The outlander sat on the steps leading to one of the strange houses of Tel Mora. The mushroom into which the house was carved was certainly not the strangest thing he had ever seen in this strange land; that dubious honor belonged to the dark lairs of the Sixth House, lit only by red and yellow candles and the occasional pool of glowing lava, and populated by the mangled and mutated supplicants of the dark god Dagoth Ur. What that Devil had done to the heads of those cultists... The outlander shuddered at the thought, feeling a sudden chill that had nothing to do with his disease.
He forced himself to think of happier times and places, such as when he had taken a good meal or slept well in some bed in Balmora or Ald'ruhn or some such town, as he would never again be able to do. He considered Tel Mora one of the weirdest of those, and it made a certain amount of sense that a town ruled by a centuries-old wizard-lord would be more... unusual... than any other. The outlander was on much better terms with the wizard-lord of neighboring Tel Vos, an even more unusual combination of Imperial masonry and Telvanni horticulture.
But he could not stay holed up in the castle of Tel Vos forever; he would need to adapt to the strange customs of House Telvanni, the only one of the three Great Houses on the island of Vvardenfell that would ever tolerate him now, since he had fallen prey to that creature six nights past.
He pulled an old book out of his pack and opened it to a page that he had marked. The journal of a certain guard (or perhaps merely a copy of it, though the outlander could scarcely believe that the Tribunal Temple would allow such a blasphemous text to be copied) reminded him that his condition was not as fatal or as irreversible as was commonly believed. At any time, he himself could make the pilgrimage to Bal Ur, and supplicate himself to the monstrous demon who might make him mortal again.
Yet there was something he needed to do first: The townsfolk of Tel Mora had spoken of another of his kind, hidden away in a tomb far to the north, who had become weary of life... or what passed for life among such beings.
The sun singed his skin, but it was low in the western sky, and sinking lower behind the Red Mountain at the heart of the island of Vvardenfell, and so he easily endured it. Once its merciless rays ceased their assault, he would begin his journey.
Finally, the sunlight ceased to touch him, and he swam north, across the water toward the small island where the lair of his new ally or enemy might be found.
The salt stung his chilled flesh as he swam, though the carnivorous fish that roamed the waters thought better of feasting off of him. Even so, every waking moment invited a new pain into his system, and he could not help wondering how any such beings could endure days of this torturous existence, let alone centuries.
Yet his sleeping hours were as horrific as his waking hours, for every minute that he slept his mind was tormented by visions of cruel fire and merciless light, or worse, the cold comfort of the tomb as flies and worms grew fat on his flesh. It had been three days since the last of such nightmares, and even now the memory remained vivid enough to banish the siren song of sleep.
It was with great relief that he found the island where the ancestral crypt was to be found. He dried himself on the sand as best he could and cautiously opened the door.
She was waiting for him among the coffins and ash-pits inside the tomb. "A dark one, like myself!" she growled. "Have you come to aid me at last? I have endured so many hundreds of years, and for what? Feeding brings me no pleasure, and so much pain... Those rogues have set a trap to lure would-be bounty hunters to me, but even this now bores me. I don't even have the heart to slaughter them all."
"I have heard it said that you long for the final death, and not at the hands of any mere mortal," said the outlander.
"True," said the vampire who dwelt in this tomb. "And yet I wonder if you truly have the strength to carry out my last wish."
"The outlander considered her proposal for a minute. "If the final death is what you truly seek," he replied at last, "I would ask a favor of you first."
"And what would that be?"
"Read this," the outlander said, pulling the old book out of his bag again. Thankfully, the bag had been sealed against the elements, and despite his long swim, everything within remained as dry as before.
The elder vampire took the book from the outlander and read the pages that he had marked.
"Where did you find this?" the elder asked, giving the book back to the outlander.
"The Tribunal Temple does not want this text disseminated widely," replied the outlander, putting it back into his bag. "Suffice it to say that they could not conceal it thoroughly enough."
"If Molag Bal could restore one of our kind to life..." the elder mused.
"I intend to make the journey to Bal Ur myself, once my business here is done, to see whether he would restore another of our kind to life," said the outlander. "Here is my proposal to you: Either we make that journey together, or we fight to the final death here and now."
The outlander kept a distance of arm's length from her. His left hand he extended in a gesture of good faith, even as his right rested on the hilt of his blade, ready to draw it with the speed of lightning if necessary.
And so he was amply prepared for the elder vampire's reply.