Just realized that in-story they're coming upon a new year. Hopefully, I reach that before the real-life New Year XP. A big thanks as always to the member of Team Oesah xTRESTWHOx and NaanContributor. You are both truly wonderful.
Chapter 80: Not Your Sacrifice
29th of Evening Star
While Yang led Lucky Day back into the Markarth stables, Fjotra had approached a large, rough-looking hound. Yang felt a bit of worry, but the girl had calmly held out her hand and let the dog come to her for the last stretch rather than run up to it like most kids might. With an inward sigh, Yang walked over to them both and kneeled down.
"You should be careful," Yang said. "I'd hate to tell the temple that their newest Sybil got eaten by a dog at the gate."
Apprehension grew when Yang smelled a whiff of the dog's breath. A nearly maternal instinct to pull the girl away from the hound rose up, but a man nearby walked over, catching her attention.
"No worries, lass. My dogs might be some of the best warhounds, but they'll only attack what their master wants." He patted the dog's head, and he looked up at the human happily.
"I guess he's bitten people before then?" Yang cautiously asked, and the man nodded.
"Only when I told him to," the man admitted proudly. "A well-trained dog, like my own, will keep off any beasts or savages you might run into out in the Reach. Thinking of purchasing one?"
"Hm, I'll have to get back to you on that. Got to talk it over with my partner."
With that, she headed back inside with Fjotra, escorting the young girl all the way to the Temple of Dibella while keeping an eye on anything that got too close.
"Miss Yang," the girl spoke up as they headed up the last set of stairs to the temple, "was something wrong with that man?"
"Hm, nah!" Yang replied, giving a short smile and waving her hand. Upon seeing Fjotra's raised eyebrow, however, Yang's smile faltered and she whispered, "Well… Maybe a bit. I smelled human blood on that dog's breath, and it kind of made me…antsy about them."
"He did say he trained Vigilance to fight people," Fjotra pointed out.
"Yeah, he did, but I'm talking…really recent." Yang shook it out of her head as she pushed open the door to the temple's main atrium. "Let's think about that later. Right now, we've got to introduce you to your new co-workers."
The two made their way towards the inner sanctum, Yang signaling for Fjotra to wait as she went in. The priestesses immediately began turning towards her with expectant faces, several of which fell when they saw that she was alone. Mother Hamal soon came forward, looking around Yang as if the Sybil might be hidden just behind her.
"You've returned, but you're alone," the woman noted, a cold look forming in her eyes. "Where's the Sybil of Dibella?"
"She's safe. I went to go find her, but it turned out she wasn't in Karthwasten."
"Well, if you found her, then all is well, yes?"
"Did something happen?" a young Redguard woman asked.
"It's fine. It's just that a group of Forsworn found her before I got there," Yang revealed, and a chorus of gasps sounded around the room.
"Forsworn?!" the mother gasped. "Is she all right?! Did they hurt her?!"
"Like I said, it's fine. It's just…well, they were after the same thing you were. They wanted the voice of their goddess."
At that, Hamal looked confused. A few of the priestesses looked back and forth among themselves, a few whispered questions being passed around. One near the front actually looked to be in deep thought about it.
"That can't be right," a Nord woman mumbled. "The Forsworn are Daedra worshippers!"
"Not exactly," Yang started, knowing it was going to be hard to get some people to accept what she had to say. "There's a few Daedra in their pantheon, yeah, but they also worship Kyne, Sheor, and Bella, which is their name for Dibella. They had a shrine with offerings set up and everything."
"Wait, so if they knew who the Sybil was…?" one woman began to contemplate.
"Well, they were pushing harder, I think," Yang told her. "Your Protocol-whatever was basically sitting in a circle and praying, right?"
"In an extremely simplified manner of speaking," Hamal confirmed.
"Yeah, he was using portents, potions, and other stuff. So, a lot more for the same result. But I don't think it's so cut and dry as you guys being, uh, well, favored." A few eyes widened in surprise and jaws dropped at her insinuation.
"How… How dare…!" someone began, incensed.
"I'm not done yet," Yang interrupted the one priestess' rage. "It took a lot of convincing to get those guys to see things my way. In fact, we had to pull the Goddess into it to decide things. But even then, it's not so simple. I just have to ask you all one simple thing: this temple is open to everyone, Reachfolk included, right?"
Hamal blinked a few times at the question. Before she could answer, a Nordic woman, different from the one from before, pushed her way to the front, snarling.
"Are you saying we have to start letting in those bloodthirsty-"
Yang's hand flashed out. At first everyone, including the one affected, thought she had thrown a punch, but she'd actually just cupped her hand over the yelling priestess' mouth to silence her. She was giving a neutral, expressionless stare, although her eyes had turned into a crimson red.
"Look, if you don't want your Sybil, just say so," Yang suggested.
The woman backed away, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, and looked at her like she was insane. "Are you mad?! Of course we want her!"
"Then tell that to your Reachman Sybil."
At her cue, Fjotra stepped into view. Most of the collected women gasped at the sight of her. Normally, she could have passed for a Breton, but her current style of dress erased that illusion. She wore what was a more traditional garment for a middle mountain tribe such as the Blind Cliff or her own ancestors, leather and flax with red symbols of Bella dyed onto it. Melka had done fine work making it in just a single night, and even threw on some protective enchantments. It got them more than a few looks walking in, but with her just being a child and Yang looking like an almost ideal Nord warrior woman, they weren't often given a second glance.
"It's her," Hamal muttered. "The Sybil of Dibella." As the Mother Priestess approached the young girl, Yang looked back to the woman who she'd cut off.
