Hey everyone!

Sorry about the long gap in updates, I've been busy with school.

Anyways, here's the latest chapter! Enjoy!

And now, we return to our feature presentation...

Ka-Durash sat slumped against the railing of the Akaviri ship; he was a member of the Ka-Po Tun, a race of tiger-men living on the Akaviri isles. He was whittling a wooden sculpture of a dragon, carefully carving out the details with his long, slender claws. He was disgusted with his race; they had actually joined with the Tseasci! While he had no quarrel with the Tang Mo or the Kamal, but his people had an ancient war with the Tseasci, and he hated to be working alongside them, much less under the command of one of them. Suddenly, a black mist appeared in the center of the deck, the crew turning in wonder at the swirling vortex. Eventually, the mist coalesced into a form they knew all too well: Kazaka, crown prince of the Tseasci, and leader of their expedition. But something had changed about the golden-scaled Akavir: his eyes were pure black. He looked up, and grinned at the crew.

"Do I have a sstory to tell you!"

Delchkahn lay on the bed sullenly, staring at the stump where his wrist once was. How could he fight Them, whoever They were, with only one hand? He was in real trouble now, and he was frustrated because he knew no way to get out of it. He ran iver the events of the past few days in his mind. He had been defeated by Kazaka, but saved by a Khajiit girl named Padfoot, who was now a vampire. He had lost his hand fighting the Listener of the Night Mother's Black Hand, and Seed-Neeus… His eyes drooped as he thought of how Seed-Neeus had died. He wondered how Dar-Ma had been doing; as far as he knew, her father had died when she was young, leaving Seed-Neeus to care for their child alone. Seed-Neeus had been the only blood-family she had, and now she was gone. Amori cursed himself; he should have been able to stop this! For all his life, people had been dying around him! His parents, that guard in the Oblivion gate, countless Imperial soldiers, and now Seed-Neeus! So many had died because of him, and he began to wonder if he really deserved to live. No, he thought; he needed to go on. He reminded himself of all the lives he'd saved, and although it was little consolation to the dewath of friends, it did help some. He heard the door open, and looked up. Soul-Swimmer walked into the room, her eyes worried. Shortly after he had woken, Amori had passed out, and had been asleep for the past couple days. He had just recently woken up, and Soul-Swimmer was very worried about him. "What's up?" Delchkahn asked glumly, his bad mood hanging over his head like a dark cloud.

"Seed-Neeus' funeral is today," said Soul-Swimmer, taking a seat on the side of his bed. "I thought you would want to know." Amori nodded, and to Soul-Swimmer's surprise, started to push himself up from the bed. He grunted in agony at the strain, and Soul-Swimmer gently lowered him back down to the bed. "What are you doing?" she asked, concerned for his safety.

"I'm going to my friend's funeral," he replied, and started to try to rise again, but Soul-Swimmer held him down.

"Delchakhn… you need to rest," she said, tears beginning to bud in her eyes. "Please, I don't want to lose you…" She closed her eyes, and lowered her head. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and opened her eyes to see a smiling Amori looking up at her.

"I know, Soul-Swimmer, but I have to go to her funeral." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't. Now, are you going to help me up, or are you going to let me do it myself? Because you sure as hell aren't stopping me." Soul-Swimmer sighed, and kissed Delchkahn, lightly at first, but growing into a deep and passionate exchange. Eventually, she pulled out of the kiss, and helped her lover to his feet.

The funeral was a sad procession; rows of mourners dressed in black robes, with four leading the procession carrying the body of Seed-Neeus on a stretcher. She looked so peaceful in death; her eyes were closed, and a slight smile was on her lips. Dar-Ma stood to the side, huddling in the arms of Dra-Shek, mourning for her lost mother. Amori sighed; so many people had died. So many pointless deaths were on his hands; countless innocents had died because of his actions. It only hurt more now that a friend – no, a family member, as far as he was concerned – had joined the ranks of the dead. He watched as the mourners lowered Seed-Neeus first into the ornate, wooden coffin, and then into the neatly dug grave, and as they handed Dar-Ma the shovel, giving her the honor of burying the body of the departed, as was tradition. Dar-Ma took the shovel, and with a sigh of depression, buried her mother.

