punished, the inodori do not rule here, we do.
And all things being equal, one might have thought they were god. And so they were.
Rowan Raltha caught his fellow followers. Raising a cup, he gathered the faction within his long arms, which he then extended as a welcome. "Today is the day when all things end. And all things begin!"
Cheers.
"Today is the day when fire sprouts from the hell to burn all those who do not belong!"
Cheers. Chants.
And on and on he went with rhetorical nonsense that would have sent him to an asylum far away in a Telvanni tower if they'd accept him were it not for the listener's having the same thoughts in their heads. The time came for the perfect response to the cheer, as each participant raised a filled cup and junked it.
In the club, if one could not jug a cup, then one was not worthy of the club. But little did they know, the people who drunk from the tankards, that inside each was a living lifeform - Porphyric Hemophilia.
--
The next day, Dracor saw through his patients what looked like street brawls, bar brawls, brawls just the same. Cuts, lacerations, great large swollen bruises. Dracor administered several tests on them, seeing that they were rather serious.
One man, an Argonian with a swollen eye and blood on the skin, which looked horrible on that lathered hard bulbous skin, the blood seemed to trickle on the trenches of the bulbs, and it was hard to clean them, this Argonian said, or rather hissed, "Hurt me he did."
"How?"
"Bit me he did."
This was astonishing, thought Dracor. Never had he had a case where an Argonian was bitten. It was hard to bite an Argonian, much less puncture its hard skin. Dracor took a little bit of the greenish blood and ran some alchemical tests on it to make sure he wasn't infested with some odd blight disease. just in case, you don't know where these Argonians have been. The water's full of stuff. Seeing nothing, he put it on a shelf to dry. Afterwards, he'd administer even more tests to be certain.
"Where?"
"The pathways . Black Shalk."
"What were you doing there?"
"None of your bissinisss - finish the wound, docthor."
Dracor sighed. Argonian were like this. Traders, merchants, they liked to argue, to barter. When people spoke about how they didn't speak well, when they complained that they tried to tell this Argonian that it was fifty drakes not five, they did know that they had been tricked. Argonians spoke plenty, fluently, they only started hissing and mumbling things when they bartered, simply to irritate whomever they were bartering with and to give themselves a chance to procrastinate before they could think of something better to say. Then if that didn't work, they usually slithered their tong in that snakelike manner so near your eyes as if to make you cower back and scream, "Fine! Done deal. You happy?"
Yes, Dracor had his shares of Argonians. The cats were the same. The orcs weren't good barterers to begin with, so you didn't have to worry about them ripping you off. You did have to worry about the fist they might drive into your face before they took whatever they needed.
"It's done."
"Thank you, doctherrr."
Dracor watched as the Argonian walked in that weird Argonian gait until he disappeared. Thank the gods. He shook his head and moved to the next patient. A cat.
The same thing. A cut. Bitten. Some crazy female kitten had bit him, and although he kind of enjoyed it, he did feel it was bad to have such a cut loose on his skin.
Another blood sample. It was easier to wait until the blood dried to do his testing, but he did it anyway. It was good. "You're free to go."
This time the cat ran away. Damn cats. No manners. Worse than the snakes. He moved to the next patient. Huge green feet, thick ankle, great green swollen chest with plenty of lacerations. And a nose ring. An orc. Dracor groaned. You'd think a touch brute like this would be strong enough to take a beating and not have to go to the local doctor.
When had all these biting started? Dracor feared it, because it was similar to vampirism, except in vampirism one rarely got bit and got away with it. The people they said who bit them were harmless enough. Perhaps it was one of those new social initiation type things. People were daring each other more and more often now, maybe. Dracor pondered on that for a while before looking back at the blood samples.
--
Dracor sat near a female servant whose history has proved to be quite a flirter. She was dark skinned, a lovely red guard. But nevertheless, he held himself from all impulses to just grab her skirt, and if was a mighty short skirt for a nurse, and pull it down - rip it, the females like it when a doctor did that, it showed a sense of strength, which being a doctor one was predeemed as having all brains but no brawn. Knowledge and strength was tantamount in bringing beautiful women to the sack. The type of women who don't simply look for brute strength in an end to itself and a wide throat for drinking greef.
Dracor looked at the tests, now dried. The color appeared different now, with all the stuff he added to it, it better. All sixteen of the tests came out. Each had blue dots, orange coagulated purple swills. Some of them were yellow - YELLOW?
Suddenly, a thing struck him, which might have shocked another man into falling within the arms of the nearest cushion-breasted nurse. Yellow. The color yellow was a doomsday color. It usually meant another case of yellow to come. Very infectious, indeed.
He looked up yellow in the book. And saw that it eventually led to case of Perihelia, vampirism. This was bad. He looked at each of the samples. Yes, each contained small drops of yellow. Maybe it was time to find the nearest high-skirted nurse and hit the sack before it was too late?