"Sorry about interrupting you earlier. You wanna finish the thought?"
A glare and grumbles were her only answers.
Happy to have a mess and then some behind her, Yang walked out of the temple with her head held high. The priesthood had agreed to never bar the Reachfolk from entering the temple to worship. She didn't even have to mention the fact that she and more than a few others knew who the Sybil was and were more than willing to spread that information to shame the temple for double-standards.
Yang wasn't sure if she would have done that. It seemed more likely to hurt Fjotra at the end of the day than the temple itself. Of course, anyone who would have done that would have had hell to pay from the Temple of Dibella, any fervent worshippers of the Goddess (which included at least one order of knights), and the Reachfolk at large, especially the Forsworn. So perhaps she was safer than quite a few of her predecessors in that regard.
As Yang entered the room at the inn, the first thing she noticed was the lack of Blake. The second thing was a note on the bed that she quickly read to herself.
Yang,
If this reaches you before I return, I had to go outside of Markarth and do something real quick. I can't say what on paper like this, but I promise I can explain as soon as I get back. It shouldn't take more than a day, so don't worry.
Blake.
'Huh, what could she be doing?'
Yang thought before tossing the paper back down and heading back outside. Without Blake to hang out or plan their next move with, she essentially had an unknown amount of free time to herself. There was still some worry, as Blake's track record of being alone was probably the spottiest of all of them, but nothing said 'distrust' like taking off after someone the moment they go to do something on their own.
'Wait until tonight to start worrying,' she told herself as she headed out into the streets. The smell of human blood hit her nose, from more than a few directions in fact. There was some coming from the industrial sector, where her vantage point let her see the crowd there that had gathered near one of their water mills. Likely an accident then. Another came from the market, which could have been anything, but the more concerning one was coming from the residential district.
Yang quickly jogged her way towards the area where most homes were set, either old Dwemer buildings likely made for the same purpose or housing built atop them later, and followed her nose to the scent of blood. The house in question was on the bottom level, just next to one of the canals running through the city. She pushed the bronze door open and the scent became even stronger.
As she entered the dwelling, the lights within seem to grow dim and cast sinister shadows across the room. She morphed her wolf ears out and continued following the trail in the air, fists readied to take on whatever might decide to jump out at her.
"A strong dog has followed the trail." A booming, deep voice called out, not to her ears, but from within her mind. "Come then, mutt. Show your fangs."
Yang growled. This was beginning to feel like it was a bit more than she'd bargained for, but there was no turning around now. If something this metaphysical was involved, then it might be more than lives at stake.
At the back of what looked like a storeroom, Yang found where someone or something had dug down into the stone. She headed in, eyes peeled even as the evil light worked against her vision and nose leading her on. She started picking up a sound like metal impacting flesh followed by grunts of pain.
"Weak," the voice said. "He's weak. Pitiful. Disgusting. But you're strong. Crush him!"
Yang stopped as she entered a hollowed-out cavern where two men were. One of them was trapped within a circle of several razor-sharp bars protruding from the floor at the center with a shrine before it, a monstrous face leaking red liquid from its mouth into a basin below. The other man held up a rusty mace, looking ready to bring it down on the already battered and lacerated back of the other. He looked over at Yang with bloodstained eyes just as the werewolf noted his robes.
"Wait, you're a Vigilant," she muttered in surprise before recalling the warning Senna gave her the other day. "Oh."
"Kill him!" the voice commanded. "Kill her! Kill or be killed!"
"Not going to die," the corrupted Vigilant ground out. "Not after coming this far!"
He raised the mace and tried to bring it down on Yang, but she easily caught it by the handle and held it still. The man tried to rip it from her grip, but when he saw that she wasn't so much as budging even with all of his strength, terror began to sink into his being, showing itself on his face.
Wordlessly, Yang grabbed the back of the mace with her other hand, brought it down, and smashed it into his face. His nose was broken and bleeding on the first hit, but he still held on and tried to desperately pull it from her grasp. She smashed it against him again, breaking skin in several places, but still, he clutched it.
"Lord Bal!" he called out, gurgling through blood leaking into his mouth. "Lord Bal, help me to strike this foe down!"
The evil voice that Yang now had a name for laughed darkly at the man's desperate plea. The woman felt a cold shiver pass through her at the sound.
"A weak slave like you doesn't deserve help."
"But- But I've served you faithfully! I've done everything you've commanded!"
"Like the weak, pathetic slave you are. You have merely slain other weakling pests. Yet the moment a strong beast confronts you, you falter." The voice continued to laugh at the man's pitiful cries, making even Yang feel sorry for the twisted mortal.
The trapped man in dark robes harrumphed at his tormentor's situation. "Just so, you fool!" he groaned out. "Molag Bal does not reward the weak who look to him for strength, no matter how much you do in his name. You've only proven your weakness."
Yang sighed at that. Even the prisoner who had been beaten bloody was laughing at the state Bal's servant was in. Just as she was trying to think of what to do about the whole thing, the Vigilant grabbed a dagger from his side and jabbed it into Yang's wrist. While her armor helped to keep it from going deep, the tip of the dagger sliced into her skin.
"Shit!" she screamed as she flung her arms out, smashing open the man's head with the mace she held. She cursed further under her breath while the voice laughed even louder then pulled the dagger out from between the two scales that caught it.
"Damn Soul Trap enchantment," she ground out. Of course the Molag Bal worshipper had a Soul Trap-enchanted weapon. Actually, it was barely a weapon. It was just an ornate ritual dagger, only good for killing something already tied down and helpless. Still, she tossed the weapon away, hearing it clatter against the stone floor.
