Chapter IV: A Fresh Trail

The muscles tightened, and the limp fingers raised and clenched into a fist in response. The armored digits scratched the palms producing a sharp, high-pitched sound. Azrael loosened the tension, allowing his hands to open again. He had to check. The wind blew cold, and even his magical protections sometimes weren't enough to shield him. While resting, he knew that his body temperature went down a bit. Every bit counted, when he was outside. The first sign of frostbite were the muscles stiffening, losing the ability to be contracted at will. Sometimes, in doubt, he moved his fingers. Those were enough. If they were able to move, the entirety of the body was as well.

The Dragonborn was kneeling down on the frosty rocks, his hood lowered on his forehead and his cloak wrapped around him like a mantle. At times, the sudden change in the wind's direction carried the heat of the bonfire towards him. The fire was dying out, as he had planned. It was almost dawn, and they would have been going soon. The last two logs sizzled still, mostly burnt and kept aflame only by the searing embers burning underneath them. The gusts sometimes blew strongly enough to almost put them out, but that hadn't happened yet. Tolan's bedroll was empty, covered with snow. The traveling bag of the Vigilant lay near it, wet with melted sleet and. A worn out torch came out from the flap closing the sack. The remains of the previous day's dinner were scattered around the fire: The bones of Azrael's roasted rabbit and the slim straps of sinews and lard Tolan hadn't been able to chew, although he would have most certainly liked to. The Vigilant might have been a Nord, but he suffered the cold too, and the Dragonborn's pace was clearly too swift for him. Still, he stoically followed him. That much Azrael had to admit.

Tolan was standing on the rim of the ravine left of their encampment, staring through the snowstorm in the general direction of Dawnstar with his arms folded and his legs trembling. The thin reddish hair were coated with snow, which melted and dripped down in the tunic's hood. The hammer rested motionless on his back. His boots were worn by the days of travel, the steel plating covered in thin rust and grazed in a few places. I'd wager that, when he insisted to come with me, he expected something different, Azrael thought, looking at the Vigilant from under the dripping rim of his lowered hood. Maybe he expected to walk for days on red carpets, put down at the passing of the Dragonborn. But the cruel reality was that most people rarely, if ever, had the chance to see the Dovahkiin with their own eyes. He preferred keeping far from the cities, and when possible even from the main roads. Azrael had marked every small pathway and narrow trail across the province, in the attempt to never again be seen on the highways. That wasn't the journey Tolan had likely anticipated.

Azrael saw him turning his head in his direction, very slightly. 'I know you're awake,' he said. He must had heard the sound of the metal scratching. 'You're always awake. Every time it's my turn to stay guard, you're awake. Do you ever sleep? Do you even feel the need to sleep, you elf-shaped daemon?'

'I do. If there isn't anyone wanting to kill me in my vicinity.'

The Vigilant turned towards him. His feet moved with difficulty in the heap of snow where they were stuck. The snowstorm hid him somewhat, but not enough to conceal the glare he stole at the Dragonborn. 'You have quite some nerve to talk to me like that. You suggest I might have the will to kill you, after all you've done? I should be the one worried about you killing me, not the opposite. I have my rules and I have my morals, which I'll not break no matter what. And you? What constrains you to keep me alive? Nothing.' Azrael was catching glimpses of his expression as he spoke, and there were unsteady changes in his features. Sometimes angry, some other nervous. He wasn't quite sure where Tolan was going in that confession of weakness. 'You could be at my neck anytime, but I have to keep an eye on you. I know the likes of you. Always searching for more power, more ways to control those around you.'

A hollow and mirthless titter escaped the Dragonborn's throat. He wasn't surprised at seeing the Vigilant's startled face after his snigger. It was his first laugh since they had met. 'Don't concern yourself with such justifications,' he said. It was the truth. Even Celann had seen past his attempts at seeking protection, and he had warned him Tolan might get overzealous trying to regain Isran's trust. Azrael wasn't good at reading emotional flows, but no one could present him with a lie and get away with it. Especially since he wasn't afraid of hurting others in order to reach the truth. 'Your only reason to be here, with me, in this snowy wasteland is the dream of having a new place to belong. And if it's in some absurd way reassuring, yes, I will probably be forced to kill you at some point.'

The man turned the other way, staring into the snowy ravine in front of him. Azrael guessed he bleached or quaked in some way, but he didn't see. The snowflakes blew in his face and the faint light of the dawn didn't help either. Azrael cocked both eyebrows slightly, letting loose of the small amount of tension that had gathered in his mind. Anger, he quickly deciphered. I don't know why I should be angry at him, but I am. How strange. He cast a glance at the Vigilant, who was clearly uninterested in him, and thus continued with his introspection. Rage, clearly strain. I'm worried about something. And that something is what lies ahead of me. Nothing wrong there, it's a dangerous foe I'm battling, but my mind had better be clear when I fight them. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and holding the chilly air in his lungs long enough to feel the cold seeping into every last cranny of his bronchi. In that moment, while completely relaxed, several things came to his mind. One in particular was a welcome idea.

'Tolan.'

'Yes?' he said, irritated. 'What do you want?'

'What do you know about Dimhollow and what did your comrades do to discover it?'