--
Times change. Once, when a vampirism outbreak had emerged from the shadows, it had been stopped with the help of inodori armor and persistent treatment and a lot of slaying. Now with houses in disorder and everyone saying everyone else was a filthy traitor not worthy of any decent consideration, little luck could be sought after when it came to exterminating another epidemic. The problem with vampirism is that it fed on evil itself. It purposely broke the rules in whatever disease rulebook there was. Unlike other virulent strains of diseases which transferred itself every which way depending where the masses go, and if you were infested you usually contained yourself, this disease didn't do any of that. If you had it, all the more that you don't report it. Furthermore, it gave you a desire to feed on others.
All organisms, whether they are on the top or the bottom of the evolutionary scale, are always attempting to better their existence. One who has the best traits, live longer to reproduce, therefore the children have the same traits and they live longer to reproduce. Anything that has negative traits, are less probable to reproduce, being either that they have disadvantages that cause them to die, or disadvantages that make them less of a candidate of reproduction. We now know that those traits, which are favorable in the environment they are in, exist longer than those traits that are not suitable to the environment they are in.
So what happens, if, there exists organisms that has traits that take advantage of all the functions of other organisms? Such as we humans take advantage of cattle, so, what happens if there exists traits of another organism that takes advantage of us? And what, by god, happens if this organism lives not by the same way we live, but by an entirely different way; made by different things. Existing solely to take advantage of us. What happens if its values are different, its existence is different, and what happens, if this organism's manner of obtaining pleasure and improving its state of existence is by directly inflicting pain? What happens if this evil thing cannot be stopped, ever, and it continues to eat away like a parasite on a host? Then is it not like putting bacteria on a piece of candy?
The strain of Porphyric Hemophilia is such an organism.
--
Above, directly above one's head, you can see a moon towering overhead. Before it had been three; now, just one. What did it mean? It meant the other two were behind, blocked from view. Whatever energy a moon sent down to the ground, it was being magnified by the moon eclipsing it, becoming greater and greater until all of Tamriel felt the giant shudder of the energy quake.
It was such an unfortunate thing. If it were any other race, perhaps there'd be calm and quiet. But the moons centered on the dark elves and that meant havoc. And as the saying goes, Wood elves are the nature lovers, high elves are the mind trainers, and dark elves - well they are the smartest, the most romantic, but, hah!, they are also the destroyers of life eternal.
There would be pain wrought to this world, no doubt. It was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that all the magic in the world centered upon the city of Vivec, where many of the dark elves lived. Such a power given to one race could be seen as perhaps unfair to all other races. It would be, if the dark elves could control it.
But they cannot. And all that energy would eventually be channeled in ways no other race would think to. All that power eventually would have to take shape. But how? The dark elf's nature, a conglomeration of fire and promiscuity, would take the power and mold it into its own shape.
Little did they know that by night, Vivec would be known as the great cataclysm.
--
Savvin loved his wife. The newly weds had married on Heartfire day last month. Salvin peeked his head out of the window of the one room cornerhouse both bought. Although they were poor, both were naturally handsome, which meant long enduring fistfuls of physical romantic engagement. On the street they lived in, in Vivec, one could barely move fast lest one wished to slam into a carriage of some sort carrying valuable merchandise and an angry rider. That is to say, the alleyways were cramped, the houses were close. The perfect setting for a precarious accident.
Soon, Savvin noticed, for everyday at this time his wife would come emerge through the insular streets carrying fish and water. They loved fish, both of them. It was what made the two great and why they lived in Vivec, the water city. Of course, besides wondrous sex.
There she was! A slender bodied woman carrying a whicker basket through the streets of the poor section on St. Olms. A great looking woman she was. Savvin didn't know whether he was salivating because of the fish, which smell was foreboding the taste, or the voluptuous gal who carried it. Soon. So soon!
The door opened, the woman settled down the fish, and the couple engaged in a hug. The door closed.
Time to cook. Savvin had learned a quick little fire spell in his childhood days. It had never been dangerous before, for in order for it to get dangerous Savvin had to have enough channeling ability, which safe to say, he didn't to his great consternation. His mind bent onto the cooking pot, the smell of crisply burnt fish already jingling in his mouth. fast! Fast! Now! He concentrated and concentrated, the pot began to burn and great aroma of cooked slaughter fish incensed upon his nostrils. Life is good. And after he'd eat, he knew he'd do other things. He looked at his wife for a moment, back bent against him, tending to the clothe for the moment. Suddenly she bent forward, Savvin could see the tense buttocks of a working lady nearing towards him, closer and closer. Immediately, he remembered the look of her breasts as she bent forward, the way her breath smelled when as she moaned, the way her neck tasted salty sweat when she bit her lower lip at that one great point in life where all things are forgotten .