"So weak as to be killed by your twitching," the voice of the Daedric Prince rang out. "Yes, you are strong. But you could be stronger. Bow before me, take my mace, and show me that you can be strong enough to beat the resistance out of Boethiah's faithful."
"Hm, I've got a better idea." Yang then took the mace and hooked it around one of the giant razors before pulling. The protrusion bent back, unable to resist her strength. She did the same with another, giving the older man within just enough room to get out of the trap. She could sense Molag's displeasure like an acrid taste in the air. It soon disappeared, though, replaced by a sense of amusement.
"You might not give in today, but you will. I have all the time in the world to get that soul of yours."
"Really, it's more just the rest of my life," Yang told the dark god, her fear being kept at bay by the need to one-up someone with such a cocky attitude. "Werewolf, Hunting Grounds, all that."
"You can think that. But even so, I have something precious of yours. Your dear friend will always be one of my daughters. I will make sure of it."
Yang's eyes bled over into red as the light smirk on her face shifted into a snarl.
"You know, I was going to drop this bloody thing and just leave, but now…" Yang took the mace in her hand and smashed it against the face of the shrine. The displeasure was back, but now Yang just smiled at it. "Oh, didn't like that? How about this?!" she asked as she brought it down on the basin, sending the red not-blood scattering and cracking it all the way through. She then stuck the mace within it and started summoning flames into her hands.
"Hey, I got an idea! It's a fun little game I like to call 'how hot can I make it in here?'" With that, Yang released the fire onto the shrine, gritting her teeth as she concentrated it to be as hot as she could make it. The metal slowly began to turn red, then orange, then it began to slough.
Quickly putting on the Helm of the Unburned, Yang began to release fire in every direction. The Firestorm was joined by yet more concentrated flames that she focused on melting the shrine and trap. The cave began to shake as the fire blasted into its walls and ceiling, rocks coming loose and falling into the inferno focused upon the Huntress. At the same time, she could hear infernal screams of indignant rage in the background, telling her that she was getting the reaction she wanted.
As the profane fixtures were finally reduced to puddles of slag, Yang ceased the streams of flame and began throwing spinning fireballs throughout the cave, making sure to tighten them as much as she could before sending them on their destructive paths. Each one dug into earth and stone like a flaming drill, tearing loose the entire cavern and sending tons of rock and dirt down. Yang leaped out before she could be buried and let the magic spells go with just barely any magicka left. As she made to exit the dwelling, she saw the man who had been a prisoner of the fallen Vigilant waiting in the foyer and stopped.
"Hey, didn't get your name earlier," she said to him while brushing off some smoldering rubble from her shoulders. "Name's Yang."
"Logrolf, the Willful, a priest of Boethiah," he answered curtly, before grimacing in pain. "Never has that title proven to be more true before this day. Even as I was beaten to death, I refused to submit to the King of Corruption. But the Hated One merely brought me back for his servant to start on all over again..." The old man's eyes turned haunted despite himself, and Yang grasped for a distraction.
"Nice to meet you! Sorry if I got a little heated back there."
Yang put on a smile, amused at her pun while Logrolf merely groaned and shook his head, but at least it stopped him from dwelling on his ordeal.
"Don't make me regret this," he grumbled while pulling something from his robes. "Look to this when you have the time. And there's a place you may wish to visit. Look to the mountain overlooking Windhelm. Come to the Sacellum of Boethiah when the time is right. I think one who has bloodied the face of their greatest enemy among the Daedric Princes could be worthy of their attention."
"Oh, uh, thanks man. Need any help with your back?" she asked, remembering the state he was in when she found him.
"I will tend to it on my own. I must continue on my ventures. May your arms stay strong, friend."
"Thanks," she responded as he made to leave the house. Yang looked the tome over and chuckled. "That's three offers to join a cult in one day. At least Dibella just had me drink some holy water."
Blake quickly stumbled her way back into Markarth and to the inn, hardly looking up as she did. Once she dropped her stuff in the room, she headed straight downstairs to the bathrooms. Shivers had gone through her bones and it felt like something had been crawling along her skin for hours now. Eola had gotten her assistance with clearing out her 'feasting area' of draugr, which Blake had tried to focus on. The act of slaying the undead creatures was calming in that regard, and she justified her assistance by figuring it was best to kill the undead creatures before they killed anyone else, though the stray comments of how draugr 'aren't any good for eating' kept her from completely escaping the reality of what she was doing. The shrine at the main chamber only further sank the cold facts into her skull. Its revolting iconography, shape, and the old stains that Eola seemed proud to show her only served to sicken Blake further.
Now the Faunus had another task, but this one she was certain she could never do. Eating human flesh was one thing, but leading a man to the slaughter for the purpose of being eaten was another entirely. Both were repulsive, but the latter was especially heinous.
Bathing at least seemed to be calming her nerves somewhat. Soap and water were helping her to feel at least a little clean again and the running water system fed by Dwemer pipes allowed her to run it over her until her thoughts were stifled, if not silenced. Just when she'd thought about leaving before she fell asleep in the tub, the door opened to reveal her partner walking in, only wearing a white towel wrapped around her.
"Thought I smelled ya in here," Yang said before throwing off her towel onto a rack. Blake blushed a moment, then turned away and waited as the blonde joined her, plopping down with a sigh. "You will not believe the day I had!"
"I probably will," Blake muttered, not sure what could be unbelievable at this point after all they'd been through since they arrived in Skyrim.
