AN: Hey, sorry it's been so long. I tend to focus more intently on a story when it's in the last few chapters, and I just wrapped up that story.

To Darthfenrir489: So, I'm not going to lie, but it honestly slipped my mind that Dhampirs tend to be the result of a male Vamp and a mortal woman. Thank goodness for retcons, right? So in the story it's supposed to be like... a gift: the idea is that Mara (and Arkay, as Florentius has pointed out) have taken an interest in his relationship with Serana. The gods of Love and Life/Death are giving him something after he's been forced to surrender so much during the course of this story. A divine reward, if you will. Also, thanks for the compliment!

Jul

Lucius

I sheathed my blade as the Lurker slowly began to melt away into a puddle of ink. Its angry, piscatorial face snarling at me as it disappeared completely. I raised my palm towards the creature and let loose a stream of Lightning for good measure, causing the last breath of the creature before it passed on to come out as a shriek. It was at that point that I turned around and began to walk towards the Severin manor. It only took a single healing spell to completely undo the minor wounds I had received in my fight with the Lurker. Every minor pain undone, however, summoned one thought to my mind.

Octavian.

It seemed odd that these minor scratches, wounds I had become accustomed to receiving in battle against dangerous enemies such as Daedra, would affect me in such a manner. I had paid them no heed before now, and yet a mere couple of days after meeting my son – my son, oh how saying that still filled me with joy! – each blow that landed upon my skin was worse than any other wound I had ever received. Every one reminded me of my own mortality, and I soon realized that I was afraid of death. I hadn't been afraid of death in years, but now I could only picture the years of my son's life that I had never seen. If I died, the rest of those years would never be mine to see. I could suddenly imagine nothing worse than losing my son, whether through my own death or – Nine forbid – his...

I arrived at the Severin Manor while still deep in thought, my face slamming into the wooden entryway. I flinched and straightened up, a fireball summoned to my hand on instinct. I was able to contain myself before I blew up the door and lowered my hand to my side. I took a deep breath and clenched my fist at my side to get rid of the tension in my fingers. "Damn," I hissed to myself. I took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my mind. Going into a battle without thinking about only the battle was a short path to a quick death; I had to shove all other thoughts from my mind to survive against warriors like the Morag Tong. I reached down to my right hip and quickly pulled a Daedric Dagger from where it rested. I had learned my lesson against the first assassin, and would be prepared for battle within the small hallways of a home against any other Morag Tong warriors that may wait within. For a moment I considered it odd how I could have my weapons constantly drawn, even within people's homes, and no one would believe I was about to attack them. Maybe it was a power of the Dragonborn.

I opened the door to Severin manor and slipped in quietly. It was also nice that everyone's doors were unlocked so often. I raised the blade in front of my face and looked around the entry hall for a moment to find it completely devoid of life. I shut the door behind me and the room became devoid of any light until I sent a magelight to the wall across from me. The world lit up, the brown and black tones of the home accented by the huge shadows cast by my magelight. I let my hand that held the dagger drift to my hip while the other rose, flames within my palm sending more light into the room to see the home around me.

It was luck that I saw the first of the attackers, and I cursed my own stupidity before my dagger caught hers. It was a Dunmer, and one of the Severins I believed. She was wearing rich clothes, with some sort of imported fur draped across her shoulders. It was clear she wasn't a fighter, but her attack had nearly caught me unawares anyways. My dagger caught hers backhand, and if there had been any doubt that she was not a fighter it was gone in that instant. I flicked my wrist and started to focus; I couldn't risk anyone sneaking up on – And there it was. I twisted to the side to avoid the other Dunmer's attack.

This woman had a hood pulled over her head and her red eyes flashed out from beneath it. I jumped around her and let her dagger continue towards the first woman. The first woman – let's just call her One for sake of convenience and the other one Two – One jumped to the side in time to avoid the brunt of the attack. The edge dragged across One's side just a little, causing a few globules of blood to trail the dagger and fall to the ground. Two pulled her blade back hurriedly, an instinctual but stupid mistake that caused the dagger's blade to drag across One's side a few inches above the first wound. I slammed my palm into Two's back and the blade slashed across One's side for a third time, this time dragging diagonally and connecting the first two wounds.

