Auro
"Come into my chambers, let us have some privacy," the Breton said, almost pleasantly.
Vilkas found himself floating along behind Auro. Again he tried to resist the magic but the spell the four-hundred (plus) vampire cast was even stronger than his second-in-command's. As soon as Auro had drawn him into the room, he waved his right hand, dropping him to the floor as the doors on either side of the chamber slammed shut with a loud bang.
Now Vilkas was kneeling on the ground, unable to get up as the man took a seat. His figure wasn't as powerful or imposing as Brenovere nor as revolting as Cairne's. He was pale skinned and short, as most Bretons were, maybe three inches taller than Everlee with similar roundness in his facial features and the high cheekbones that hinted at elven ancestry. He was medium build, clearly a magic user with no real muscle tone to indicate that he'd decided to add any extra emphasis to his vampiric strength. He wore modern robes, light green and tan, and more suited for traveling than to impress (as opposed to the dunmer's). He sat down in an old throne, vines growing about it, and rested his chin on his hand, his light blue eyes falling on Vilkas once more. Behind him, a pile of bodies were stacked haphazardly. Four adult Nords, five children, and one female argonian stared lifelessly out at him – the farmhold they had not been in time to save.
"So this is what it comes to is it?" Auro asked. "My biological line dead, my vampire line dead, and my lover run through with a sword for his own theatrics."
"You're monsters," Vilkas growled.
Auro laughed hollowly. "That's rich, coming from you, you know?"
"We don't murder."
"That depends on your definition, doesn't it? You know when I heard what happened to your Order I thought you'd be done for. How can a supposedly honorable group continue to exist as mutts I wondered," Auro said. "I felt bad for you actually. But then not only did you keep going but you turned more to your kind. If your members worked hard enough, were honorable enough, they would get the chance to be gifted with the curse of lycanthropy. What a very twisted little reward."
Vilkas growled but said nothing.
"So I take it you're not a fan of the Blood? Would explain why you didn't just turn the girl to avoid her becoming Vampire due to me, yes? I had thought perhaps that it was some code that kept you from it, but I can see now I was mistaken," Auro said. He squinted at him, then nodded his head as if listening to something. "Part of you still hates him for turning you."
Vilkas glared, aware that the headache at the back of his skull was the Breton probing his mind.
"I don't blame you. What kind of parental figure does that to his child? You Companions claim you are all about family. But what family curses its own members to become mutts whenever they lose themselves to some passion or other? You know what I did to those who cursed my family, who turned the last of my bloodline into abominations? I turned them inside out. Literally. It seems we both enjoy a bit of sweet revenge," he said. "But you see, you get it. It's not a gift. And you wolves? You're not even immortal. We're just two sides of the same coin, my friend, though one side has better benefits."
"We are nothing alike!" Vilkas said.
"Oh, but we are," Auro said. "Both of us tired of our curse, not sure if it is a good or a bad thing. We both wonder if there's a cure and at what cost that cure would come. And soon, we will both know what it's like to see the person we love turned into a monster."
Vilkas's eyes widened. "What are you talking about? You didn't -"
"No, Brenovere is...was very old fashioned, you see. He wanted every clan member we had to trace his or her bloodline back to me, and only me. Consolidate the power," he said. "But me? I'm practical. I knew you would come and I knew you would kill me. After centuries, it's almost a relief. But I also knew Brenovere wouldn't leave me to save himself. He would die here, the fool. And I knew it would take all your Circle to destroy us. Which means there's no one there to protect your family," the Master Vampire explained.
"No!"
Outside Vilkas could hear banging on the doors, limited fighting in the hall, the howl of a wolf. But it almost seemed distant with the words coming forth from the vile man's mouth.
"A large force couldn't gain entrance, couldn't sneak by. But a small force? My best assassin? She could sneak in, even leave the rest of your family alive if they don't get in the way, and give your Breton girl immortal life," he said. "You took mine, now I take yours. It's only fair."
"Bastard!" Vilkas said, fighting hard to rise but unable to.
"Perhaps you should thank me? We both know her odds of living. I suppose it comes down to whether you think death is preferable to the curses we bear."
Vilkas screamed, frustrated, breaking from the spell as the doors burst open. He ran at the Vampire, his yellow wolfish eyes glowing as he climbed the dais. With supernatural strength, Vilkas thrust his right hand forward, busting through Auro's ancient chest, and crushing his heart. Auro released one last breath that sounded like a sigh of relief.
Vilkas turned to the eerily silent room. At the left entrance stood his brother, Kodlak, and Aela. At the right Skjor who was transforming back into his human shape. They all stared up at him in disbelief.
"We have to get back, we have to get back now."
A suicide mission, that's what it was. Bia's Maker knew she couldn't resist a challenge. It had nearly been her downfall as a mortal until she had left the Dark Brotherhood to begin her immortal life at his side.