Savvin hadn't noticed it but she was twisting. Her cloth was intermixed with fire! She screamed a painful scream. The bed was aflame. Her body arched over and over on the bed to shake away. Savvin couldn't help but pay attention to his flaming wife, so he leapt towards her. Suddenly the fire burst on her skin, and the scream once painful now was excruciating and hideous. The closer he went, the more painful the scream became, until finally he stopped fearful to near her screaming molten corpse. What could he do?
No, no.!
He cried. Finally, the scream dulled into a moan, then a gasp as she her dead eye from her dead face glanced back at his horrified mouth. The body of his wife fell from the flaming bed and onto his feet. And then his feet were on fire! Water! Why hadn't he thought about water? Why had he neared his wife, because he cared that much??? How did it happen? He had concentrated on flaming the fish and. and the pan bursted behind him. A shattered fragment exploded into his skull and he fell limp within the burning inferno that once was a kitchen and a lover's crib. That last 'accident' was perhaps a merciful thing. it saved him from years of grief.
--
Fellow priestess Arulen knew something had come up when she felt the footsteps of her future husband Jiandar approach her door. A lot could be told from the sound of a person's footsteps. You could understand if they were anxious or if they were extremely depressed or if they happened to find a bag worth fifty thousands drakes. But for Jiandar, the normally calm Jiandar, to pounce about as if he were ready to leap into the waters surrounding the temple complex, seemed slightly amiss to her senses. She turned her head, in that sly feminine way she Jiandar loved. It always brought a smile to his face when she did that.
Jiandar appeared before her quarters, "Arial! Come on! The Archmagister has sounded the meeting. The ceremonies are about to begin!"
As Arulen followed Jiandar, she could sense he had hidden something from her. Something good perhaps.
Soon after, to Jiandar's surprise, they met another priest, who happened to be also unusually content for the occasion. Nevertheless, they smiled to each other abruptly and exchanged curious glances, then forwarded themselves to the large gathering hall where many of the disciples had already seated. In the midst of all the bantering was a tall conspicuous figure - the elderly Archmagister!
Jiandar and Arulen could only watch. They and the fellow they had met and a couple of other disciples were the only ones left standing in the populated hall. Jiandar's traveling all the way to the female quarters for Arulen had made them tardy to the beginning ceremonies. Archmagister resided in the front seat. And with the strike of a great gong, the ceremonies began.
"Welcome!" Said the Archmagister's usually booming voice. The room slowly died down. "As you know, we've all gathered upon this heavenly."
Arulen noticed that for many disciples, many were beaming, which was unusual since they were usually stoic, for after all, they had to be the most disciplined of priests trained in order to be trained at High Fane. She questioned her future husband, who was also in the same perspective. He looked soundly at the room then waved it all away. The ceremony was as usual, slow and suspenseful. Today, the future Archmagister was to be announced. It was about time, too, the elderly Archmagister appeared hazed and hoary and they had recently heard of his dreary health. This knowledge obviously sparked a rout among the trained disciples. Perhaps this was what each of them hoped for.
"For years, I have attended this great hall."
Arulen noticed something about this room. That, except for the torches which were already lit, and produced that flickering ambient light, the other torches were missing. The holders were still there, yet Arulen wondered about this odd happening, why would anyone take away the torches even if they were not needed? Furthermore, she considered the light in the room; it was slightly darker than usually, although she didn't have that much to reference to since she hadn't visited this hall often. Then, slowly, in the same one way can see a small difference if one's eyes remain stationary on one picture long enough, she caught a slight shadow falling on the floor far away. If there were people moving, they were in another hall - this, she supposed, shouldn't alarm her at first. After all, there tended to be people walking amongst those halls all the time. What did alarm her though, was the fact that those shadows lurked but never showed themselves. It was as if they were about to bring something of high importance, but not before it was announced.
Then, a feeling set in. She didn't know why or how but it did. The palm of her hand suddenly felt that queasy anxious feeling along with a small amount of sweat. Her stomach began to grumble. Her heart increased thrice in weight. The soles of her foot felt as if they were fatigued. That feeling. She knew, that feeling was the feeling of - an instinct told her - of something terribly wrong!
She tapped Jiandar quickly; an awkward jittering inside of her bade her to run. "Jiandar!" She whispered, voice heavy.
Jiandar took a second, which lasted a long time for her, "Hmm?"
"We have to go!"
Jiandar's smile abruptly dulled to a halt. "Now? No, not now. I can't leave on the day of my investiture."
"Your investiture?"
Jiandar's smile slowly appeared again. They knew each enough to know that Jiandar loved to hide the good news until the very end. "It's my ceremony, you know. I think you should give me a kiss before I receive my coronation."
Arulen's shudder suddenly increased threefold.
At that moment, the Archmagister's mouth uttered out the words, ".The office of Archmagister holds many responsibilities."
She looked at the Archmagister, then the waning shadows, then back at Jiandar, "We have to leave Now!"