'What kind of a question is that?' The Vigilant turned fully, looking down at Azrael. The weak flames still blazing around the bonfire cast strange lights on his face. 'Your demands become more absurd with every passing day. What on Nirn do you want to know? Why do you concern yourself with the Vigil? You don't care about it. You don't—'

'Answer me.' The Dragonborn spoke those words with his eyes still closed, listening to how his voice echoed first in his chest and then spread from his mouth, hushed by the snowfall. The hard and lapidary tone seemed to serve the right purpose.

'Fine, fine… I'll tell you.' The Vigilant turned slightly, facing the sloping path with a blank gaze. 'We don't know much about Dimhollow. We've always been aware of its presence, but we disregarded it as a generic Nordic crypt. Recently, around a year ago, Brother Adalvald began investigating the crypt. It was a moment of great crisis within the Vigil,' he said slowly, as if reluctant to admit it, 'and many were leaving our ranks. Isran and Celann among them. Adalvald stated that he didn't trust the records of previous explorations, and took it upon himself to inspect all the places he could. Dimhollow was one of the first sites he visited. He supposedly found signs of dark and ancient magic. Something related to vampires. We didn't pay much attention to him, he always exaggerated things. Turns out, he might have been right. Maybe not even he knew of how big the threat actually was.'

Azrael's eyebrows furrowed vaguely. 'You're telling me the vampires which annihilated your headquarter came out of the crypt?'

The Vigilant seemed to hesitate. Azrael heard a half-word been spoken, but then nothing more than the moan of the wind. The man crossed his hands behind his back, still looking up the hill, where the entrance to the crypt was supposed to be. 'That is what we believe, yes,' he said eventually. 'We thought the attack on the Hall was merely an isolated case, however. Now that I know more places have been attacked, I don't feel that's the case. Adavald started being obsessed with what he had found out, he insisted the vampires could have surprised us at any moment. He was right, but the others didn't believe him enough to start arranging defenses. He inspected the place several times. I don't think he survived the attack. My fear is that one day he ventured too deeply in those ruins and woke the fiends.'

'Vampires don't usually remain in a dormant state for long periods.'

Tolan turned fully, this time looking at the Dragonborn with genuine curiosity. Azrael realized at once that, like with everyone, he hadn't been able to follow his reasoning. His thoughts were often too tortuous for others to follow. They took into account enormous quantities of notions and experience, which when combined led him to perform rational leaps from one thing to another, at times a completely unrelated concept. Babette, Karliah and very few others were able to keep up with his pace. At times just barely.

The Vigilant surely didn't. His gaze was empty, vague. 'I don't think I'm following…'

'Of course you don't,' Azrael said dismissively. 'You and your comrades are afraid of having waked an ancient group of vampires. However, it's more probable that the group you've stumbled upon was looking for something in the crypt as well. Adavald believed the cave to contain an artifact, you said so yourself. What if he disturbed them as they were searching? What if he indirectly lured them to the crypt? They might have destroyed the Hall to take revenge while also disposing of a possible annoyance.'

'It's not "more probable", it's just what you think.' The man clearly wasn't very much into the Dragonborn's assumption. He preferred factual truth, because he didn't really trust his own conclusions. A feeling of inferiority he rationalizes by trying to demolish the deductions of others, Azrael thought. It wasn't the first time he encountered someone of that kind, but few of those were as stubborn as the Vigilant was. In truth, he was probably more adaptable than what he showed the Dovahkiin, since he wanted to keep up the indomitable paladin charade.

'It's what I think after the analysis of facts and reliable sources,' Azrael clarified, keeping his voice low. 'No matter, your opinion doesn't concern me in any particular way. The only thing I need of you is confirmation that your comrade Adavald did look into the crypt.'

'Yes, that much I am sure of.'

'At least there's that. Come on,' the Dragonborn said, leaning his fists on the ground and pushing, rising slowly. 'Let us proceed. The entrance isn't far.'

Azrael stood on his feet and cracked his neck. He extended both arms and crossed his fingers, stretching and cracking those too. He unwrapped the cloak from around his body and shook off the snow that had piled on his shoulders. He glimpsed at the last slope and then laid his lost gaze on Tolan, who was furling his bedroll. The Vigilant was facing him. He never turned his back to the Dragonborn. Azrael was not paying much attention to him however. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to finally fall together in a truly logical way, that looked like the work of a rational being. The Vigil did indeed disturb them. They walked right into the place where they hid something. Perhaps it was Adavald that pointed the way. No way of knowing. Nevertheless, the Vigilants probably disturbed them and the destruction of the Hall was deliberate. Everything looked guided by a pattern, with its premises being an impulsive nature and a shrewd sharpness. This cavern might have been the focus of their activity all along. Being in the center of the area struck the most, it would make sense. It was as if the vampires were awakening after a long time spent sleeping.

He wasn't sure about what to do. He couldn't come up with a detailed plan yet. He knew not what they could find inside Dimhollow, or what insight that might have brought into the issue. Maybe the artifact lying inside was the solution to the problem, maybe just the beginning of a long and difficult war or maybe a whole new problem to cope with. Azrael couldn't say, and he preferred sparing his imagination for when he would need to come up with a detailed strategy quickly. In that instance, adaptability was more important than a detailed plan. He had already revised his decision to hide everything from the Dawnguard. He wasn't too sure of what the organization could do on its own, but with Isran as the leader and himself at their backs they could have achieved a great deal and defeated an enemy stronger than they were. Depending on what kind of resources he gathered in the cave, he might have shared his discoveries with the Dawnguard. He wasn't as suspicious as before, since he now knew Isran would respect his independence and restrain from controlling him.

