The Vigilants of Stendarr V

The Drajkmyr Marsh was a place of many names – Great Marsh of Hjaalmarch, Hundred Mouths of the Karth, Mor's Wetlands, Morenn's Grave, Sheogorath's Bog, amongst other things. Though only extending for about twenty square miles, the Drajkmyr has more than earned some of its more foreboding titles.

On its outer rim, an endless forest of reed, some growing taller than a man, hides many venomous snakes and stalking predators until it is too late. The still waters have made the marsh an ideal breeding ground for unpleasant insects like leeches and mosquitos. The sodden earth makes walking difficult, and mud traps have claimed many lives of creatures and careless adventurers. Unless they have a very good reason to, most travellers would rather wear their feet bloody in the Long Road than cross the Drajkmyr.

And those who do cross Drajkmyr avoid its uncharted heartlands for it is even worse.

Impossible to properly map for every tide transform hills to ditches and ditches to hills, those who dare brave these waters were left to the whims of the Gods. On the shores of the ponds and lakes, weird trees thrive. There were some that were bone white, gnarled like grasping fingers. There were others that bore screaming faces on their trunks, whether it be carved or grown, no scholars can truly say. Falrielle knew of and had personally seen trees that convulsed and twitched – some caused by dark magics, others by poisonous marsh gases.

More than the plants were the animals. There were frogs, turtles, crabs, waterfowls, and fish – nothing too special in marshlands. There were also trolls, chaurus, giant spiders, and other horrors of claws and tentacles that call the heartlands home. So reek with death that it was not unusual to find corpses of eras long past in these waters.

The Marsh Patrol escorted them to Hakkar's Rock, a landmark on the edge of the heartland. From there, they were on their own and twilight was soon approaching.

The fog thickened as the night grew colder. Falrielle squinted, seeing dancing lights in the mists. She guessed it was just torchbugs or marshlights; a natural phenomenon where the marsh gasses spontaneously combust into brilliant blue. Her mind also did speculate that the lights could've been wisps though she shook her head on that. They were here to hunt vampires, not spirits like the mythical Pale Lady of the Marsh.

She climbed under the rock where the Vigilants had made their camp. They burned a small fire, just enough to keep the fog and the chill at bay but not large enough to draw attention to themselves. Gideon sat on one corner, enjoying his pipe. Falrielle took a sniff and gagged. The mage was smoking hemp again. The elf shook her head, mages always claimed that the stuff helped 'clear the mind' or some other nonsense but from her experience, the herb only made things cloudier. On the other corner of the rock, young Sven slept against the wall. The boy shivered, whether from the cold or from a nightmare, Falrielle could not tell.

Falrielle pulled out a small unadorned chest, which rattled when she moved. She sat with her companions, holding the chest close like a mother would her baby. She then stretched her legs and pulled down her hood, eyes on the crackling flame.

'Gideon,' she said. 'Do you remember your Proving?'

'Yes,' he answered. 'That haunting in Dawnstar. You were there.'

'I was there.'

'Then why do you ask?'

Falrielle fell silent for long moments and then turned to the boy. 'I've been to many Provings and the question that never gets easier to answer is: what will return with us? A man or a corpse.'

Gideon puffed a ring of smoke and then said, 'The Gods know. Stendarr knows.'

She nodded. 'Stendarr knows,' she repeated bitterly.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. They maybe had an hour of rest before they needed to prepare for battle. Maybe. Such is life as a Vigilant. Falrielle shoved such thoughts to the back of her mind. Instead, she squeezed her eyes and drifted off.

The campfire was already dying embers when Falrielle woke. Outside, there was no sun, only the light of the moon, random insects and marshlights to illuminate their path. The marsh has also grown loud, very loud. Frogs and toads hum their meditative songs in a discordant choir and so did the nightly crickets. In the distance, Falrielle could hear blood curdling screams. Whether it be the cries of a fox or something more sinister, there was only one way to find out.

Falrielle tapped Sven awake with a booted toe, turned to Gideon and nodded. It was time.

Sven silently whetted away his 'Pa's Axe', the quintessential weapon of choice for any farm boy along with shovels and pitchforks. Gideon drew his duelling sabre and rested the blade on his knees. Falrielle had never seen him sharpen the sword, not once for there was no need – he never actually used it. It was just a family heirloom that he liked to carry with him. For luck, he called it.