"I pretty much smacked Molag Bal in the face," Yang admitted as she wet her hair.
The Faunus blinked at that and looked over at Yang curiously. She then replied, "I trust it'd be better with context, but still, I can almost see it."
"Yeah, it was actually just a shrine," Yang clarified, then smirked and held up her fist. "But I smashed it and melted it while the dick himself was trying to convince me to join him."
"You- Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince, was trying to…recruit you?" Blake asked with great incredulity.
"Yep," she answered with a pop. "Oh yeah, also killed that Vigilant gone bad. He was there. Stopped him from beating a Priest of Boethiah to death. Got another invite. Probably can't accept it, though. I'm an Agent of Dibella, now. You missed out on that part at least. I think you would have found the Forsworn I met while getting the Sybil interesting, and the Temple's vision made it sound like we were supposed to do that together, now that I think of it."
Blake shook her head. "If you say so."
She took in a deep breath and began flicking her ears around, listening for anything that may be approaching. No one was coming towards the baths, which made sense as it wasn't the usual time for bathing for most people. Her thoughts making her guts twist again, Blake looked to her partner and tried to find the right words to explain to her what was going on. By now, Yang had begun to notice that something was disturbing Blake, and she was looking at her with a raised, concerned eyebrow.
"Yang," Blake began to ask, "what if I had something…horribly, awfully…terrible in my past? Something…unforgivable?"
"Is this about your time in the White Fang?" Yang asked as she leaned back against the side of the tub. "I don't think you've done anything unforgivable. There's a pretty small number of things like that."
"Like what?"
"Like, I don't know, killing a small child and laughing about it. Real evil shit. Like that Isael chick."
"Isael," Blake repeated lowly. Nowhere in that accursed woman's journals had there even been a mention of her tasting sapient meat. The crimes she did describe herself committing, however, were far, far worse. If there had been a page where she talked about eating someone's flesh, it probably wouldn't have stuck out against all of the horrible atrocities she did solely for her entertainment. In fact, if it was in there, Blake would have completely forgotten it.
"Yang, I… Something came up recently and…I think I remember something I wish I had forgotten completely." Her partner was paying attention, obviously taking whatever Blake had to say very seriously. The Faunus gulped and tried to find the words to begin.
"Do you…remember the winter of Seventy-five?"
"Oh yeah, wasn't that the second coldest winter in recorded history?" Yang recollected then grimaced. "Yeesh, I remember everyone having to wear thick coats normally made for Solitas weather and all the heaters running full blast all the time. It was so cold, trees around our house exploded." She blinked a few times, then asked, "Something happened then?"
Blake nodded. "We were…in northern Anima at the time, at the Lung's Head mountain range. The team I was with got separated from the main group during a snowstorm, but we happened across an old hermit's cabin." Blake frowned as her ears drooped. "He didn't want us there, but between the storm and the fact we outnumbered him, it was partly his conscience, partly coercion. We were only going to stay until the storm passed, but…it took a long time.
"He had maybe two months' worth of food for himself, but shared between six adults and two teenagers, it didn't last nearly as long. Even stretching it out, we barely made it more than a week. The storm kept going in and out, letting up only long enough for us to go out and realize we couldn't hope to make it anywhere. The second week we were going hungry, trying to scrounge up whatever we could from the wilderness, but it wasn't enough. Some of them started going on hunting trips, but they kept coming back empty-handed." Blake shut her eyes tight and gulped at what was to come up next while Yang patiently waited for her to continue.
"I went to sleep hungry, but when I woke up, the others were cooking up some meat. I'd never eaten something so readily before, but it was only after that first meal that I realized the old hermit was nowhere to be found. I asked, but they just said he went hunting. We were there another two weeks before we were able to leave and link up with the rest of the White Fang in the area, barely kept alive by that meat." Blake hugged her knees to her chest, feeling her guts spinning once again and her head growing light.
"I didn't even remember it until last night!" she cried as tears welled up. "I…I knew what it…had to be, but I just ignored it! I let myself forget about it! If…that woman hadn't reminded me…"
Blake felt hands grab her and let herself go limp as she was pulled into a hug by Yang. She sat still for a moment, then wrapped her own arms around her partner and settled her eyes onto her shoulder. The two stayed embraced for a long moment before separating, Blake wiping her eyes as they did.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Yang insisted. "Look, I don't know if you haven't noticed, but I've bitten more than a few chunks out of people, so I'm the last person who can judge you."
"Yang, that's completely different."
"Yeah, you're right. I've gobbled up arms, legs, and organs because I didn't hold myself back. You maybe ate someone to keep from starving to death."
"No, I mean-"
"Blake, look at me," Yang demanded while lifting the Faunus' chin to meet her eyes. "Whatever you did or think you did, it doesn't matter. You're not evil because you might have eaten some long pork to avoid death. There's literally a whole culture that does that a couple countries to the south and no one's… Well, most people don't call them evil for it. Besides, for all you know they told the truth and you were eating some venison or boar or something."
Blake looked away, thinking back to that time five years ago that seemed like a ghost of a memory.
"I can't even remember what it tasted like," she admitted after a few moments.
"So don't focus on it. Don't worry about it. It's all in the past."
"I would, but… There was a woman. She figured it out."
"I'm sorry," Yang interrupted her. "What?"
"A woman named Eola," Blake explained. "I was searching around for clues about the Silver-Bloods, and ended up being asked by a Priest of Arkay to investigate why some corpses in the Hall of the Dead were...eaten. That's where I found her. She's a cannibal, and…she knew about my past."