The whole picture wasn't bright, however. Everything had proceeded well, but there was still a mystery of unknown scope to reveal. All he knew were names, hints, small evidence that had been left behind by his enemy by accident. He wasn't used to it. Every person he had tracked down either left clearer traces or, on the contrary, tried to hide them. With time, he had become good at following those kind of leads. The vampires weren't even considering someone might have been on their tails. The Dragonborn prowling behind them was the last of their concerns, and that rendered their actions difficult to read or follow. Isran was doing a smart thing in preparing his men and waiting. The vampires would have come to him sooner or later, it was inevitable, and he preferred to let them bring the fight to him. His fatal blow wouldn't have been a strike from the shadows, but the deadliest of counterattacks. The effectiveness of the Dawnguard could be measured in its ability to endure their enemy's assault. Azrael's plan was undoubtedly safer, but exponentially more difficult to pull off. Isran's game had calculated losses involved. Azrael was planning to win everything while losing nothing.

'Are we going?'

He moved his head slowly in Tolan's direction. The man was looking towards him. He had his rucksack on his back and was clearly ready to go. He had put on the hood, trying to protect his face from the snow. The wet bedroll was tied to the side of the backpack, with a torch covered in wax on the other side. Between the Vigilant's equipment and experience with undead and Azrael's knowledge and combat expertise, they stood a decent chance even against a hypothetically large number of enemies. Their odds weren't at all good against an adversary of the kind they were most likely about to meet, but weren't catastrophic either. The Dragonborn's only concern was Tolan himself. He feared he could do something overly stupid. He's a hindrance more than actual help, he thought more than once. That was why he usually worked alone. The concept of mate or ally was one and the same with obstacle and burden. If he does do something that ruins my plans, he can play the meat shield. I'm not risking my life to save him.

Azrael gave a nod and stepped ahead of the Vigilant, making it very clear he would go first. There was a mutual agreement about their positions during traveling time. Tolan didn't trust Azrael walking behind him, always with a clear strike at his back, while the Dunmer didn't really care whether he was followed right behind by the man or not. He would have heard the warhammer being grabbed, and there was no way the Vigilant could grab a dagger somewhere without him noticing. Even so, his armor was thick enough to prevent any daggers from piercing deeply enough to inflict a deadly wound, and a strike to the neck would require a precision and ability Tolan didn't have. The Dragonborn could dictate the rules of their cat and mouse game. The worst thing the man could do was drowning him in complaints and sanctimonious reproaches. Irritating, but not lethal, he thought, casting a glance up the hill to see how the pathway went as they climbed up the mountain.

'Azrael.' The Dragonborn was expecting him to say something, but of all the things he could have said his name was the last things he'd have expected. He turned his head around just enough to signal he was listening and then turned back to watching the road. 'Well…' continued the man, his voice somewhat insecure, 'may I ask you a question?'

'You already have.'

'What…'

'Nevermind. Ask away.'

'Aside from, well, everything we know… What do expect to find inside the crypt? Have your thought of anything, planned… Well…'

'Are you asking me if I already visualized how the situation will turn out?' he brashly rephrased. There was a pattern behind the man's words, one that was clear to the Dragonborn just from his tone. Tolan was worried, and his attempts to hide it had worked up to a point, but not forever.

'Yes, in a way.' The Dunmer heard him making two hurried steps, getting closer to him. 'I'm worried that what hides inside the cave might be a lot more dangerous than we believed. I fear it will be something too powerful or enigmatic for us to fully understand. There were experts among the members of the Vigil, but they can't help us.'

'The dead have the great virtue of remaining silent, most of the times. As far as experts are concerned, I think you mistrusted me precisely for my knowledge of unhallowed artifacts.'

'Do you really know that much?'

'Enough for me to feel safe when I have to work with or around one. Your people took issue with me because I carried Azura's Star, and you have probably heard that I was he one that helped destroy the Skull of Corruption. Keeping in mind that those are not the only two artifacts I've handled, I assure you that whatever the vampires have up their sleeves can't be worse than those.'

Tolan paused briefly, letting the previous sentences sink in. Azrael had the suspect he was thinking of something else, and he wasn't wrong. 'Brother Adavald,' the Vigilant said after a moment of silence, 'was very interested in cursed objects and blasphemous relics. He had a strange view of the Vigil, and believed we had to fight evil with evil, so to speak. He believed that with Stendarr's guidance, we'd be able to wield unholy weapons and items without falling prey to the dark forces filling the object. His faith was unparalleled, but he was regarded with caution for his attitude towards dark artifacts. Every time we stumbled upon one and tried to destroy it, he'd remark we ought to keep it and use it to fight the cursed creatures that had used them.'

'Cut to the chase,' Azrael said, coldly.

