The Vigilants of Stendarr VII

A heavy quiet befell in the Hall.

Falrielle stumbled but Gideon caught her before she fell. She grimaced, feeling her stitches strain and her wound opening again. Beyond her neck, Falrielle suffered many cuts and bruises all around her body. That and some fracture bones. Nothing permanent, she thanked the Gods but enough to force her a week of convalescence, two even, if the Sunfire's side effects were to hit her even harder.

Young Sven was even worse. His chest, arms and legs were wrapped in bandages stained with moss and blood. The lad's face was terribly damaged, bearing many bites and cuts with the worst being a nasty gash that went from his cheek to his temple. The fact that he was still standing was an achievement in itself, a testament to his Nord constitution. Gideon was muddied but suffered no wounds because of course he did.

'Hail, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone,' Falrielle began. 'We, the Vigilants of Stendarr, present you the true culprits of the attacks.' She waved for Sven to approach.

The Initiate limped forward with a bloody sack in hand. He loosened its bonds and emptied its contents before the Jarl. A head, half-human half-bat rolled on the carpeted floor. The face was one of a frozen fear. The court gasped and murmured, until the Jarl made silence with a raised hand.

'I must admit that this one gave us a bit of trouble,' she continued. 'Me knife made it difficult to cut through the spine though by chance we happened to have an axe around.'

'Is that so?' The Jarl leaned forward and smiled. 'And am I supposed to know what this thing is?'

'A Bann? Truly?' Falion said, approaching from the crowd of courtiers. The mage lifted the head by her long luscious hair and began prodding at the vampire's fangs. 'Did the Bann really scream? Are her vocal cords still intact?'

'Mage,' the Jarl said. 'There will be time for such chatter after. Now, Aslfur, if you please.'

'By order of Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, Jarl of Hjaalmarch,' the steward called out in a booming voice. 'For services rendered for people of the city of Morthal and of the Hold of Hjaalmarch, the Vigilants of Stendarr shall receive a reward of four thousand Septims.' Falrielle detected clear emphasis on the reward and she guessed it wasn't just for the Vigilants to hear. 'The manner of payment are as follows: credit note redeemable by any banks in the Imperial Guild of Bankers, immediate in coin, or any other materials such as precious stones, timber, or pitch of equivalent value.'

The Jarl coughed.

'In addition to money,' the steward continued. 'For favourable and prompt service, the Vigilants of Stendarr shall receive an additional boon.'

Falrielle smiled. 'Warm food, a hot bath, and a feathered bed. In that order.'

The Jarl chuckled. 'That is no boon, that is common courtesy. From host to guest.' She clapped her hands. 'Aslfur, see that our guess' needs are taken care of. Now Vigilants, let us return to the question of your boon. Hjaalmarch isn't the richest of the Holds but we know how to pay. Ask me anything and it shall be yours. Within reason of course,' she added.

Falrielle staggered forward and dropped to her knees. The Vigilant then bowed her head in respect.

'My Jarl,' she said. 'We the Vigilants of Stendarr, have been called many things. Holy Warriors if they wish to flatter or more commonly, Blasphemous Sellswords, or whatever to that effect. Aye, there be truth to that. Make no mistake, Jarl, we hunt Daedras and other terror for gold but that doesn't mean we fight for gold.' She paused, letting her words sink in. 'Let us be realistic. An army needs food, weapons, armour, and medicine – supplies to fight a war and these supplies cost money. Traditionally, our Chapter has enjoyed the patronage of the Jarl of the Pale but times changed.'

Falrielle raised her head, looking the Jarl in the eyes. 'For our boon, we seek your patronage. In return for supplies, the Vigilants of Stendarr shall be in the Hold's beck and call. In matters supernatural of course,' she added quickly.

A long silenced filled the hall before the Jarl rose from her throne.