"Uh, Blake, how is that even possible?" Yang asked while narrowing her eyes. "People here can't exactly talk to folks we've grown up around, and if they could, I think they'd have something a little more important to focus on."
"I'm not sure, but…I think it has something to do with Namira." Blake added. "She seemed very connected to her."
"Oh yay, more Daedra," Yang sarcastically cheered. "I guess it wasn't as simple as telling her off?"
"She… I was confused. She acted like we were kindred spirits, talking about how she understood me, how she would help me. I was just kinda going with it. Nothing felt right, but at least it seemed like a direction to head towards." Blake sighed. "I thought it was just helping to clear out the tomb they use to…'feast', but then she asked me to bring Brother Verulus, the Priest of Arkay, for them to eat."
Yang hissed in a breath. "Yeah, sounds like I came back in time."
"I- I wasn't-"
"No, I know you weren't. You were starting to lock up." Yang put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in, with the haunted girl finding no reason not to lean into the comforting warmth. "But still, there's likely a bunch of cannibal cultists led by this woman waiting on you to bring them some fresh meat, right? And you know where they're meeting?"
Blake nodded, and Yang grinned.
"Then it's pretty simple! We go to the authorities!"
"A Namira Cult? In this city?!" Legate Emmanuel Admand shouted with indignation. Brother Verulus looked shocked to his core at the revelation while the captain of the guard looked nearly as incensed as the legate.
"You didn't say anything before," Verulus said and pointed at Blake. She started thinking of how to apologize when Yang spoke up for her.
"She had to investigate to see how far it went, and that's why we've come up to you guys now." She then pointed at the priest. "They wanna eat this guy. I don't know why exactly, but the ringleader asked her to bring him tonight. We can assume most or maybe even all the members of the cult will be there."
"You're sure they could get the message out that quickly?" the legate asked her, to which she nodded.
"Not my first time hitting one of these cults. They've set up something to get word around quickly and secretly, whether magic or mundane, I guarantee it. And with how weirdly fanatical people like them can be, they'll be scrambling to attend."
"And we can wipe them out," the guard captain muttered darkly. "Legate Admand, I can get a few men together to back up whatever soldiers you can spare, but they're just guards at the end of the day. We'll need some frontliners for this."
"We'll have them. I'll not let some murderous cannibal cult live so long as I can swing a sword." The Bretonnic man scowled then looked towards the two Huntresses. "What of you two? You said you have experience. Will you help us with this?"
"Sure," Yang answered instantly. "I was gonna invite myself along anyways."
"I should see it through," Blake calmly accepted. The Legate seemed to squint at her, making her nerves act up and a certain voice practically sing about pre-emptive murder as he seemed to measure her up.
"Now I remember why you seem familiar. Shadowkiller. I should've realized sooner." The soldier nodded and crossed his arms. "Looks like you're still going around and weeding out the worst things in the dark."
Blake could only sigh in relief as the others all looked at her with a little awe. "I guess my reputation precedes me."
"Wait, I think I read about her in a report," the guard captain grumbled as he scratched his chin in thought. "Aren't you with the Penitus?"
"I've worked with them," she admitted, "but I'm not directly in their employ."
"Good enough for me. Damn cult won't know what hit them."
"Right, so that's a game plan," Yang began as she looked around. "We can go in with Verulus to act as bait."
"Wait, bait?" the priest asked in surprise and a little nervousness.
"Sure. They wanna eat you, so if you're there, they'll all gather around the dinner table with their mouths watering. Perfect distraction for the boys in red to close in on them."
"Ah, I see," Verulus slowly replied, his nervousness not decreasing one bit. "I suppose that could work. Can I count on you to…keep them from starting?"
"Absolutely," she guaranteed him. "They'll be dead or arrested before they can pick up a fork."
"Dead, actually," the legate corrected her. "Mortal sacrifice for the purpose of consumption carries the death penalty and is punishable by summary execution. And I can't have us getting bogged down with trying to drag some bone-biters to Cidhna Mine, all just to slate them for gallows they'll never make it to because the other prisoners decided to put a pick in their skull."
"…Fair enough. Thinking about it, I never took any alive before, either."
"Which is only proper. I'll prepare my men. Captain, do the same, but quietly and only those you trust completely. We can't discard the possibility a few in the guard might be a part of the cult."
"Gods damn it, I hate that you're right. I'll do so."
The legate nodded, then turned towards the others and declared, "Ladies, Brother Verulus, prepare yourselves. We'll go over the signals and codewords soon, so don't worry."
"No problem. Sooner we crash this party, the better," Yang told him.
"I just want it over with," Blake confided.
"I'm sure we all do, but there's got to be some bloody conflict before we can have some peace." With that, Emmanuel headed off to make preparations. The Huntresses stood for a moment before turning to Brother Verulus who seemed to be looking at the floor in deep thought.
"I just don't understand," he admitted while spreading his arms out slightly. "Why me?"
"You want me to tell you that you look juicy and tender?" Yang cheekily asked, to which the priest balked.
"N- No! Not like that."
"Okay, then I won't." At that, the priest only whimpered.
Once Blake scoped out both entrances to the tomb, she came back to the gathered forces and nodded.
"It's all secure," she told the legate. "Anyone that was going in is already inside."
"Then that means they're ripe for the slaughter," Emmanuel said before placing his helmet upon his head. "We'll move into place once you've headed inside. Battlemage Ingri will be scrying from that circlet to let us know what's going on inside."