The Vigilant obeyed and didn't complain, surprisingly enough. 'Every time I talk to you, his words are echoing in my head. He was there when Carcette tried to take that Daedric artifact from you, and he was the only one insisting you should be left on your own, to fight your own fights, on condition you didn't meddle in the Vigil's matters. Your should have seen him. He told the Keeper off for what she had done, he shouted at us all claiming we were ignoring our true goal and focusing on negligible matters. Of course, we replied that an Oblivion-spawned object loose of our world wasn't negligible, and it was then that he gave this very convincing apology of your actions. He talked for a few minutes, and everyone listened with bated breath. After he had finished, we decided to never pursue you ever again and to stay out of your way. Even with Adavald gone, I still hear him speak.'

Azrael wasn't too sure of what the hidden message behind those words. Is he trying to trick me into lowering my guard or is that just an attempt to create a link with me? He knew for a fact Tolan was a person that automatically searched for common ground, but he was also very tied to his own convictions and beliefs. His end wasn't clear. There were a number of reasons he might have told him that. He might have felt the need to share that experience and he happened to be the only person around. He might have wanted to create a bond with him, something to unite them after those long days of travel without any peaceful interaction. He might have also been acting out of fear, searching for a way to push Azrael's threats of killing him a bit further away. He obviously wants something from me; or he's just trying to manipulate me. He wasn't too sure of what the best answer would have been either, since that little story's purpose wasn't at all clear to him.

'Marvelous,' he said sharply, choosing to inquire further, 'and what was the point of all that rambling?'

'That's all you have to say?' the Vigilant asked, in a reproachful manner. 'I try to open up with you, my worst current enemy, and that is all you say? I hated you for everything that you did while in this land, and only now I am beginning to see the point of your actions. That's why I told you. I thought you understood me.'

'Well, I don't. You're a walking contradiction, Tolan. You have a desire to be independent and self-reliant and you show it in your every action, but you simultaneously search for an outer authority to follow. Case in point, you're treating me in such an ambiguous way I don't know what to say to you. I don't even know what to do. So I keep my guard up. It's the only thing that's kept me alive so far, and I presume it will continue to do so.'

'You think everything is said for a reason, don't you? Everyone has to have a good enough motive to say something, isn't it? Isn't a man allowed to have doubts, in that strange world you live in? You're a cold and ruthless—'

'Yes, I know,' he cut him off. 'Now shut that gutter you've got for a mouth and keep walking.'

There was a stone bridge that connected the path they were walking with the other side of the small cleft in the rocky terrain separating them from the mountainside. As they had went up the hill, the trees had began to diminish and the landscape had gradually become more rocky and harsh. The pathway they had followed was merely a ridge in the mountainside. The stone barrier went unevenly upwards, but a few yards ahead of them it took a particular shape, as in a crest overlooking some kind of hole. Azrael looked around, first casting a discrete glance beyond his shoulders to see what Tolan was up to; the Vigilant kept his head down and both hands rigidly stuck in the folds of the tunic, protected from the cold. He then swept his gaze around, although there was very little to see in the raging snowstorm. Lastly, he looked at the crest. That's it. The entry to Dimhollow Crypt. It was an unassuming hole, large enough for a big person to just barely squeeze in. He would have to bend down or crouch to get in. Nothing large could go through that. Either the artifact was really small or there's another way into this place no one has found. Not yet.

He checked for prints or any signs of recent activity left in the snow. There weren't any. It wasn't overly telling in that weather. Any tracks left on the terrain would be covered and hidden completely in a few minutes. Their own tracks would disappear shortly after. The wind was blowing the flakes inside the cavity, so that wasn't reliable either. The Dragonborn focused out of his body for a moment, sensing the magical presence around him, but there hadn't been any recent alterations. Overall, no one had gone through there in the immediate past and no one had cast spell around that area for at least a day. Nothing overly revealing, but at least the area around is clean. Nobody knows what could lurk inside, though.

He walked carefully on the stone slab connecting the pathway to the entrance, tilting his head leftwards to take a glimpse inside the hollow. The darkness inside was utter. It looked thick. The faint light coming from the outside didn't brighten the passage other than its first few feet and no longer. Azrael moved closer and listened. He didn't hear anything. There could have been any number or sounds coming from the depths of the hollow, but the moaning of the wind rendered it impossible to perceive any of them. Going in blind. Not something I'm a fan of. He wasn't afraid for himself, since he trusted in his abilities, but for Tolan. The man could have taken his own, dumb decisions and ruin an already shaky approach. As much as he tried to clear his mind of that suggestion, that always managed to come back up to the surface.

'This is where we go in?' the Vigilant asked from behind.

'I suppose.' The Dragonborn turned around slightly, looming over the man. 'And, Tolan, once inside you do what I say when I say it. Clear?'

'Yes,' he answered, with a fearful irritation that was half fake. 'It's all perfectly clear. Like I have a choice, anyway.'

'How perceptive of you.'

Azrael put his hand on the low ceiling of the passageway and turned around, staring into the darkness. Different flows of thoughts were rushing through his mind. One was focusing on predictions and calculations on what to expect once inside. The next was busy deciphering the restless tone in the Vigilant's voice and yet another making a quick recap of everything that he had brought along, should be need any of it. The vial with Colette's potion was safely tucked away still, Urag's scroll was near his hip and everything else he needed was either in the bandoleers or in the black leather pouches on his belt. What he didn't realized was that, while his mind was busy in its intense activity, he had stopped walking forward. He was motionless, still with a hand on the ceiling, not proceeding by an inch. He didn't worry. It happened to him, when there were no dangers around.