"Quiet Arial. He's ready to announce -"
Arulen didn't know what made her take flight at that moment. It was part instinct, that much she knew, the other part she remained unknown. All she knew was that somewhere down deep inside her very soul, something there, something had pushed, forced her to leave, and now. She bolted for the door, passed it with fear of her soul's demise, shuddered at the point in which she outran the room, and sprinted past her room. She ran and ran and ran even while her heart seemed ready to spurt out with all the tension built within her. It didn't matter where she went, she felt, anywhere except there. Later, when the news had traveled about some disaster, she would remember two shadowy figures, almost out of the range of her eyes and her consciousness's detection, as she passed that first barrier.
Jiandar at that point glanced at the empty spot where her wife-to-be stood, and sighed heavily. She would miss this. Of all the things she would miss this. No one noticed her quick disappearance, for everyone's attention centered on the words leaving the Archmagister's mouth.
"Now, the time has come. I shall present the new head priest of High Fane, and the bearer of all the responsibilities therein."
Everyone breathed in one final breath.
"It shall go to all of you. All of you."
There was highly questionable murmur in the room. All of us?
I thought it had been me. Hadn't he said something to me, with a smile too foreboding to ask? I thought he meant - but this!
"Is this a joke, Father?" One of the disciples in the front role dared to ask.
The archmagister smiled; suddenly he seemed too old and frail to walk. "No, it is not. But in a way, yes it is. The truth? The truth is all of you will be canonized with a great responsibility. You will be transformed from here on to a greater destiny!" He laughed again, now a darkened laugh, "Your soul shall be changed for all of Tamriel!"
The murmuring erupted. Jiandar's head beated with blood. He had waited for this day so long, yet it wasn't him! Nor with it the unusually quiet girl, the bright one he remembered, what was her name? - Sierra, yes. It was not she, and for a while, he had been led to believe it was himself.
Suddenly, the doors bolted shut, as quick as Arulen had bolted away. A small tremor originated from the next hall. A tremor of numerous footfalls. But they were quiet, almost below the level in which they could have been heard. Indeed, a lot could be told from the way a person walked and the sound they made from their footsteps. He heard the tremor erupting, and he knew it accompanying it was the feeling - the feeling that Arulen had first felt not long ago, and still did feel - the feeling of something terribly amiss. And very wrong. Horribly wrong!
Shadows made their way through the floor, for Jiandar and the rest of the wailing disciples to see. Shadows accompanied by nothing - dead souls. It takes a long time for the eye to catch images of those whose souls have been struck dead. It took a long time, too, for them to see the dark figures of vampires with their fiery eyes and their sharp teeth. Predator teeth. The way they ran made Jiandar wish to scream, but he was too frightened to do anything but stare. Suddenly, he was aware that he had been pushed backwards, by someone in front of him with scared eyes - the same eyes Jiandar wished to express - were it not for his body lagging behind his mind! Screams pierced from the front, and as the uproar pushed itself to the back, and as each body fell mercilessly to the blood-soaked teeth, the doors remained closed. They were bolted shut from the outside.
Tiber's soul was by itself, trying to break away an insuperable barrier. It was as if his soul had dipped into a pool and was trapped, it was as if its hands were banging against the reflective crust of the water, that pale layer that gives back your reflection so you see nothing of the soul trapped inside the water. It was as if. His soul was trapped in a place where oblivion is not, nor was the mortal realm, but as in Kenil's dream, he was sent to a realm in between.
Yet it still remained in his body; trapped. Thus, his body was a dull, empty vessel made of only flesh and bones, his own flesh and bones an impermeable barrier.
Tiber limped through the room of mists. He could feel the shocks sizzling through the air but it made no difference to him whether he died here or later, for - of course - he had no soul. He walked through the room without care.
In front of him was a chasm wide enough to engulf the room. Tiber kneeled before the emerging figure within the chasm. He could hear something of a dark nature. A voice was sent from inner hell, a shadow twisted and turned upwards, slowly making its progress through the chasm, and into the mortal realm.
--
Vivec could feel the awesome power of the oncoming force. But, like the Archmagister, he could not ascertain where it was. Vivec - Vivec the god, Vivec the honorable, Vivec the leader of all Dumner - Vivec did not know where the force came! Was it possible? Surely, this was a sign by the daedric lords to hint of his incomplete form. For he was neither daedra nor aedra, a fake god, made by the Tools of Kregnac, forged by Kregnac himself, and he was no god. Now, the true gods devised a way to taunt him. Surely, this must be it. He could not see, yet, and that was enough to doubt his powers.
What was happening? Vivec drew fear of this question, for he did not know. From where in Tamriel did this black cloud originate? Slowly, Vivec paced himself out of the altar in which he had stood in solace for centuries. Rarely did the peace of Morrowind demand his attention. The current government was satisfactory enough. Yes, Vivec could see the imperials speak amongst themselves to ascertain Morrowind's fate. He knew (he had known) what they'd say, what each individual soul and mind would come to think, and from all those small bits of information, he had been satisfied with what results they'd make. Now. now he felt mystery. There was no power left in his godly eyes that look everywhere at once yet remain nowhere.