"Still can't believe you guys have magical body cams," Yang commented as she adjusted the gold and diamond circlet on her head.
"Body what?" the legate asked in confusion.
"Terminology from our homeland," Blake told him. "Basically the same thing."
"Right. Well, are you ready, Brother Verulus?" he asked the priest.
"I'm ready to do my part," Verulus said, a little shaky but otherwise ready. He looked over at the two Huntresses with pleading eyes. "Please don't let them eat me."
"Hey, we've got you," Yang reassured him while flashing a thumbs up. "Unless they've got a secret dragon, there's nothing in there we couldn't kill with one hand tied behind our backs."
"So why are we here?" a grumpy soldier asked, receiving a glare from his superior officer.
"While these ladies could likely handle them, there are bound to be runners. We are here to make sure no one slips out and dodges the Empire's justice and lives to feed on its innocent citizens another day."
As the legate prepared to chew out his subordinate, Yang, Blake, and Verulus headed into the crypt's entrance that led to the shorter path. The priest was nervous, and even Blake felt her guts tightening as they entered. The draugr's bodies had been cleared away, a pile of ash being all that remained of them, and now the massive stone table was filled with people. Eola was waiting near the room's doorway, smiling as she saw them enter.
"Who… Who are you?" Verulus shakily asked the ringleader.
"Priest of Arkay, I'm your friend," Eola told him with a sweet voice.
"You're my…friend," Verulus repeated, his earlier fear seemingly dissipating. Blake looked back at him, surprised at the quick switch of gears. A look into his eyes showed, however, that the priest was unfocused, like he was in a trance.
"Yes. I'm your friend, and I've invited you to dinner," Eola continued.
"I've been invited to dinner… I'm so hungry…" Verulus droned, and it took all that Blake and Yang had not to show their concern.
"Why don't you lie down and rest while we get the meal ready?" she suggested as she gestured towards the grotesque altar at the head of the room.
"I need to lay down. I'll just be a minute," he said while walking towards to the altar. Eola watched him go with a smile, then turned towards the two Huntresses.
"I see you've brought a friend," she noted while looking over Yang.
"Yeah, I'm the more talkative one," Yang told her with a smile. "So, do we divvy him up, or does everybody wait for the parts to be split up evenly?"
"Normally, the newest member is the first to take their choice. Since you seem to be joining as well, I suppose you can share this first taste of our main course."
Yang nodded at that, but Blake's mind was running a mile a minute and halfway in circles. She thought back to the time at Lung's Head, trying to remember why they were there, when they got there, who was with her, and any other number of details. Nothing was really forthcoming, and she couldn't explain it all away with repressed memories. There should have been names at least, not just blurry faces. She spent a month isolated with those people; she should have remembered something about them.
"Hey, aren't you the guy with the warhounds?"
"Yeah. Oh, I remember you. You came into Markarth this morning with a Forsworn girl. Still thinking over getting one of my dogs?"
"Yeah, hadn't talked it through yet. Gotta convince my partner. She's not a big fan of dogs, you know what I mean?"
Neither Adam nor Ilia were there, and she was certain she was always at the side of one or the other, if not both, at all times in those days.
"Lisbet, I'd have never guessed!"
"Well, I do try to keep up appearances. Did you know I inherited the store from my late husband? Shame what happened to him." The woman smiled at that. "He had such good taste."
If they had been up there for a penal mine, she would have remembered it. She made a point to always remember the terrible things that her people were put through for petty crimes and railroaded cases.
"You guys look like necromancers."
"We are necromancers."
"Oh, so do you play with your food or do you keep it separate?"
Eola's manipulation of Verulus was far too similar to the mnemonic magics she had become familiar with thanks to her work with M'rissi.
"Ready to take the first bite?" Eola asked as they approached the altar.
Blake had to fight herself to keep her rage from showing as she remembered the times when Mercer had manipulated her emotions for his own gain.
"Sure, just give us a second to sharpen our blades," Yang recited their code phrase, signaling the Imperial soldiers to charge in. Positioned right next to the priest, they were ready to defend him against anything the cultists might do. After a few seconds, everyone began to hear the clacking of boots against stone, the dinner guests jumping to their feet in surprise and Eola looking confused at what was going on.
"You used me," Blake whispered darkly as she drew the Ebony Blade. The ringleader turned around, looking at her with fear. "You lied to me!"
"Now…let's not get-"
Blake didn't listen. She just roared and charged.
Weiss received the crate holding the bag of Unmelting Snow almost as soon as she reached Windhelm, with the briarheart fruits already waiting inside her manse with Calder. With each ingredient in hand, Weiss headed towards the White Phial as midnight grew close, hoping that she had made it in time. Quintus was behind the counter when she entered, looking through an old tome with a few samples of dried plants spread before him. He looked up as the woman entered, then set the book away when he saw who it was.
"You're back," he calmly stated. "Were you able to gather everything?"
"Yes," she answered while setting down the two sacks and a pair of briarhearts. Quintus took one of the fruits in hand and looked it over then checked a pinch of both powders from each bag.
"I'll get started right away. Please, close the shop," he requested before practically throwing his keys onto the counter, which Weiss took and used to lock the door behind her.