Falrielle slid on a pair of silver cestus over her fingers, flexing them as she did to get a feel on her knuckles. She reached for her boot and touched the hilt of her knife. Then from her travel pack, she pulled out a steel mace. The mace was well used – the head has several scratches and notches, and the ash shaft was so damaged that it only held together with the use of iron bands. Falrielle leaned in and kissed – it was more than a weapon. It was her friend, it was Bite.

'Initiate,' she said as she produced a flask of holy water. 'Now is the time to choose. Tonight, the Vigilants of Stendarr will do battle with the forces of Chaos. It will be dangerous and it might even lead to our deaths but as we are oath to battle evils wherever we see it, we have no choice but to fight. You however are different, you're not a Vigilant. Na yet.'

Sven sounded to answer but Falrielle cut him off with a gesture. She blinked her eyes, wanting to be sure she saw what she saw and yes, she did see it – a yellow haze emanated from the boy's shoulders, the essence of fear.

'I'm not finished,' she continued. 'What we Vigilants do is to be honest, insane. Many, many Vigilants die in service and most perish before the end of their first five years. If your aspiration is to keep people safe: find a safer vocation like a guard. Aye, guard duty may be a bore but it's an honourable, respectable profession like any other. But as a guard, you keep out of danger unless you need to. As a Vigilant, we look for danger. Meddle in things we nae need to.'

'You, Sven are nae a Vigilant, na yet. You nae an oathsworn. If you choose to walk away now, there be nae shame in it – it's just sense. Think hard about what you want. If you are with us, if you are prepared to go all the way; hold your weapon over the pit.'

The haze rippled into an inferno of emotion yet at its heart, Falrielle could sense a faint flicker: courage. Sven raised his weapon.

She began the customary prayers. She prayed for strength for what they hunt was no easy prey. She prayed for protection for strength alone would not carry the night and she prayed for mercy. Not for the Vigilants but for their foes for the Vigilants shall show them none. With that, Falrielle doused their steel with holy water.

Falrielle opened the chest. Inside were twelve identical vials. She removed five. Two of them were filled with a whitish substance that had the consistency of water. The remaining three were as thick and dark as molasses.

'Initiate,' she said. 'At the autopsy, you grew both pale and green. There be nae shame to be found in fear but in the field, if fear petrifies your legs, you'll be a liability to nae only yourself but also your companions. Freeze and nae only you but me and Gideon shall die too. If you cannot promise that you won't be freezing, walk away.'

Sven licked his lips. 'I shan't be afraid for Stendarr stands by my side,' he quoted.

Falrielle gave two vials to Sven and another two to Gideon. 'Let us speak the facts for a moment. From the tongues of our fathers, mothers, and the skalds, we often hear of the feats of great heroes of our past. Heroes like Alrik Ironhammer, who wrestled the Fel Wolf for two years or Ysgramor and the Companion Five Hundred who brought doom upon the Snow Elves. These heroes inspire much pride in our Northern hearts but I will cast off the ornaments and speak only the facts.'

'First is that mortals like me and you are just that – mortal and if you hope to win that wrestling match with the Fel Wolf, pray that you have divine blood running in your veins. Nae, us mortals cannot rely brute strength alone; our greatest weapon are guile, surprise, and preparation. In your hands are two potions to give you a chance at surviving the night.'

'That there be Cateye.' She pointed at the white vial. 'Cateye enhances your senses – nae just sight but also hearing and sense of touch. Out there, night blindness can be a death sentence, so you want to avoid using lights whenever you can. More than your senses, Cateye also expands your mind so you can actually, you know, process all this information. Take heart, Cateye can be intense the first time you use it.'

'I nearly clawed my eyes out,' Gideon said, smiling. Falrielle shrugged, like before, she told him that he was overreacting to it.

'And what about the this one?' Sven lifted the dark vial.

'That one I'll explain later,' she promised. 'Now, the Cateye.'

Gideon popped the cork, followed by Sven. The older Vigilant smiled and clinked his vial with the Initiate's. 'Vur!' he toasted and the two downed the potion. Gideon sat crossed legged with a serene expression on his face like a monk in prayer. Sven keeled over, closed his ears and covered his ears. The boy snarled as tears flowed down his face.