Azrael felt a strong push on his right shoulder, a force that tried to drive him downwards. He reacted at once, resisting the strength of the thrust and moving away so that a next hit wouldn't be able to reach him. His left shoulder almost touched the stone wall and he felt quick thuds coming from right beside him. Footsteps, of someone running. He was facing the cavern, so all he could see was the utter darkness of the passage, but one thing was very clear to him. Tolan has shoved me aside and is running onward. His muscles all locked up tight at his command.

The first impulse coming from his gut was to immediately run after the man and suffocate him by stuffing his own severed fingers into his throat, but cold calculation took over in no time. Azrael was used to the impulses coming from his body and had learned to read them. The information coming from those was invaluable, but their decisions weren't always the wisest. He learned a lot of things about himself just by listening to his body, especially since he was severely out of touch with his feelings. By deciphering the inner motions of his body, he could identity the emotions that would have later generated feelings. In that moment, the emotion he felt was rage and feeling that would have shortly spawned from it was hatred and disdain. He listened to them both, he allowed his inner daemons to talk freely and express their position. The mind took the necessary precautions then. Right now, chasing after him could have led to his demise. There might have been drops, slopes, enemies hiding around. Too high a risk. I have to be careful, but I also have to reach the artifact before Tolan does. I wonder if he hid something from me and is now trying to do something very specific which he hasn't told me about. I don't think so, however. There was little point in going on wondering and making plans, though. I need to move. Now.

Azrael lurked swiftly and stealthily through the narrow passage. The congealed snow cracked softly under his light steps. He extended a hand soon after having moved his first few paces, keeping the palm against the wall. A light would have obviously been useful inside there, but again, the risk was too high. He much preferred striding within that obscure, claustrophobic hollow in the dark than being jumped upon by hungry vampires. He needed to stay alert for the end of the corridor and the eventual door or entry to a different space, but that didn't look like an issue. This place is so tight I can feel the other wall right beside me. The air itself felt compressed and caged.

His hand found a turn in the tunnel, and he followed it. As soon as he followed, he caught a glimpse of something he didn't like at all. The flash of a fading light. The light was warm and yellow. A torch fueled with oil without the slightest doubt. Tolan… the Dragonborn thought with a sigh of disbelief, how can a suspicious person like you get so reckless? Anyone could have got the jump on you while you lit the torch, and now they're going to spot you immediately anyway. This is a Nordic ruin, if the vampires don't kill you the Draugrs will take care you do. The Vigilant had just disappeared behind the next corner, of which the Dragonborn now knew the exact position, and he was undoubtedly going to descend deeper into the cave. Azrael had his reasons to be skeptical of his chances of success, but again he didn't chase after him. He just had to stay on the right track, which didn't seem to difficult as long as the way was one, linear passage.

As he treaded onward he tried to piece together the reason of Tolan's sudden move. Still, the only rational solution was that he knew something the Dragonborn didn't. He had probably withheld information from him. While that might have been the most sensible option, it seemed strange to Azrael. The man hadn't exactly demonstrated an incredible amount of coherency or self-control, so he might have just rushed forward in the attempt to reach whatever lay deeper inside before the Dovahkiin or to simply get away from him. That also sounds reasonable, he thought, pondering. He got scared for less dangerous things than someone threatening him of killing him. Maybe this was his plan all along. Wait for an opportune moment to disappear, perhaps bring the information back to the Dawnguard and buy their trust… His trail of thought scattered when he was faced with a dip in the pathway and then a downward slope. Upon reaching the end, the terrain went upwards and regained the lost height. However, Azrael noticed the rocks around him shimmering weakly as if touched by a very weak light. He looked up. There seemed to be a pale light coming from beyond the angle. He quickened his pace, careful not to make too much noise.

A shrill, piercing scream reached his ears. It was nothing a human could ever produce. It was a wail of agony and anguish like he had never heard before in his long career of killing people. The vibrations shook the rock and the very ground under his feet. A male voice, he realized, but that couldn't have been Tolan. I refuse to believe it. But if that wasn't him, there was a worse scenario ahead than the one he thought. Or a better one. He didn't know yet. That is the cry of a vampire, that I'm willing to assume. But he might have just killed one and more are leaping to his throat right now, or there was only one in that area and he's victorious. And even with that inconclusive stream of thought, one thing was rather clear to him. I need to hurry.

The passageway sloped again, but now there were more interesting things that kept him occupied as he sneaked his way deeper into the cave. Sounds. Ever since the earsplitting shriek had vanished, others faint echoes had started coming. Resonant, ringing noises. He spent some time trying to make out what they were before jumping to conclusions, but his original idea was soon confirmed by what he could make out. Those were the sounds of metal weapons crashing against one another. The rhythm could have been coherent with the size and weight of the weapons that were probably being used. The noise came once every few seconds or so, and it was safe to assume that was probably the speed at which Tolan swung his warhammer.