Delchakhn sat on the side of his bed staring out the window at the sunset, hunched over, his left arm resting on his knees. A full two months had passed since he had lost his hand, and he was beginning to wonder about the cryptic messages left top him by Kazaka and Sithis. Exactly who were "They"? Where did "They" come from? And how in Akatosh's name was he supposed to fight them with only one bloody hand? He sighed, rubbing his temple. It had been so long since he could use a bow. FrostBite rested in the corner, dust already gathering on the mythical bow's frame, an air of depression hanging around the once glorious weapon. Neglect had taken its toll on the bow; magic weapons are created with the energy of a soul, and eventually, these items began to take on a "personality" of their own. FrostBite seemed sad, its once-intricate designs fading into the beautifully crafted weapon, its colors dulling with time. Delchkahn heard a rustling behind him. He turned, and smiled; Soul-Swimmer was lying in the bed, asleep, smiling. His eyes softened; she was everything to him. He swore that day, that bright, glorious morning, that nothing would ever happen to her. Little did he know, he would be hard-pressed to keep his oath.

Padfoot climbed out of bed, yawning, her maw stretching wide, revealing her perfect, glistening fangs. Her blood-red eyes flicked open, glowing slightly in the gloom. She was in the basement of the Anvil Mages Guild. The basement had become her room during the day; vampires didn't do well with the sun. Padfoot rubbed her head, massaging her temples. The nightmares were getting worse. Terrible visions of horror plagued her dreams when she slept, and when she woke, the awful, yet somehow sweet stench of blood filled her nostrils. She was always hungry, always thirsty. Food and water did nothing to satiate her, and she feared what she might become. As the weeks had passed, she saw herself growing paler and paler, and noticed her hair beginning to turn from its warm mahogany color to a pitch black: the black of night. Her eyes hurt in the light, and she both feared and longed for the sun. She remembered how just a week ago, she had become so desperate for the warmth and beaty of the sunrise that she had run outside to see it. As the red rays pierced the clouds, she had tried to turn and run in horror as her flesh began to burn. She had felt the scprching rays of the sun pierce and incinerate her flesh, the very thing that she had loved most had almost destroyed her. A tear came to her eye at the memory; if there was one thing she missed the most, it was the sun. Padfoot missed its brilliant rays, the bright color it brought to the world, the feeling of its gentle warmth washing over her body. Padfoot walked over to the mirror that she kept in the basement, gazing into its depths in the gloom. She looked wretched: her stomach caved in along her skeleton, her face was gaunt and pale, her eyes sunken. Gone was the vibrant beauty she had once possessed, replaced by a haunting shadow of who she once was. Her true self was a memory; her appearance had withered when she had stopped eating or drinking, but her soul had broken when she was forced to live in the darkness. Padfoot stared up at the ceiling, tears running freely down her cheeks. "Why?" she whispered softly, staring into the gloom. "Why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?" Padfoot fell onto her bed, and cried herself to sleep.