'Focus on your breathing,' Falrielle whispered. 'It helps.'

Sven eventually calmed calm and when he finally opened his eyes, they were slitted, like a cat's.

'Be thankful that Cateye calls for honey,' she whispered with a smile. 'Now the other one. This one is Sunfire.' She pulled the cork of her vial with her teeth. 'Essential to any vampire hunt, Sunfire makes drinking your blood feel like drinking a cup of grounded glass. Incidentally, that is it feels like to drink this one. Vur!'

'Wait!' Sven interrupted and winced. 'Why drink that poison? Wouldn't garlic work?'

The Vigilants chuckled. 'All garlic does is give your blood a small kick,' Falrielle said. 'And it doesn't protect you from vampiric infection. Sunfire does. Still, I wish it were that easy, Sunfire doesn't have honey in it,' she added before downing the foul potion, followed by Gideon.

At first, the Vigilants gagged from the sharp taste that reminded Falrielle of Legion's Wine. Unpleasant but bearable. Black veins bulged out of her skin and it felt like someone was pushing needles in them. Again, unpleasant but bearable.

That was however before the searing pain in her gut, like she had just been slashed with a fiery knife. Falrielle stumbled back and covered her mouth as streams of dark blood poured between her fingers. She hawked and spat.

'If you piss blood,' she gasped and spat again. 'That's normal.'

'Is this what you were drinking?' he asked with a tremble in his voice. 'In the Inn.'

Falrielle shook her head and laughed. 'I wish.' She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and frowned when she saw blood.

'Will you drink that now?'

'You have a curious mind, that is an admirable trait for a Vigilant to have,' she said smiling. 'But nae. Another lesson for you Sven – you play with whatever tools the Gods bestow on you. My curse for example can be a blessing for tonight. What Sunfire is, well, you be familiar with Sweet Clover?'

'Sweet Clover?' he said, horrified. 'That's rat poison! And this has Sweet Clover?'

'Aye, Sunfire contains extracts of Sweet Clover and other unsavoury ingredients. I'd rather nae think of the creators of the potion and how many times did they have to try to find this exact formula that be "safe" to drink. It matters little because the question stays the same: are you prepared to go all the way?'

To the common man, all ingredients have magical properties. Ergo, all potions, poisons, tinctures, and salves are all magical in nature. This is bullshit. Specifically, this is bullshit endorsed and propagated by the egocentric charlatans of the Mages Guild. While there is a kernel of fact in this over emphasis on the importance of magic in our daily lives, the truth as it always is, is more complicated.

Every true Alchemist knows works of alchemy like the sun and moon are not of one but of two natures: the magical and the alchemical.

Brews of magical nature are brews imbued with both magic and operate on the magical virtues of the ingredients. These brews can be as complicated as operating an archaic Ayleid alembic within the centre of a runed room while mumbling some ancient Chimer spells or they can be as simple as mixing two bottles together under the light of the twin moons. Due to the incessant misconceptions spread by unqualified heads of the Mages Guild, alchemical brews of the magical are held up as the highest achievements of the Alchemical Sciences but that is strictly not true. Magical potions are just that – a means to an end.

Alchemical brews however are brews made through and work by mundane means. Most alchemical creations are of this nature and any respectable alchemist – from a humble shepherd mixing remedies for his flock with a pestle and mortar in a hovel to a learned scholar preparing an elixir for a king with all manners of advanced stills are no stronger to these methodologies.

To be clear, I am not calling for a condemnation of magical brews and the praise of mundane creations. Quite the contrary. What I am doing is to demystify the misconception that all potions are magical in nature and that in truth, the greatest of potions are not of one but of both natures.

But first, I shall digress and speak of Jarrinus Rarus, or the less learned of you, the Jarrin plant of Stros M'kai. Impossible to grow outside its endemic zone, which if we recall our collaboration with Arch-Horticulturist Ivuloth, the Jarrin, easily recognised for its dark red leaves and clay brown roots, killed the Arch-Horticulturist because unlike we at the Guild of Alchemist, the Guild of Horticulturist has not carved in stone the habit of washing your hands thoroughly with soap before you eat. We are of learned people, and so I need not remind everyone of the dangers of the Jarrin. I will however remind everyone that the Arch-Horticulturist was found curled up in his office with bloody vomit and stool covering his room. Remember that.