New sounds, recognizable ones. A clear echo of the sizzling hiss of a fire spell, a powerful blare and then another scream, less inhuman than the previous but still quite unnatural. Azrael felt the magicka alter in a place not too far away from him, the same place where the spellcaster had to be. Now he had a clearer outlook of the battle. For once, there obviously was someone else in the room, and Tolan had probably killed him or her too. Second, there were more enemies still. This time the ringing of the weapons bouncing off one another was more frantic and at double the rhythm it had before. No more strange sounds, so the Vigilant had probably given up casting spells. The ethereal energies were static, meaning he wasn't channeling anything either. The Dragonborn had a decent feeling about the fight. If I arrive there when he's still occupied, I can stop him and make him talk. That little escape will end up being a waste of his breath. He just needed him to survive.

But that didn't happen. A moment later, just when he was reaching the end of the path and entering into the next area, he heard a very familiar sound. The sound of a blade piercing flesh. He waited for the scream, but absolutely nothing resembling a yell came. Instead, he heard a chocked moan of pain. This time it was overly human. He felt his jaws stiffening from the flash of rage that quickly stormed through his mind, but he regained his composure soon enough. He used the energy of that sudden emotional burst to grip the rocks on both sides of the passage and come to the end of the duct, which ended in an opening to a large Nordic hall in ruins. He looked down at the only light source in the room.

He saw Tolan's body hit the ground. He also heard the muffled thud.

The Dragonborn was in a big Nordic hall which had suffered much more damage than many others he had visited. Most of them were deep inside the mountains, while this one apparently was on the surface level. The ceiling had warped and cracked, falling inside the hollow underneath. Maybe the work of the elements and the endless winters it had endured. The fracture that ran across the entire ceiling was jagged, large enough for a few snow flakes to pass through and cover a section of the floor in white. The weak, grim light of the clouded sky seeped through, brightening the area just enough to distinguish the shapes of the few things inside. The center of the room caved in, forming a black pit where a stream of water fell down. The watercourse came from the back of the hall, from a crack in the stone wall. A ruined tower stood near the wall, on the right of the stream, and was connected to the main flat ground by a stony bridge that looked similar to the one outside.

Azrael observed more intently how exactly he could manage to go around the collapsed center and reach the other side, where the fight had just happened. There's snow here, he realized at once, so… There they are. Tolan's prints were right under his own nose. They remained near the left wall and continued on a ridge, one that presumably continued all the way to his corpse's position. Even that section of the chamber was damaged; the pillars and monoliths had been eroded and the floor was uneven. Precisely in the middle between the two biggest monuments lay Tolan's body. The torch he carried had fallen down but hadn't died out and kept brightening up the circular area around it. The Dragonborn barely saw something in the background, which was probably a wooden portal like the ones frequently found in ruins like those. Closer, though, there were three more things that attracted his attention.

The Vigilant's lied with his back on the snowy ground and the arms convulsively thrown backwards. The hammer lay a few feet away, the pointed tip covered in blood. Next to the body stood two lean figures, garbed in a greyish armor. Vampires… Not wearing the armor the Altmer had, but a more basic one. Like the one we found at the Hall of the Vigilant. And, also similarly to what he had found at the Hall, the one standing on Tolan's left was accompanied by one of those Death Hounds he had already seen. The creature was breathing chilly air from its deformed nostrils and Azrael could hear it breathing from where he stood, which was a fair distance away. He followed Tolan's footsteps and moved forward, flattening against the wall and moving as quickly as he could on the ridge without being seen. The two vampires were absorbed in a conversation, which he only now started to hear clearly. They were too captivated by each other's words to be able to pay any attention to him.

The first one was a male, bent over on the Vigilant's body. The light of the torch brightened up his mocking leer. 'These Vigilants never know when to give up. I thought we'd taught them enough of a lesson at their Hall.' He looked down, taken by the blood stream that flowed away from the man's lifeless body.

The other one, a female, was a little more aware of her surroundings but not enough to notice the Dragonborn nearing them. Azrael listened closely to her words. 'To come here alone…' she sad, spitefully. 'A fool like all the rest of them.'

'He fought well though,' conceded her companion. 'Jeron and Bresoth were no match for him.'

She clearly wasn't thinking along his same line. She grimaced disdainfully. 'Those two deserved what they got. Their arrogance had become insufferable.'

Nothing worth knowing, Azrael thought as he approached his first target. Their conversation could have gone on for some time, but he needed the present moment to obtain the maximum efficiency from his attack. The element of surprise was vital, and he had been very lucky those two were looking away. For all he knew, they may have already sensed him and were merely trying to disguise their wait, although he wasn't very convinced of theories of that sort. As much as their unnatural characteristics helped them, the vampires hadn't proven to be in any way above normal mortals in their thinking, reasoning and planning. For that reason, the Dragonborn relied on them simply being busy doing something else, like talking. He wasn't going to sneak up on them, it would have been way too risky because of the lit torch. His target was different.

He drew the dagger, gripped the handle tightly, closed the left hand on the collar and sank the blade into the Death Hound's skull. The edges pierced and slashed the rotten bone. Azrael stirred the blade inside the creature's flesh and mashing the monster's brain completely. No one could have been able to revive it, a tactic the vampires might have tried to use. As he pulled the dagger out, a freezing chill blew out of the thin wound and struck his arm. The small barbs of his gauntlets quickly covered with an extremely thin layer of ice.