No power. No power.
The words stung, even to a god it stung. Perhaps more so for a god than any mortal being. No power meant no immortality. No power meant no strength. It meant mortality. Perhaps, Vivec feared, he trembled - VIVEC TREMBLED? - when had it come to this point? He checked his senses. There were none. He checked his mind, it saw none. The gates to oblivion bolted before his eyes, limited to such degree were his eyes now, he could not see the daedra gods chanting amongst themselves. He knew nothing. Where was Molag Bal? Where was Marithea? Where was Methuen Dagon? He did not know.
And abruptly, for the first time in ages, he was reminded of a memory, of a time when he had been a young chimer... he lost his footing on the altar - and fell.
--
The Black Shalk Cornerclub was one of the larger bars in Vivec. It hid between its walls sometimes one to fifty thieves, hundred even for those mischievous days. Who knew? They'd all attest they were innocent, anyway. Sometimes, it was the place where plots were plotted, strategy between dissident factions planned, the administrations of dark might and power lied between two chairs facing each split by a table between each. So large was the Black Shalk that it spanned three stories in Vivec, although none knew, the third led a secret passage way to the fourth. The Commona Tong resided in the club; enough to lead people astray. That is, people who were vulnerable to threats and abuses. Decent people never came here. Everyone else, however, was welcomed, provided one carried a frightening weapon and a "don't mess with me or I'll send you to a place worse than hell and rape the rest of your family while I do it" look. The DMWMOISYTPWTH look. A daedric slang had a pedestrian guessed.
The looks on the bartenders' faces were all the same. This is a privileged bar. There are no rules except no vandalism. Brawling is acceptable if only one does not damage any tables or chairs. If you do, we will spill even more blood than that which you have wrought. Attack any of the bartenders and you will be punished, the inodori do not rule here, we do.
And all things being equal, one might have thought they were god. And so they were.
Rowan Raltha caught his fellow followers. Raising a cup, he gathered the faction within his long arms, which he then extended as a welcome. "Today is the day when all things end. And all things begin!"
Cheers.
"Today is the day when fire sprouts from the hell to burn all those who do not belong!"
Cheers. Chants.
And on and on he went with rhetorical nonsense that would have sent him to an asylum far away in a Telvanni tower if they'd accept him were it not for the listener's having the same thoughts in their heads. The time came for the perfect response to the cheer, as each participant raised a filled cup and junked it.
In the club, if one could not jug a cup, then one was not worthy of the club. But little did they know, the people who drunk from the tankards, that inside each was a living lifeform - Porphyric Hemophilia.
--
The next day, Dracor saw through his patients what looked like street brawls, bar brawls, brawls just the same. Cuts, lacerations, great large swollen bruises. Dracor administered several tests on them, seeing that they were rather serious.
One man, an Argonian with a swollen eye and blood on the skin, which looked horrible on that lathered hard bulbous skin, the blood seemed to trickle on the trenches of the bulbs, and it was hard to clean them, this Argonian said, or rather hissed, "Hurt me he did."
"How?"
"Bit me he did."
This was astonishing, thought Dracor. Never had he had a case where an Argonian was bitten. It was hard to bite an Argonian, much less puncture its hard skin. Dracor took a little bit of the greenish blood and ran some alchemical tests on it to make sure he wasn't infested with some odd blight disease. just in case, you don't know where these Argonians have been. The water's full of stuff. Seeing nothing, he put it on a shelf to dry. Afterwards, he'd administer even more tests to be certain.
"Where?"
"The pathways . Black Shalk."
"What were you doing there?"
"None of your bissinisss - finish the wound, docthor."
Dracor sighed. Argonian were like this. Traders, merchants, they liked to argue, to barter. When people spoke about how they didn't speak well, when they complained that they tried to tell this Argonian that it was fifty drakes not five, they did know that they had been tricked. Argonians spoke plenty, fluently, they only started hissing and mumbling things when they bartered, simply to irritate whomever they were bartering with and to give themselves a chance to procrastinate before they could think of something better to say. Then if that didn't work, they usually slithered their tong in that snakelike manner so near your eyes as if to make you cower back and scream, "Fine! Done deal. You happy?"
Yes, Dracor had his shares of Argonians. The cats were the same. The orcs weren't good barterers to begin with, so you didn't have to worry about them ripping you off. You did have to worry about the fist they might drive into your face before they took whatever they needed.
"It's done."
"Thank you, doctherrr."
Dracor watched as the Argonian walked in that weird Argonian gait until he disappeared. Thank the gods. He shook his head and moved to the next patient. A cat.
The same thing. A cut. Bitten. Some crazy female kitten had bit him, and although he kind of enjoyed it, he did feel it was bad to have such a cut loose on his skin.