The man quickly took all the ingredients over to an alchemy table and began spooning out measurements of both the snow and tusk powder into beakers. One of the briarhearts was quickly pulped and ground down, the juices poured into the tusk powder and mixed in while the meat was drained as much as it could be and then thrown in with the snow. The tusk powder was stirred while heated, becoming a viscous liquid that held a pinkish glow. While it was left to heat on a magically-fueled Bunsen burner, Quintus got to work on the Unmelting Snow, chopping and dicing the juiced fruit flesh until it was as fine as he could conceivably cut it. Then he ground it further with a mortar and pestle before dumping and mixing it back into the snow. Weiss noticed how the two substances seemed to bond and paid attention to the mystical weave of things. The magic was different than what she was used to, and whatever surrounded the snow was closer to the enchantments of the Dragon Priest masks, but they were somehow connecting and reinforcing each other.
Quintus then took out a large, corked vial from a shelf and opened it up. Whatever liquid was inside, it fumed out the moment it was exposed to air. Even halfway across the room, Weiss nearly gagged at the foul stench, but Quintus seemed unaffected. He poured some into the beaker holding the mammoth tusk mixture, then quickly corked it back and stirred while adding in the snow half. The two pink concoctions began to bubble as they mixed, turning into an angry red, but then slowly shifting to black then grey. The color began to lighten so much that Weiss thought it might become white, but it stopped just short of it. As soon as he removed the mixture from the heat, he ran into the back room then returned with the unmistakable, cracked form of the White Phial.
"This is the most delicate part, and the moment of truth," he told her as he took a small brush and a silver spoon. Slowly, he took tiny scoops of the liquid mix and used the brush to push it into the cracks. When the first was filled in, he set the Phial onto the burner to further bond it, then took it off to place into a small pail of ice and water. Weiss held her breath as he dipped the heated artifact in then lifted it out, the sealed crack holding. He repeated the process for every other crack, trying to fit the White Phial's ancient form as closely as possible. Each repaired crack stood out against the rest of the object, looking like grey scars on an otherwise perfectly white, glassy surface.
When the last one was finished, and he'd cooled it down, the man looked over the repaired Phial for any signs of holes or cracks he may have missed, but eventually nodded in satisfaction as he set it down with a sigh.
"It's done. Now we just-"
The sound of coughing came from upstairs, sounding violent and deathly. Quintus frantically searched the shelves again, picking out a vial of tonic and opening it before pouring in a single drop. The two watched the White Phial intently with bated breath, Weiss more than a little afraid that her failures would repeat themselves here and then it would all well and truly be over, but no sound of shattering came. Instead, before their very eyes, as Nurelion's coughing fit seemed to die down, the liquid within the Phial increased in volume, the water line rising from below one of the cracks to just above it. Quintus saw it just as clearly as she did and became ecstatic, grabbing the artifact and rushing up the stairs with it. Weiss followed him closely as he rushed into Nurelion's room, where the old elf was lying in bed looking only moments away from death. She felt her heart lurch at the sight, recalling how defiant the mer had looked to her before, even with his illness dragging him down.
"Master look!" the alchemist said as he approached. "It's the Phial!"
"What?" Nurelion asked as he shifted his head and barely opened his eyes to see the artifact held before him, now more than halfway full. His voice quivering, both from weakness and genuine surprise, he muttered, "How?"
"Does it matter? Look," Quintus pointed out as he held it closer. "It's refilling with your tonic as we speak!"
Slowly, a smile found its way onto the dying elf's face. "Marvelous…"
Several things happened at once to Weiss. She felt Nurelion's heart beginning to give, and then the world seemed to slow. Her Huntress training and vampiric powers combined made her faster than anything in Eastmarch, and together they launched her across the room as her finger rubbed her Time Dilation ring, making it so the world really did slow down. Grabbing the Phial, she turned it over and placed it onto Nurelion's lips so that the tonic flowed into his mouth. As time resumed its normal pace for her, the elf felt his medicine hitting his tongue and reflexively swallowed it down. His heartbeat stabilized, and then Weiss felt his entire bloodflow improve within a few seconds. He grunted, and Quintus stepped back in confusion at Weiss' near-instant movement. The old elf then wiggled his way out of his covers, pulling his upper body up and leaning against his pillows and headboard. His apprentice quickly came to his side, stuffing the pillows behind him for more support.
"That has to have been the strongest tonic I've ever drank," Nurelion half-complained. "But it must have also been the purest. The White Phial… It's really everything I hoped and dreamed of." The elf looked over to where it was set on his nightstand and reached over to take it in hand, holding it like the world's most delicate device as he looked it over. "I think it even saved my life. For a moment, at least."
"Master…" Quintus quietly whispered with sadness.
"Don't cry for me, boy. It's nearly time, one way or the other." He coughed a few times, although it seemed far more manageable than before. It was still rough, but relative to what had plagued Nurelion before, it was hardly anything. "Go downstairs and straighten up whatever you've strewn out. I need to have a word with our friend here."
Quintus looked at Weiss a moment then nodded towards his master before going back down the stairs. Weiss, for her part, almost felt like she had been intruding, but now figured Nurelion had something to say to her.
"So, I gather you helped him to fix the Phial," Nurelion declared, and Weiss nodded.
"I gathered the ingredients," she admitted. "With the help of my friends. But Quintus is the one who put it all together. You should be proud of him."
"I am, don't get me wrong. I know I'm…terrible at showing it." The elf groaned, lowering his arms to rest them and the Phial on his chest. "I always wondered if I taught him enough to go on, but now, I guess there's no doubt. But enough about that. What is it you want?"
"I just wanted to do what was right," Weiss truthfully told him.
"Hm, I see. So I take it you won't be turning me to use my knowledge?"
For a second, Weiss was confused, then she was annoyed. What was it with old people seeing through her immediately?
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"I suspected since the start," he admitted, "but you moving across the room in less than a second sealed it."