He rose and looked at his enemies. The two vampires had noticed him just now. I have become good, no amount of luck could have aided me here, he thought. The male in particular looked startled. 'Intruder!' he screamed. 'Bleed for me, mortal!' Azrael paid close attention to his legs and feet. If he had learned anything from his information gathering, the more instinctual nature of the vampire opposed to a mortal member of his race was one of the most important pieces. The fiend was ready to spring himself forward. His intention was to plunge the iron axe he carried in his enemy's skull. Meanwhile, his mate would pound him with a hail of elemental projectiles. Faint lights were already sparkling in her hands.

Those were the bloodsuckers' plans. But the Dragonborn had his.

Azrael saw and calculated the trajectory of the axe swing that the vampire was executing and that would have soon reached him. Both his hands moved simultaneously in a complicated but necessary movement. The right one rose, the fingers clutching the dagger tighter in order to absorb the tremendous force of the fiend's strike. The left one reached behind his back, grabbing the hilt of the longsword with meticulous precision and drawing it. The arm extended and lowered.

Some things followed his plans and some others didn't. The vampire's iron axe collided against his dagger with a great deal of strength, making his arm shake and his muscles ache intensely for a moment. The pain was sharper than he expected and it caused his left forearm to lose the complete control over the grip of the longsword. The blade landed on the enemy's thin pauldron instead of his neck and slid to the left. He locked his muscles up tight and prevented the sword from going too far, redirecting the swing and striking the vampire's side with the flat section. It wasn't overly effective because that particular hit was meant to make breathing harder, and vampires don't need to breathe. Still, it made him stagger just enough.

Azrael vaulted backwards, behind the pillar. As soon as he had hit the vampire, he had caught a glimpse of his fellow mage in the background charging up a spell. He needed to put an obstacle between him and that witch, or his chances of winning would get slimmer than they currently were. The monolith standing near him was his best bet for an blockage. The other vampire was pursuing him closely and didn't look keen on following any particular plan or tactic. The Dragonborn shifted his weight on his back foot, sliding the dagger back into his belt and taking up a defensive stance. His sword was pointed at his enemy and ready to dart.

The vampire ignored his subtle threats of counterattacking and did exactly the same thing as he had done before. He rose his hand and tried to plunge the axe in the Dovahkiin's shoulder. Same movements… Azrael noted, in the brief time left for him to think clearly. He's repeating an identical strike. If I parry his strike just as before he'd recoil in the same way, but perhaps there's another way. He couldn't fully visualize his idea because the enemy's blade was getting dangerously close. He let go of the longsword with the left hand and relaxed the wrist of his right one while shifting the weight back on his forward foot.

The two weapons crashed once again, but this time in a different way. The axe's edge collided badly on the diagonally-positioned longsword and much of the swing's strength was easily dissipated even before it slipped to the right, cutting thin air. Azrael retracted the sword and stepped to the left on his enemy, away from his weapon and temporarily out of his line of sight. Bringing the sword closer to his abdomen, he gripped it with both hands and rotated, whirling it by his side and bringing the point in the exact direction of the vampire's neck.

The fiend was doomed. The Dragonborn had played with his impulsive reactions and now there wasn't any kind of supernatural speed or strength that could have saved him. He turned around to face him, a crazed groan warping his features. Magicka streamed briefly in the Dovahkiin's body, flowing rapidly towards his palms and then directly into the weapon itself, morphing and transforming from shapeless energy into searing flames. The sword blazed with a white-hot light before bursting with fire while Azrael lowered his shoulders, controlled his movements and thrust the flaming blade into the vampire's exposed throat.

'Vignorn! No!' The Dragonborn withdrew the blade from the enemy's neck and glimpsed at the female vampire standing at the back of the chamber. Her hand was clenched and a pale blue light oozed from it. He twirled the blade, bringing it by his side, shoved the standing corpse aside with his shoulder and flattened against the pillar. The ethereal forces in the area were altered, and just after he heard a wailing hiss coming his way. Two ice spears whispered as they flew right beside him and moments later they crashed against the stone wall, shattering and raining splinters everywhere. 'Stop hiding, mortal,' the vampire taunted him, stopping. 'I'll give you a beautiful and swift death before feeding off your dead body.' The sound of her footsteps wasn't hearable any longer. She must have stopped, Azrael thought. She's waiting for me. Let's not make her wait too long, shall we?

He grabbed the longsword with both hands and took a deep breath. He narrowed his eyes, letting the deeper images of the world around him seep into his mind. When he felt ready, he stepped out of the hiding spot. The witch crossed his hidden gaze, her eyes mad with fury and hunger, and closed her fists again. She was channeling more magicka, just as he had planned. He moved a step forward, feeling his whole body and perceiving its every fiber surrendering energy to the core of pure strength quickly forming in his throat. He saw her hands trembling, a sign that new projectiles were ready to be thrown his way. A moment more and he would have been buried under a barrage of ice barbs, but he already had gathered all the force he needed.

'Wuld!'