Another blood sample. It was easier to wait until the blood dried to do his testing, but he did it anyway. It was good. "You're free to go."
This time the cat ran away. Damn cats. No manners. Worse than the snakes. He moved to the next patient. Huge green feet, thick ankle, great green swollen chest with plenty of lacerations. And a nose ring. An orc. Dracor groaned. You'd think a touch brute like this would be strong enough to take a beating and not have to go to the local doctor.
When had all these biting started? Dracor feared it, because it was similar to vampirism, except in vampirism one rarely got bit and got away with it. The people they said who bit them were harmless enough. Perhaps it was one of those new social initiation type things. People were daring each other more and more often now, maybe. Dracor pondered on that for a while before looking back at the blood samples.
--
Dracor sat near a female servant whose history has proved to be quite a flirter. She was dark skinned, a lovely red guard. But nevertheless, he held himself from all impulses to just grab her skirt, and if was a mighty short skirt for a nurse, and pull it down - rip it, the females like it when a doctor did that, it showed a sense of strength, which being a doctor one was predeemed as having all brains but no brawn. Knowledge and strength was tantamount in bringing beautiful women to the sack. The type of women who don't simply look for brute strength in an end to itself and a wide throat for drinking greef.
Dracor looked at the tests, now dried. The color appeared different now, with all the stuff he added to it, it better. All sixteen of the tests came out. Each had blue dots, orange coagulated purple swills. Some of them were yellow - YELLOW?
Suddenly, a thing struck him, which might have shocked another man into falling within the arms of the nearest cushion-breasted nurse. Yellow. The color yellow was a doomsday color. It usually meant another case of yellow to come. Very infectious, indeed.
He looked up yellow in the book. And saw that it eventually led to case of Perihelia, vampirism. This was bad. He looked at each of the samples. Yes, each contained small drops of yellow. Maybe it was time to find the nearest high-skirted nurse and hit the sack before it was too late?
--
Times change. Once, when a vampirism outbreak had emerged from the shadows, it had been stopped with the help of inodori armor and persistent treatment and a lot of slaying. Now with houses in disorder and everyone saying everyone else was a filthy traitor not worthy of any decent consideration, little luck could be sought after when it came to exterminating another epidemic. The problem with vampirism is that it fed on evil itself. It purposely broke the rules in whatever disease rulebook there was. Unlike other virulent strains of diseases which transferred itself every which way depending where the masses go, and if you were infested you usually contained yourself, this disease didn't do any of that. If you had it, all the more that you don't report it. Furthermore, it gave you a desire to feed on others.
All organisms, whether they are on the top or the bottom of the evolutionary scale, are always attempting to better their existence. One who has the best traits, live longer to reproduce, therefore the children have the same traits and they live longer to reproduce. Anything that has negative traits, are less probable to reproduce, being either that they have disadvantages that cause them to die, or disadvantages that make them less of a candidate of reproduction. We now know that those traits, which are favorable in the environment they are in, exist longer than those traits that are not suitable to the environment they are in.
So what happens, if, there exists organisms that has traits that take advantage of all the functions of other organisms? Such as we humans take advantage of cattle, so, what happens if there exists traits of another organism that takes advantage of us? And what, by god, happens if this organism lives not by the same way we live, but by an entirely different way; made by different things. Existing solely to take advantage of us. What happens if its values are different, its existence is different, and what happens, if this organism's manner of obtaining pleasure and improving its state of existence is by directly inflicting pain? What happens if this evil thing cannot be stopped, ever, and it continues to eat away like a parasite on a host? Then is it not like putting bacteria on a piece of candy?
The strain of Porphyric Hemophilia is such an organism.
--
Above, directly above one's head, you can see a moon towering overhead. Before it had been three; now, just one. What did it mean? It meant the other two were behind, blocked from view. Whatever energy a moon sent down to the ground, it was being magnified by the moon eclipsing it, becoming greater and greater until all of Tamriel felt the giant shudder of the energy quake.
It was such an unfortunate thing. If it were any other race, perhaps there'd be calm and quiet. But the moons centered on the dark elves and that meant havoc. And as the saying goes, Wood elves are the nature lovers, high elves are the mind trainers, and dark elves - well they are the smartest, the most romantic, but, hah!, they are also the destroyers of life eternal.
There would be pain wrought to this world, no doubt. It was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that all the magic in the world centered upon the city of Vivec, where many of the dark elves lived. Such a power given to one race could be seen as perhaps unfair to all other races. It would be, if the dark elves could control it.
But they cannot. And all that energy would eventually be channeled in ways no other race would think to. All that power eventually would have to take shape. But how? The dark elf's nature, a conglomeration of fire and promiscuity, would take the power and mold it into its own shape.
Little did they know that by night, Vivec would be known as the great cataclysm.