Two picked up on what was going on after that, and decided to turn away from One instead of flinching backwards. It didn't matter, of course. A void of inky nothingness appeared in my left palm for a moment and imploded upon itself, replacing the void with an ethereal dagger with which I could catch Two's attack. I hooked the blade of her ebony dagger with my summoned dagger's crossguard and pulled down hard. The dagger slipped from Two's grasp and I dismissed my summoned blade. I pulled Two between myself and One, who was moving to stab me by that point. I shoved Two into One before either could respond, and One's blade found itself buried in Two's gut.

"Mirri!" One screamed, freezing for a moment when the realization of what had happened passed through her mind. I did not give her the time necessary to recover, however, and summoned a full length blade to my left hand. A single swipe and both of the women were dead. I was now really hoping that these two had hired the Morag Tong, otherwise I had just killed a pair of innocents and that would not sit well with me. I searched both bodies and felt my heart sink when neither had any incriminating evidence on their person. One did, however, have an old looking key. I pulled it from her hip and cast a Clairvoyance spell on the item, linking the metal in the key to the metal of whatever it unlocked. A blue trail of smoke appeared on the ground and I followed it down the stairs at the center of the room, then into the master bedroom.

The safe was located on an empty book case in the back of the room, and I dropped the Clairvoyance spell upon seeing it. The area was dark, so I cast another magelight on the ceiling before moving on. In a matter of seconds I was upon the safe, burying the key in the mechanism to open it. It slid open without issue and the contents were revealed to me: a single letter folded up and partially hidden beneath a small pile of gold. I unfolded the letter and examined it, smiling to myself as I did. I hadn't killed innocents, it appeared. I pocketed the letter shut the door of the safe.

I turned on my heel when the light in the hallway darkened and raised a physical wall of Magicka with which to protect myself. A spear of ice shattered against the powerful barricade and sprinkled to the ground, allowing me to get a good look at my attacker. Standing in the path of my magelight's glow was the assassin I had faced earlier that day. Casting that spell had saved my life, it seemed. "Assassin," I greeted, pulling my dagger out while keeping my shield raised. As it stood we were at an impasse – she could not pass my shield as long as it was up, but the nature of this ward that deflected both Magickal and physical attacks was such that I could not move while it remained active. I took a deep breath and cut off the stream of energy into the wall.

I dove forward as soon as I could, letting a few ice spikes fly over my head to crash through the book shelf and wall behind me. I came up to my feet within arms reach of the assassin, and she slashed backhand at my head. I deflected the incoming blow with my own dagger and continued moving it towards the assassin's throat. She grabbed my wrist and forced it down, slashing at my throat now. I grabbed her wrist with my free hand and we came close to each other in a struggle for power. She snarled and tried to snake her wrist out of my grip, but my grip tightened to prevent her from doing so. My head shot forward, my forehead slamming into the crest of her skull. The assassin yelped in surprise but held on, so I did the same thing once more. This time she stumbled backwards and her grip on me faltered. I pulled my knife hand out of her grip and up, burying it in the side of her neck. Blood began to pour out from the wound around my blade, and then she gurgled and some shot from her mouth to collide with my cheek. "You were a good fighter," I told her as her eyes began to alternate between glazed over and clear, the Dunmer trying to stay alive and conscious despite her wounds. "Nobody except her has managed to cause any trouble for me, so take the praise of an Emperor into Aetherius." Then I tore the blade from her throat and slowly lowered her to the ground, electing to wait with her for the end. It was the least I could do for a worthy enemy. As her vision began to black out, I felt a sudden urge to say something else. "I... Talos guide you."

Sosnaak

Babette

Babette walked silently down the stairs of the High Prison of Alinor, ignoring the screams of rage and pleas for help that echoed down through the halls of the building. The prisoners – human and otherwise – that were contained in this prison received the most inhospitable treatment that either she or the Empress could conceive, with every day dragging on in an almost endless river of torment and torture. Technically, given her roots in the old Dominion's Thalmor Justicars, Thera had decided to use the term 'reeducation' rather than torture. Babette supposed that was the end goal, but the process mostly involved torture, so the argument was really just semantics.

As she continued downwards, further into the dungeons that Thera had spent the last five years filling, the shrieks of pain slowly began to fade away. Those that 'lived' in the deepest reaches of the prison were not like those that were being reeducated on the upper floors. The denizens of the lower floors were some of the most dangerous warriors the Empress had ever personally fought, ranging from assassins sent by the old Dominion council all the way to a battlemage of the Psijic order. And its first permanent tenant, an old, formerly human Vampire hunter.