Ka-Mala sat on the edge of a wooden bench, wringing her tail nervously in her hands. She had been accepted, for the most part, by the other mages, but the rumors of her being a necromancer still plagued her reputation. Multiple times she had been attacked by murderers and assassins, many belonging to the Morag-Tong, and some, even worse, to the Dark Brotherhood. So far she had managed to repel them, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before they got her. That wasn't what bothered her. What upset Ka-Mala was that the Brotherhood was still active, even after their blatant defeat at the hands of their former leader, and after Seed-Neeus' valiant sacrifice in giving her life to end the Night Mother. The assassins guild was still active, and this worried Ka-Mala. She knew how they worked, and she knew what this meant. It meant that the Night Mother was still around, maybe as a ghost, but active nonetheless, and all the stronger because of the new youth her resurrection had given her. The Night Mother was still a beacon for murderes and thugs everywhere, still a guiding light for the lower minds, the people dedicated to evil. Ka-Mala held her head in her hands, depressed. All they had done was for nothing. The Night Mother was still active, and if anything she knew about spiritual links and mistycism was accurate, the spirits of her sons were active as well. Ka-Mala looked around her room. When the attacks had started, she had spiraled into depression. Empty bottles of wine littered the floor, some broken, some not. A few bloodied blades rested on her nightstand. Those small knives were covered in Ka-Mala's own blood. Ka-Mala looked down at the scars on her wrists from the many times she had cut herself, staring at the ugly, black lines that stretched over her skin. She got up from her bed, and walked slowly to her closet, clutching her forehead in pain. "Ugh, I've got to lay off the Surilie Brothers' vintage wine, that stuff is killing me," she grumbled to herself, smiling melancholily as she finished her sentence. "Not that that would be a bad thing," she muttered. Ka-Mala pulled on some clothes, not caring how they matched or what color they wore. In the end, she wound up wearing a green shirt and a pair of brown trousers. She began to think of how unfair the world was: two months had passed since the defeat of the Night Mother, and what had come of it? Seed-Neeus had died, no one could change that. Delchkahn made it out with only one hand, and visions of something terrible in the future. Padfoot was slowly going insane below the mages guild. And Ka-Mala herself? Ka-Mala was left a depressed alcoholic, lost in the knowledge that even after all they had done, the Dark Brotherehood had survived, and was beginning to thrive once more. Ka-Mala grunted; Amori had saved them all, and yet he was the one who had lost… his hand. Ka-Mala's eyes brightened, suddenly becoming alert. She ran to her workbench, brushing aside the empty bottles and scribbled suicide notes. She grabbed a parchment, and began drawing crazily across the paper, lines forming quickly from her quill. Eventually an intricate mechanical sketch appeared on the paper. It was something outlandish, yet very familiar. Ka-Mala had drawn a mechanical hand.

Rhiihaaj crouched in the underbrush, waiting for his target. It didn't take long before the caravan of slavers appeared over the crest of the hill. He scowled; more scum kidnapping innocent Khajiit and Argonian youthsto be sold into slavery in Morrowind, likely to work in ebony mines or who-knows what else. He smiled; that would end today. Rhiihaaj crouched lower in the bushes, his blade ready. The lead cart of the caravan trundled past him. He could see the Dunmer slavers riding in the cart, with their "cargo" being forced to walk behind the ox-drawn wagons. The poor slaves were starved and dirty, and had rusty manacles clamped about their wrists and ankles, linking them together on a long chain. Rhiihaaj waited for the last wagon to pass, and he slowly and quietly crept out from hiding. He jumped up onto the back of the covered wagon, his black mask drawn tight around his face. The Dunmer never knew what hit them. Rhiihaaj darted through the wagon like a shadow of death, killing all he came across. The first guard died before knowing that Rhiihaaj even existed, and another two were felled while trying to find who had assassinated their friend. Rhiihaaj had pulled out his other sword, and in a single stroke, decapitated both. Their heads rolled across the wooden floor of the spacious wagon, coming to rest by an ornate door. Almost immediately, a tall, muscular Dunmer slammed the door open, his tightly muscled arms flexed. He drew an ebony claymore from the scabbard on his back, and charged Rhiihaaj. Rhiihaaj waited, and at the last second, flipped backwards, dodging a downwards slice from his assailant. The man's claymore shattered through the bottom of the wagon, scraping the road. Rhiihaaj leaped onto the Dunmer's back, and before he could say a word, plunged both of his blades into his back. The Dunmer's eyes widened, and Rhiihaaj leaped off the corpse as it tumbled through the jagged hole in the wagon floor, bouncing down the hill behind the wagon. Suddenly, the line of wagons lurched to a halt. Rhiihaaj cursed; he had hoped to maintain stealth a little longer. He heard shouts from up the line, and he hid behind a crate. A group of four Dunmer jumped up into the wagon, their bodies encased in ebony armor. "Good lord, what happened here?" one said as he passed Rhiihaaj's hiding place and saw the hole in the floor. Rhiihaaj smiled; the entire group had their backs to him now! He crept out of hiding, and answered the Dunmer's question by slitting his throat.