--
Savvin loved his wife. The newly weds had married on Heartfire day last month. Salvin peeked his head out of the window of the one room cornerhouse both bought. Although they were poor, both were naturally handsome, which meant long enduring fistfuls of physical romantic engagement. On the street they lived in, in Vivec, one could barely move fast lest one wished to slam into a carriage of some sort carrying valuable merchandise and an angry rider. That is to say, the alleyways were cramped, the houses were close. The perfect setting for a precarious accident.
Soon, Savvin noticed, for everyday at this time his wife would come emerge through the insular streets carrying fish and water. They loved fish, both of them. It was what made the two great and why they lived in Vivec, the water city. Of course, besides wondrous sex.
There she was! A slender bodied woman carrying a whicker basket through the streets of the poor section on St. Olms. A great looking woman she was. Savvin didn't know whether he was salivating because of the fish, which smell was foreboding the taste, or the voluptuous gal who carried it. Soon. So soon!
The door opened, the woman settled down the fish, and the couple engaged in a hug. The door closed.
Time to cook. Savvin had learned a quick little fire spell in his childhood days. It had never been dangerous before, for in order for it to get dangerous Savvin had to have enough channeling ability, which safe to say, he didn't to his great consternation. His mind bent onto the cooking pot, the smell of crisply burnt fish already jingling in his mouth. fast! Fast! Now! He concentrated and concentrated, the pot began to burn and great aroma of cooked slaughter fish incensed upon his nostrils. Life is good. And after he'd eat, he knew he'd do other things. He looked at his wife for a moment, back bent against him, tending to the clothe for the moment. Suddenly she bent forward, Savvin could see the tense buttocks of a working lady nearing towards him, closer and closer. Immediately, he remembered the look of her breasts as she bent forward, the way her breath smelled when as she moaned, the way her neck tasted salty sweat when she bit her lower lip at that one great point in life where all things are forgotten .
Savvin hadn't noticed it but she was twisting. Her cloth was intermixed with fire! She screamed a painful scream. The bed was aflame. Her body arched over and over on the bed to shake away. Savvin couldn't help but pay attention to his flaming wife, so he leapt towards her. Suddenly the fire burst on her skin, and the scream once painful now was excruciating and hideous. The closer he went, the more painful the scream became, until finally he stopped fearful to near her screaming molten corpse. What could he do?
No, no.!
He cried. Finally, the scream dulled into a moan, then a gasp as she her dead eye from her dead face glanced back at his horrified mouth. The body of his wife fell from the flaming bed and onto his feet. And then his feet were on fire! Water! Why hadn't he thought about water? Why had he neared his wife, because he cared that much??? How did it happen? He had concentrated on flaming the fish and. and the pan bursted behind him. A shattered fragment exploded into his skull and he fell limp within the burning inferno that once was a kitchen and a lover's crib. That last 'accident' was perhaps a merciful thing. it saved him from years of grief.
--
Fellow priestess Arulen knew something had come up when she felt the footsteps of her future husband Jiandar approach her door. A lot could be told from the sound of a person's footsteps. You could understand if they were anxious or if they were extremely depressed or if they happened to find a bag worth fifty thousands drakes. But for Jiandar, the normally calm Jiandar, to pounce about as if he were ready to leap into the waters surrounding the temple complex, seemed slightly amiss to her senses. She turned her head, in that sly feminine way she Jiandar loved. It always brought a smile to his face when she did that.
Jiandar appeared before her quarters, "Arial! Come on! The Archmagister has sounded the meeting. The ceremonies are about to begin!"
As Arulen followed Jiandar, she could sense he had hidden something from her. Something good perhaps.
Soon after, to Jiandar's surprise, they met another priest, who happened to be also unusually content for the occasion. Nevertheless, they smiled to each other abruptly and exchanged curious glances, then forwarded themselves to the large gathering hall where many of the disciples had already seated. In the midst of all the bantering was a tall conspicuous figure - the elderly Archmagister!
Jiandar and Arulen could only watch. They and the fellow they had met and a couple of other disciples were the only ones left standing in the populated hall. Jiandar's traveling all the way to the female quarters for Arulen had made them tardy to the beginning ceremonies. Archmagister resided in the front seat. And with the strike of a great gong, the ceremonies began.
"Welcome!" Said the Archmagister's usually booming voice. The room slowly died down. "As you know, we've all gathered upon this heavenly."
Arulen noticed that for many disciples, many were beaming, which was unusual since they were usually stoic, for after all, they had to be the most disciplined of priests trained in order to be trained at High Fane. She questioned her future husband, who was also in the same perspective. He looked soundly at the room then waved it all away. The ceremony was as usual, slow and suspenseful. Today, the future Archmagister was to be announced. It was about time, too, the elderly Archmagister appeared hazed and hoary and they had recently heard of his dreary health. This knowledge obviously sparked a rout among the trained disciples. Perhaps this was what each of them hoped for.
"For years, I have attended this great hall."