He felt his feet lose contact with the ground as the power of the wind itself lifted him and carried him forward. The sense of touch stopped working for the brief moment in which nothing was really able to come in contact him with. The two ice spikes grazed his figure but shattered harmlessly against his hovering frame. The little magicka he could call for was channeled into the sword, this time glazing the blade with ice. Meanwhile, he gripped the sword tighter and sliced from the upper right to his lower left. The blade encountered a very slight resistance at one point, which he hardly felt because of the great deal of strength imbuing his whole body. The only thing he saw was that, right after having met said obstacle, the blade became coated of an opaque, light red substance. An earsplitting scream shredded the air.

Azrael heard a thud behind him before he could glance around, and when he did he saw the vampire lying on the ground helplessly.

Calmly, he turned fully, facing his mutilated enemy and looking down at her. Just because they were undead it didn't mean they didn't feel pain like any normal mortal. The sweep had severed her left leg at the height of he knee and the right one halfway down the calf. A mortal would have surely fainted if not died on hit, but those kind of deaths were caused by a dysfunction of the heart, which doesn't beat in the first place in a vampire. The stumps should have also made her bleed out quite quickly, but Azrael hadn't infused his strike with ice for nothing. The wounds had been cauterized by the cold and no blood flowed out of the severed limbs. The warmth of a living being would have quickly melted the magical ice, but not the cool body of an undead.

I'm not sure she realizes that I have complete control over her life, thought the Dragonborn, looking at her face. She lives or dies by my whim and nothing else. The visage of the vampire was dreadful, first deformed by the curse and now warped by the pain and anger. The compressed nose was curled up horrifically, the skin on the gaunt cheeks was stretched beyond normal and created deep and ugly wrinkles all around her face, emphasizing the cross shape that her lips took. She had dark hair and red, bloodshot eyes that even now flashed with unimaginable wrath and hunger. No suffering in the world can alter their core nature. Much like us mortals… he thought, relaxing his muscles and letting the blade dangle for a moment by his side while the vampire recovered the awareness of her surroundings and processed what had just happened to her.

In the meantime, he gazed over at Tolan's body. Now that he was more up-close he could deduce something more of what went down while he was crawling through the tunnel reaching the hall. He had assumed the Vigilant had been overpowered by the two vampires in a frontal fight, but no. The left shoulder was marked by a large cut, obviously a stab in the back. Literally. The biggest wound was probably on the torso or the abdomen, which were against the ground and hidden from the Dragonborn's view, but that detail wasn't insignificant. It had taken a technically deceitful move to have the better of him. Azrael was mildly impressed, something that hadn't happened in a long time without counting his encounter with Isran. And to think that Redguard despised him so much. He was a mad and probably dangerous individual, but he was a better fighter than we both thought. A pity he attacked so quickly. He slowly came back to the vampire, who was finally regaining her sense of presence.

'Mortal filth…' she spit, her fangs blinking in the clouded sky's dim light that came through. 'I'll feast on your blood yet, just—' She was cut off. Azrael raised his arm and pointed the tip of the longsword at her throat, but the thing which scared the vampire had been the sudden, though very weak flame surge that had come from the edges of the blade. She flattened her back against the ground, grasping the ground with her clawed fingers as if searching something or trying to grab something. Her claws snapped and broke when rasping the hard rock, but she didn't stop. For the first time, the Dragonborn realized where their more instinctual nature brought them closer to animals than to Men and Mer. Her eyes, while still thirsty, were marked by fear.

'You offered me a beautiful and swift death just a moment ago,' Azrael said, glacial. 'Allow me to return the courtesy. Tell me what I want and I'll deliver. Don't, and you'll experience the most painful death in all eternity. Have I been clear?' His voice touched its deepest notes, echoing in the hall darkly and menacingly. Not even the vampire was able to stand up to him. She growled something that could probably stand for a submission. Azrael articulated his words clearly. 'How many of you are in here?'

'Lokil and the others. I don't know how many. We arrived later.'

'And what—'

The Dragonborn halted his tongue and stopped speaking. The vampire was moving strangely and after a single moment she rose from the ground and tried to reach for Azrael's throat. But the sword was precisely between her and her meal. The blade pierced her throat and the murderous snarl she was producing suddenly changed into an agonizing and indistinct gurgling. There was no way to understand what unknown instinct had got the better of her, a predatory or a suicidal one. The Dovahkiin furrowed his eyebrows and sighed deeply, made curious but not frightened by that unexpected event. He simply stood up straight and ripped the blade out of the undead's flesh with a strong and sudden movement.

Worst cooperation ever, he thought, extending his arm and cleaning the blade on the dead vampire's armor, leaving long red stripes on the grey leather.

A/N: And there goes Tolan… I could't resist giving him a little more identity than in the game, but there wasn't much time for it. But who cares, I can almost hear you sniffing out Serana's arrival.

While we're on that, this sort of introduction to the character and the world before the more complex things start to play a role… How has it panned out? Has it already aroused any particular feelings towards the setting or the main character? Are there any expectations? A weakness of mine as a writer is that I'm rarely able to tell which, if any, emotions are caused by my stories. And on top of that, I happen to be extremely curious. Like seriously, I have gotten into trouble a couple of times for that.

See you, dear readers, in the next chapter.