It was in front of Isran's door that Babette stopped. There were plenty of screams coming from within, though none of them were the baritone roar that had once echoed from behind the door. No, those had stopped long ago, replaced with shrieks of pain coming from those he devoured in his ravenous hunger. He had tried to resist the call of the blood for some time, longer than Babette had ever seen one successfully resist, but none could do so forever. Now, his thirst was nearly insatiable.

Babette raised her arm and slammed her fist into the steel door. The screams inside continued while a thin panel opened. "Who's there?" the inquiring pair of eyes asked.

"Down here,"Babette said pointedly. The eyes drifted down as far as they could, forcing Babette to stand on her toes to meet the guard's gaze.

"Grand Advisor! What are you doing down here?" the guard inquired. Another scream died out as the prisoner drained his prey completely. The guard's glowing eyes glanced over then back at Babette. He quickly added, "Ma'am?"

"The Empress has requested this 'agent' be sent on his first mission."

The guard raised an eyebrow. Unlike Babette, it was not his place to question the Empress' decisions, not even regarding this... creature she had created. "Very well, then," the guard muttered. He slid the panel shut and a series of locks could be heard clinking open. Once the noise stopped, Babette took her own key out and began to unlock the door from her side. The door opened a moment later, revealing a vampire dressed in heavy armor standing beside another door.

Babette walked forward and slid open another panel on this barrier, peering in to where the screams had completely stopped. There was a figure in the corner, blood coating what little of him was visible. Shreds of flesh and bone could be seen around his form. A pair of glowing, golden eyes turned towards Babette and she again wondered if this was a truly good decision that Thera was making. "Open the door," Babette demanded.

The guard moved in and placed his key in the lock. "Yes, Ma'am," he said apprehensively. He twisted the key and pulled it open, stepping back and putting the door between himself and the opening, a useless, makeshift shield.

Babette rolled her eyes and walked through the doorway. "Stand up," she told the Vampire in the center of the room. He glared at her for a few moments, resisting the commands, then sighed and stood up. "Good. Now follow me, Isran." Then she turned around and exited the room, knowing that the broken man would follow her. And follow her he did, like a dog being led to the hunt.

The guard peered around the corner of the door as Babette left with the rabid hound at her heels. It was the last thing he saw before Isran's fist tore his throat out and he fell to the ground. Babette watched the murder dispassionately, though she wondered again if this was a bad idea. Nevertheless, she continued leading the dog to its mission, simply hoping that what had happened to the guard did not happen to her.

Jul

Lucius

The First Chancellor looked up from the letter I had taken from Severin Manor. It had been about his third time reading through it, committing every word to memory. "I did not believe myself important enough anymore to hire this number of Morag Tong assassins," he muttered. He shook his head and folded the letter up, handing it over to his Second Councilor. "Give it over to the Guard Captain and have him put together a strike team. We've let outsiders solve my problems for too long now." The Second Councilor glanced over at me then returned his attention to Morvayn. He nodded in assent, then took the letter and left.

Morvayn stared at the door for a few minutes before looking back at me. "You know I would have done it," I said.

"Obviously. But as I said, you have done more than enough for us." Morvayn groaned and leaned back in his seat, face tired. "I had hoped to avoid politics such as this when I left the Grand Council."

"Trouble follows certain people."

Morvayn nodded in disappointment. "I'm aware. It does not make it any easier." He kept his eyes shut and began to look his age – in human years. "Do your gods pile on the problems as mine do?"

"Perhaps more," I responded with a smirk.

Morvayn laughed caustically. "Cruel gods."

I laughed with him. "Yes, very cruel." My mind drifted back to Octavian. "Though they give things that are better than what they take," I said with a soft smile. I stopped when I saw Morvayn studying my face. I cleared my throat. "I'm happy I could be of service to you. And the Empire."

Morvayn looked amused by the continued charade. "Work for something you believe in and you work for yourself." Morvayn stood up and gestured towards the door. "As I said, you are allowed free rein of the Ebony Mines. If you can aid their owner in finding another source of Ebony, our trade will be exclusive with you. Ah, your Empire."

"Of course," I said, also amused by the charade. I bowed my head. "Thank you, Sera."