Arulen noticed something about this room. That, except for the torches which were already lit, and produced that flickering ambient light, the other torches were missing. The holders were still there, yet Arulen wondered about this odd happening, why would anyone take away the torches even if they were not needed? Furthermore, she considered the light in the room; it was slightly darker than usually, although she didn't have that much to reference to since she hadn't visited this hall often. Then, slowly, in the same one way can see a small difference if one's eyes remain stationary on one picture long enough, she caught a slight shadow falling on the floor far away. If there were people moving, they were in another hall - this, she supposed, shouldn't alarm her at first. After all, there tended to be people walking amongst those halls all the time. What did alarm her though, was the fact that those shadows lurked but never showed themselves. It was as if they were about to bring something of high importance, but not before it was announced.
Then, a feeling set in. She didn't know why or how but it did. The palm of her hand suddenly felt that queasy anxious feeling along with a small amount of sweat. Her stomach began to grumble. Her heart increased thrice in weight. The soles of her foot felt as if they were fatigued. That feeling. She knew, that feeling was the feeling of - an instinct told her - of something terribly wrong!
She tapped Jiandar quickly; an awkward jittering inside of her bade her to run. "Jiandar!" She whispered, voice heavy.
Jiandar took a second, which lasted a long time for her, "Hmm?"
"We have to go!"
Jiandar's smile abruptly dulled to a halt. "Now? No, not now. I can't leave on the day of my investiture."
"Your investiture?"
Jiandar's smile slowly appeared again. They knew each enough to know that Jiandar loved to hide the good news until the very end. "It's my ceremony, you know. I think you should give me a kiss before I receive my coronation."
Arulen's shudder suddenly increased threefold.
At that moment, the Archmagister's mouth uttered out the words, ".The office of Archmagister holds many responsibilities."
She looked at the Archmagister, then the waning shadows, then back at Jiandar, "We have to leave Now!"
"Quiet Arial. He's ready to announce -"
Arulen didn't know what made her take flight at that moment. It was part instinct, that much she knew, the other part she remained unknown. All she knew was that somewhere down deep inside her very soul, something there, something had pushed, forced her to leave, and now. She bolted for the door, passed it with fear of her soul's demise, shuddered at the point in which she outran the room, and sprinted past her room. She ran and ran and ran even while her heart seemed ready to spurt out with all the tension built within her. It didn't matter where she went, she felt, anywhere except there. Later, when the news had traveled about some disaster, she would remember two shadowy figures, almost out of the range of her eyes and her consciousness's detection, as she passed that first barrier.
Jiandar at that point glanced at the empty spot where her wife-to-be stood, and sighed heavily. She would miss this. Of all the things she would miss this. No one noticed her quick disappearance, for everyone's attention centered on the words leaving the Archmagister's mouth.
"Now, the time has come. I shall present the new head priest of High Fane, and the bearer of all the responsibilities therein."
Everyone breathed in one final breath.
"It shall go to all of you. All of you."
There was highly questionable murmur in the room. All of us?
I thought it had been me. Hadn't he said something to me, with a smile too foreboding to ask? I thought he meant - but this!
"Is this a joke, Father?" One of the disciples in the front role dared to ask.
The archmagister smiled; suddenly he seemed too old and frail to walk. "No, it is not. But in a way, yes it is. The truth? The truth is all of you will be canonized with a great responsibility. You will be transformed from here on to a greater destiny!" He laughed again, now a darkened laugh, "Your soul shall be changed for all of Tamriel!"
The murmuring erupted. Jiandar's head beated with blood. He had waited for this day so long, yet it wasn't him! Nor with it the unusually quiet girl, the bright one he remembered, what was her name? - Sierra, yes. It was not she, and for a while, he had been led to believe it was himself.
Suddenly, the doors bolted shut, as quick as Arulen had bolted away. A small tremor originated from the next hall. A tremor of numerous footfalls. But they were quiet, almost below the level in which they could have been heard. Indeed, a lot could be told from the way a person walked and the sound they made from their footsteps. He heard the tremor erupting, and he knew it accompanying it was the feeling - the feeling that Arulen had first felt not long ago, and still did feel - the feeling of something terribly amiss. And very wrong. Horribly wrong!
Shadows made their way through the floor, for Jiandar and the rest of the wailing disciples to see. Shadows accompanied by nothing - dead souls. It takes a long time for the eye to catch images of those whose souls have been struck dead. It took a long time, too, for them to see the dark figures of vampires with their fiery eyes and their sharp teeth. Predator teeth. The way they ran made Jiandar wish to scream, but he was too frightened to do anything but stare. Suddenly, he was aware that he had been pushed backwards, by someone in front of him with scared eyes - the same eyes Jiandar wished to express - were it not for his body lagging behind his mind! Screams pierced from the front, and as the uproar pushed itself to the back, and as each body fell mercilessly to the blood-soaked teeth, the doors remained closed. They were bolted shut from the outside.