But why do I speak of the Jarrin? For all the deadly properties of the plant, especially of its roots, the Jarrin plant is a most necessary ingredient in the brewing of a miracle elixir known by many names such as the Panacea, the Aedric Tonic, and most popularly, Katariah's Relief.

In 3E 163, assassins of the Dark Brotherhood made their attempts on Empress Katariah I and her son, the future Emperor Cassynder Septim I. The Empress herself was unharmed but future emperor was struck with a dart imbued with Sithis' Kiss, whose exact components I might add, remain a mystery to this day. Immediately, the young future emperor fell into death's door, his body became rigid as dark blood poured from every orifice of his body. The young future emperor had less than a few hours to live and no healer in the Empire dared step up lest they incur the wrath of failing the Empress. All of course, except Grand Imperial Alchemist Razashi.

I will make no attempts to deny that Grand Imperial Alchemist Razashi was a lunatic. Before accomplishing this impossible task that earned her title, Razashi had tried and failed to invent exploding 'miracle powder', a health tonic that didn't involve the most necessary component of lead, and some other balderdash involving heating milk to 'make it safe to drink' or whatever her moon sugar addled mind meant. As to make my point clear, right before her chance meeting with the Empress, half of Razashi's face was left a sagging, drooling mess because of her fervent experimentation with the Jarrin!

Lunacy I say but the Empress was desperate and Katariah's Relief had an additional name, the 'Razashi's Superb Miracle All-Cure Magical Tincture', for a reason.

I shall not go into the entire development of Katariah's Relief for even if I were to be brief, I would be speaking from now till lunch on Fredas, thus I shall only speak to the point. The key ingredient for the elixir lies in the Jarrin plant. It is a compound so minute that it ought not to exist; Razatin, through the Razash Process, both named so in honour of their founder and creator, Razashi herself. The Razash Process is a distillation process involving a Dwemer Column Still, two stones worth of crushed Jarrin root, four barrels of alcohol solvents, Falmer frost runes, and the light of the twin moons shining through a focal point, and the end result is this.

This phial, held between my fingers is the end result of the process. It contains a drop. One drop of of Razatin, the key component of the Aedric Tonic. All possible with the marriage of Alchemical and Magical sciences, thus earning the prestige and patronage our guild has enjoyed for centuries.

~ from speech titled 'Alchemy of Two Natures,' by Head Alchemist Cerritus Liberus of the Alchemist's Guild during the LXXIX Gathering of the Learned, scribed by Anora Stylus of the Brotherhood of Scribes

Name: Sunfire

Classification: Potion

Nature: Alchemical

Description: When facing Haemophages, the question of when, not if the hunter will be bitten is something all Vigilants must prepare themselves for. In such an occasion, a vial of Sunfire, which not only renders the imbiber a temporary immunity to bloodborne diseases but also turns their blood toxic is often the clever choice. A word of caution. Sunfire will also curse the imbiber will haemophilia as wounds will have a far harder time closing in addition to other side effects like bloody vomits, urine, or stool, headaches, and general discomfort.

Ingredients:

- 5 lbs of blooming Sweet Clover

- 5 lbs of aged Hay

- 2 lb of fresh Giant Lichen

- 1 lb of powdered root of Blessed Thistle

- Alcohol solvent

- Honey

Preparation:

1. Grind and mix Sweet Clover and Hay in a clay crucible until it becomes green paste.

2. Leave paste to sit in a paper parcel for at least a week.

3. Ready alcohol solvent in a still. If more advanced stills are unavailable, an alembic will do but note that alembic brewed potions are imprecise and impure.

4. Grind Giant Lichen into paste. Mix powdered root of Blessed Thistle well.

5. Dissolve the pastes of Sweet Clover and Hay, and Giant Lichen and Blessed Thistle in alcohol solvent. Use glassware as vessel.

6. Operate the still until the solvent boils.

7. Collect distillate in glassware.

8. Add honey for taste.

~ from Codex Vigilas: Recipes: Sunfire