"I did," he said plainly. The other three Dunmer charged at him, and he heard a fourth climbing up behind him. Wait for it… wait for it… he thought to himself. Now!Rhiihaaj jumped into the air, and the three charging him skewered the fourth who had snuck up behind him, unable to stop their own momentum. Rhiihaaj ran forward… and knocked the three off of the wagon. He slapped the oxes pulling the wagon, yanking on their reigns, and the animals began to move forward. The last things the three Dunmer ever saw were the wheels of the wagon bearing down on their skulls. Rhiihaaj stopped the beasts, and jumped out the front of the wagon, sailing over the heads of quite a few surprised slaves. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said as he landed lightly on his feet, right in the middle of the line of slaves. Rhiihaaj brought his swords down hard on the chains that bound them together, snapping the steel chains like twigs. "Please exit the area in a timely fashion. Do not rush or stampede; I've seen people killed by being trampled. You're free now, but the Dunmer are still here. I'll eliminate them; you GO!" The slaves didn't need a reminder. As one they turned and ran, fleeing into the forest on either side of the hill. Rhiihaaj turned around… just in time to block an attack from a rather large Orc. Orcs?! He thought to himself, shocked at the appearance of the green man. Things wee definitely not going well; the Orc had a heavy warhammer, and was bringing it home on Rhiihaaj wth blinding speed. Rhiihaaj was beginning to grow tired as he blocked blow after blow, the vibrations shuddering through his arms. Suddenly, he felt a piercing pain in his leg. He fell to his knees, and saw a black-shafted arrow piercing the back of his knee. He turned, and saw a group of Dunmer, the one in the lead wielding an ebony longbow. The man had blazing red hair, and one of his eyes had a long scar running across it.

"Heh! Look at this, boys! Looks like a mangy Khajiit wants to play!" The Dunmer laughed, a cruel, evil sound. He lowered his bow, and pulled out a longsword from a scabbard on his back. As he finished unsheathing the blade, it caught fire. Rhiihaaj stared in disbelief, and grunted in pain as the ORc kicked him in the gut. Suddenly, arrows started to fly out from the woods. The first pierced through the Orc's skull, sending his blood spattering over Rhiihaaj's prone form. The arrows sped to their targets, claiming the lives of all but one: the fiery haired Dunmer. The man scowled, and spat at Rhiihaaj before turning and running. Rhiihaaj pulled himself weakly to a standing position, and grimaced as he saw who his benefactor was: Seehiiri strode out from the brush, holding her bow confidently.

"Seehiiri, I appreciate the help, But you really should be staying out of trouble!" he said worriedly. "Especially with the child on the way…" Seehiiri just smiled, and rubbed the growing bulge in her belly softly.

"You know you can't keep me out of the fun," she purred, resting her head against Rhiihaaj's chest, smiling as he wrapped her in his loving embrace. "Besides," she said, looking up at him, "I want our child to have a mother and a father. You need to be more careful, Rhiihaaj. You… you're going to get yourself killed if you keep trying to act like a god!" Rhiihaaj looked down into his wife's eyes, remembering their marriage. They had been wed in the Anvil Mages guild, choosing to have the sermon there so that all of their friends could attend. On that day, Rhiihaaj had vowed to be with Seehiiri forever, and he intended to keep that oath.

"Seehiiri, love… I understand. It's just… I have to do this. To atone for what I did in my past, for all those people I killed." Rhiihaaj paused; the faces of his victims still plagued his nightmares. Anybody who thought assassins were lucky or cold were wrong. Rhiihaaj could remember the faces of each and every one of those he had killed, remembered their dying words and screams vividly. "I'm doing something good with my life for once. When I do these raids, I see the joy I bring these people. It helps me cope with my life so far." Sehiiri looked up into his eyes, and kissed him deeply, embracing him tightly, reveling in their closeness. She pulled away, and gazed into his eyes.

"That is why I love you," she said. Holding hands, Rhiihaaj and Sehiiri walked off into the forest.

Ok, so this chapter deals with what happens to the characters after the defeat of the Night Mother. A lot of it is pretty depressing; their victory was indeed a bittersweet one. But surprisingly, everything turned out alright for Rhiihaaj, former scum of the earth. Looks like in a few months, he's going to be a dad! lol, I wonder how he'll handle that... Anyways, I'm glad you're reading, and please review! Constructive criticism is welcome, and of course, so is praise!

See you all again soon!

-Baeowulf

PS: If you pay attention to detail, you might recognize a background character in this chapter...