"It could have been magic."
"With no spell?" Nurelion raised his eyebrow at the obvious deflection. "No items activated before you moved?"
"Okay, to be fair, I did use my Time Dilation ring after I started moving," Weiss told him while showing said ring. The elf simply laughed, a small cough ending it.
"Thank you then, for buying me a little more time to appreciate this moment. Please though, don't try to make me immortal."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she told him. As she listened in on his heart and blood, she could feel him fading once again. "I…think you might not have much longer. A few hours, at most."
"Hm, the tonic only ever alleviated things. It wasn't a cure. There is no cure for this rot."
"Rot," Weiss muttered, recalling the last time she'd heard of that disease. "There's one I know, but you already said you don't want it, and I honestly wouldn't have given it."
"Heh, a vampire with a heart. Now this old fool has seen everything," Nurelion chuckled. His eyes looked bleary, tears collecting but refusing to spill. "Go bring Quintus back up here. There's one more thing I have to settle now."
Weiss sat near the front of the house while master and apprentice spent their last few moments together alone. In her hands, she held the White Phial. Quintus couldn't take it, his heart aching whenever he looked upon it, so they agreed that Weiss could have it when Nurelion passed. The elf then got comfortable in his bed as the hours whiled away and his condition took full hold once again. Weiss heard them speak a few times but never focused on what they were saying. She simply left the room, holding the artifact as she waited. Nurelion insisted she hold onto it, as it wouldn't be much longer. She knew he was right.
She felt his heartbeat fade into nothing. Qunitus didn't notice until a few minutes later, when he reached over and felt how deathly still his teacher had become. The man immediately bent his head and went still. Whether he was praying or merely mourning, Weiss did not know. She simply stood up and quietly left the shop.
As the vampire made her way back to her house through the snow-covered streets, she cradled the White Phial in her hands. Nurelion managed to see it before he passed and died happily, the closest thing to family at his side as he did. As dawn came and the sun rose over the horizon, Weiss felt a beam of sunlight land upon her face. The light no longer burned her, though it offered no warmth or comfort, either. However, as it fell upon the Phial, the white container slowly turned to red. Weiss paused and held up the ancient vial to watch as it refilled itself from the single drop of blood Nurelion had placed within it.
Weiss pulled off the stopper once it was filled then took a deep draught of the liquid. The sensation of drinking fresh blood, as though dripped directly from the vein, filled her before she stopped and looked at what remained. It was as though it was alive within, the purest form blood could be.
She stoppered it once again and headed to Hjerim, holding that little bit of the alchemist close to her heart.
When all was said and done, Blake and Yang started heading back to Markarth, camping a little way outside of the city before approaching it in the morning. The legionnaires and guardsmen remained behind to clean up, mostly by burning the corpses of the slaughtered cultists and scorching the tomb.
"So, you feeling better?" Yang asked her partner while patting her on the back.
"Much better," Blake answered, a smile on her face. "Thanks for helping me through it all."
"Hey, what are friends for?" Yang said while pushing open the gate to enter Markarth. "Couldn't let you face all of that on your own."
"I basically attacked them all before you could help, though."
Blake recalled how quickly she had torn through the cultists, barely slowed down by the handful of them that knew anything about fighting and practically tearing the rest apart like tissue paper. The soldiers ended up only killing two, and Yang only got a Bosmer woman who ran towards her, somehow avoiding Blake's attention long enough to make it to the other Huntress. It didn't save her.
"I meant besides that," she pointed out while poking Blake's forehead. "You know, I don't think I've ever met someone as rough on themselves as you."
Blake let out a humorless laugh as she rubbed the spot. "I'm just…a little more self-reflective than normal."
"More like-" Yang stopped as the sound of steel sliding out of a scabbard reached her ears. Blake immediately turned her eyes to where the sound came from, Yang following her gaze. Both spotted a man with a dagger in hand approaching a woman from behind, empty hand coming up towards her.
"A bit of jewelry for your journey home?" the lady running the stall with trinkets and ornaments on display asked the woman in danger.
"Oh, this pendant would look lovely on my sister," she said while holding one up to the light.
"Look out!" Yang shouted as she rushed to the scene. The woman turned just in time to see the man leap at her with his dagger poised to strike.
"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" he shouted, the woman screaming in terror and falling to the ground as she desperately raised her arms to shield herself.
Just before he could strike her down, a black ribbon wrapped around his arm and pulled him back. Off-balance, Yang easily tripped him over onto his back, the knife still clutched tightly in his hand. The brawler took a step back and then around, getting in-between him and his attempted victim who crawled backwards behind a stall where the shop owner pulled her in. The man got up to his feet, a snarl on his face, but guards were already rushing to the area while the citizens scattered. The man looked around himself, taking in his situation, and he began to breathe sharply in and out.
"Put it down, man," Yang told him, pulling out Black Whisper more for intimidation purposes than actual need of the weapon. "You're not getting out of here."
He let out a shout of rage and went for the nearest guard. Fortunately, the guardsman was prepared and easily blocked his stab with a shield then, unfortunately, ran him through with a sword. Yang hissed inwards, having hoped they could take the man alive.
"I die…for my people," he ground out as death took him. The guard yanked his sword free as the man fell, looking down at him in disgust.
Several guards started clearing the area of onlookers, reassuring them that 'Forsworn were not in the city'. Blake walked up to Yang's side, and both looked at the scene of death.
'Something's going on here,' Yang thought suspiciously. 'I feel like this is going to be a lot harder than we originally thought.'
30th of Evening Star