Getting into the city had been easy. The guards at the door and drawbridge had been attentive, but it had been no difficult task (for her) to simply circle around the city and enter through the sewers which, leading out by the keep, left only a short walk to Jorrvaskr, her destination.
The hall was dim, only one light on inside it seemed. Brenovere's men had injured several of their members, but it wasn't enough and they had not managed to kill a single member. The legendary order was living up to its reputation and that should have frightened her, but instead it only served to sharpen her senses, to excite her. She waited quietly for a moment, debating on how best to enter and escape notice, when, as luck would have it – two women stepped out wearing cloaks indicating they were healers, likely through the local temple.
"Go, Martha. Send for Vita, you need to rest," the grandmotherly Imperial said to the youthful redhead next to her.
"But Agna -"
"Shh, you did well, child. Your mana will build in time, but this young woman has no time to wait for it. I must return, send Vita," Agna said.
Martha nodded. "Very well, thank you."
Agna nodded goodbye and re-entered the meadhall. Bia smiled, and waited for the young healer to pass her before reaching out, and dragging the girl into the darkness, a hand over her mouth.
"I need your clothes. Scream and I will kill you. You aren't going to turn around. You are going to take off your robe, and lay it on the ground next to you," Bia instructed. "Do you understand?"
Martha nodded and Bia released her. Quickly the healer pulled her robes over her head and laid them on the ground next to her. Underneath she wore a light pink dress, too thin for the fall weather and the girl shivered, goose bumps forming on her brown skin. Bia quickly stepped closer, covering the girl's mouth once more as she thrust her dagger into the girl's heart.
"I never said that I wouldn't kill you if you complied," Bia whispered.
Quickly Bia moved the healer's body, throwing it into the sewer near her. By the time it washed up Bia would be long gone. She pulled the robe over herself, making sure it covered her ears, throwing her feline feature into total blackness before she entered the Hall.
At the dining table was a lone Nord woman who had been glaring at a cup of full mead. Bia moved past her, toward the stairs that likely led to the living quarters.
"Where are you going?" the woman asked.
"I am taking over for Martha," she answered, making sure to lose her accent.
The woman huffed, "Figures. I'll show you the way."
"Thank you."
The first room they passed contained three members, all injured and lying in bed, though the two males were still awake, playing cards as the female, a darker skinned nord with her head and abdomen wrapped, slept propped up in the corner.
The rest of the hall was silent. When they reached a set of double doors on the right, the nord used her thumb to point to them.
"She's in there," the woman said.
Bia nodded and turned to enter. The woman grabbed her arm, and the assassin fought the urge to run her through.
"Make sure you treat her well. She is a Companion and she deserves your best efforts," the woman said before roughly letting go of her. Bia nodded once more but the Nord had already walked away.
Bia entered, drawing her dagger and holding it unseen in the confines of the large sleeve as she shut the doors behind her.
Inside there were two other healers, the elderly nord she had seen earlier called Agna, who was pouring yellow light over a pale curvy Breton, or half-Breton who was clearly suffering from the after effects of severe life-drain among other things. The second person was a gaunt, thin Imperial who was busy fussing over a table of herbs, a mortar and pestle in hid hands. Agna looked up at her arrival, and smiled, her magic never faltering.
"Good, sister Vita, I need you to help me, come stand beside me," she instructed. "Jamison is making the next round of numbing herbs. We've made some progress on the tissue on her back, but the one near her right hip needs reopened and worked on. Even still with the blood poisoning -"
Bia smiled, complying quickly with the order as the old woman rambled on. It was at this moment, however, that Jamison's eyes strayed from his herbs to see the end of Bia's tail flick from her robes. He dropped the mortar and pestle in time to grab Agna away from the blade Bia had thrust where her spine had been seconds before.
"Who are you?" Jamison asked, as he and Agna backed into a corner.
"I am not here for you," Bia said, allowing her accent to come through. "But if you scream, I will kill you."
It was a lie, but she did need them to stay silent long enough to make sure the quiet was permanent. Jamison looked at the door, easily giving away his intention as he made a dash for it. Bia grabbed his arm, spinning him, and pushing the dagger into the base of his skull, thrusting upward. He fell the floor heavily. Agna, the old woman, paled and went to scream, but the dagger she threw at her throat stopped the sound before it ever escaped. Without another moment to waste, Bia approached the girl her Master wanted her to Turn.
She stared down at her, her brown locks matted to her forehead. Bia lifted her hood and said, "You are a lot of trouble."
Bia bent down to bite the woman's neck when a sharp pain ripped through her, taking her legs away from her. She looked down where a sword protruded from her abdomen, the only thing keeping her on her feet.
"Yes, she is," said a voice with an accent. "But if it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep her the way she is."
Bia laughed, blood spilling from her lips. She was dying on this stranger's blade and yet he elicited that response? There was no way the man behind her could be one of the stodgy old Companions. She would never have time to figure out who he was, however, as he ran a blade over her throat, ending her misery swiftly.