'Skyrim, hear me!' the Jarl bellowed with a regal power in her voice. 'I, Idgrod Ravencrone, Jarl of Hjaalmarch grants patronage to the Vigil of Stendarr,' she continued, walking towards Falrielle. 'Let it be known that the Vigil shall not be wanting for supplies. Let it be known they shall not be wanting for arms and armour. Let it be known that the people of Hjaalmarch are no fair-weather friends and for as long as the Vigil stays true, Hjaalmarch shall ever stand at their side to the sundering of the world!'

A throaty roar of applause passed through the hall.

'Rise, Vigilant,' the Jarl gestured. 'Rise, Falrielle.' She extended her arm in friendship.

Falrielle clasped the Jarl's forearm and the Jarl returned a reassuring squeeze.

'Farewell, Falrielle, Senior-Vigilant of Stendarr.' The Jarl smiled. 'I hope- I hope…'

The Jarl's finger brushed against Falrielle's skin.

Falrielle watched the floor rise to meet her like the sun meets the sky. She landed hard with a sickening crack. She writhed on the ground as she saw the wolf and the bear in her mind again. The two beasts fought fiercely, suicidally, tearing flesh and bone but they did not surrender, did not relent. They kept fighting until the sky darkened, not with clouds… but wings. Someone forced something down her throat, a potion. It tasted foul and it seared her nerves with white hot pain.

The elf turned to her side and spat a mouthful of blood, along with something hard. A tooth perhaps, she wasn't sure. She closed her eyes, panting as an unnatural, metallic voice echoed in her head.

'The Gates of Sovngarde swings open!' the voice said in agony. 'All the world shall freeze! All the skies shall burn! He returns! He returns! The World-Eater returns!' the voice continued before rambling incoherently.

Falrielle gasped awake and saw Idgrod convulsing on the ground. The steward sat by her side, holding her head and cooing softly. 'I'm here, my love,' she chanted. 'I'm here. You are strong. Endure.'

'By the Eye of Magnus,' Falion carefully approached. 'Vigilant. You too, a Conduit?'

The pale elf silenced the mage with an icy glare.

The Jarl jerked, shuddered and suddenly, stilled. The steward summoned the attendants but the Jarl found the energy to halt them with a gesture.

'You too?' she rasped.

Falrielle didn't answer.

'I see. Not like me but something else. Something else but what?'

Falrielle wiped the blood of her mouth and then said 'You should get some rest, my Jarl.' She said nothing more but she felt that her silence, told the Jarl everything.

'And no sects of Vigilant Stendarrism is so well known as the sect that founded this off-shoot of Stendarrism: the Vigil of Stendarr. The Vigil of Stendarr is a paramilitary order of warrior-monks that first came to be after the end of the Septim Dynasty and the 3rd Era. Drawing in members from all walks of life, the Vigil is upheld by the teachings of mercy and justice of Stendarr the Protector. Armed with faith and steel, it is the duty of the Vigil to march across Tamriel to cleanse the land of the Daedric scourge so never again will the Oblivion Crisis be wrought upon the mortal realm of Nirn.

The modern incarnation of the Vigil is less fanatical than their forebearers and it is this very pragmaticism that allowed the Vigil to outlive contemporaries like the Blades of Talos or the Flagellants of Mara. Instead of marching across the provinces as marauding zealots, the Vigil now operate in a much smaller scale. Now, Vigilants wander the realms of Cyrodiil, Skyrim, and High Rock as wanderers, taking work, preferably of a supernatural sort, whenever they can. In addition to their operations, their very doctrines and tactics have changed.

In the past, all the Vigil needed was good steel and unshakable faith. That was in the period where Initiates are inducted with each passing moon. Now in an age of political, not Daedric strife, the demand of itinerant warrior-monks has dwindled. While modern Vigilants enjoy advancements in alchemy and the proliferation of simple magic, Daedra hunting is still dangerous work and only one-in-ten survive relatively unscathed to enjoy their fifth anniversary of service.'

~ Excerpt from Cults and Religions of Tamriel by Thelonius Finn, Imperial Scholar