Dianthe glanced over her shoulder at the lumbering Dremora, for once able to move faster than the long legged daedra. The ash drifts coating southern Solstheim were deep and more difficult to move through than snow, but the light Breton managed to fall only ankle deep in the drifts. The Dremora wasn't so lucky, his armor alone nearly weighing as much as Dianthe; he was plunged into the ash as deep as his calves in some places. The journey to Tel Mithryn was slow, but it could have been worse. At least they weren't at the northern end of the island where those horrid blue monstrosities scurried about, ready to spear their ankles through.
"You need to lose weight, you're getting fat," she poorly joked, taking a moment to retie the scarf shielding her nose and mouth from the polluted air. The daedra ripped his heavy boot from the ash, glaring oily black eyes at her. Dianthe had forced him to tie a red scarf on before they'd left, none too eager to deal with a daedra suffering from ash lung. He'd relented only after she'd ordered him, proving that he was still bound to her will. For now.
A handful of reavers and a trio of ash spawn lay dead by the time Dianthe and her companion reached Tel Mithryn, both sick of Solstheim and eager to get out of the ashlands. Even if their only other option was a giant fungus. Forcing open the front door of the main tower brought Dianthe into a small alcove with a shimmering blue light. It spiraled upwards, high into the column of the mushroom into what looked like a wide chamber. Too desensitized from dealing with Princes to be wary of the glow, she stepped forward and felt her stomach drop to her heels as she was propelled upwards.
Tel Mithryn's laboratory was a wide domed chamber, the air slightly humid and warm with the walls and floor built from the hard sponge of fungus. Gently dropping to a landing dock, she moved forward, allowing room for her Dremora to loudly hit the wooden boards at her back. The lab was illuminated with various lanterns and candles as well as a candlelight spell drifting over a Dunmer in saffron mage's robes. From the looks of him Dianthe decided he was too reasonable to be Neloth, and correctly guessed the man in resplendent gold, garnet, and chitin adorned robes bent over an enchanting table was the great Telvanni wizard. She approached without hesitation, meeting his irritated crimson eyes when he glanced up.
"And what are you doing up here?" he snapped, not bothering to turn away from his work. The wizard's gray hands gestured a bit, a set of filled grand and black soul gems floating over from a nearby shelf.
"Dianthe the Unbidden and her bound Dremora," she introduced herself simply; increasingly aware that she and the daedra were tracking soot into the lab. Cringing, she resolved to not move and kept her steady gaze on the wizard. His lip curled, "I don't care."
"I'd hope not. I've come because I have questions concerning dreams," she began, watching as Neloth rolled his eyes, dropping a few pieces of enchanted jewelry on the table and setting to work.
"I believe you'll want a soothsayer for your interpretations, I don't waste time on such nonsense," he dismissed, disdain heavy in his wrinkled nose.
"It's been a year since I aided in destroying Vaermina's Skull of Corruption," Dianthe began bluntly, continuing when she saw the faintest curious perk in Neloth's long ear. "For this I've earned her wrath. I can't sleep anymore, she traps me any chance she can to burden my mind with…visions, visions of things she has no business knowing," Dianthe clenched her fists, "she sends her followers after me during the day. She's working from the inside and out to have me killed."
"Doesn't seem like an overly pressing matter," Neloth drawled, crossing the lab to a partitioned off corner that held a staff enchanter. Dianthe followed him, already forgetting her ashen tracks.
"I've only managed by binding this Dremora," she confessed, rubbing her puffy eyes.
Neloth chuckled darkly, "what, didn't learn the lesson not to associate with beings much more powerful than yourself the first, second, or third time? Oh, I didn't miss the Razor on your hip, girl." His words had Dianthe grinding her teeth, her fingers drifting to the onyx pommel of said weapon. Of all the Daedric Princes she'd encountered Mehrunes Dagon had been the most forthright, the easiest to deal with. The boon she'd been given was deadly in its own right, hard won and had paid for itself threefold within days of its acquisition. He may have tried to kill her but she'd barely expected less from the Prince of Destruction. In fact she'd counted on it.
"Can you help me or not, Neloth?" she growled, days without sleep catching up with her. The wizard remained quiet for a time, working on his staves. Dianthe remained in the round doorway, unsure whether she'd been dismissed. Finally the old Dunmer turned to face her, hand on his hip.
"That's hardly a question, the correct query would be will I help you. I'm a wizard of House Telvanni, of course I could help you," he scoffed, "I'd be lying if I said you haven't piqued my curiosity but my work lies elsewhere. Should I find something on dreams I'll let you know. Until then, get out, I'm busy," he snapped.
Dianthe nodded, stepping to the side to let the wizard pass. He carried a few enchanted staffs to his apprentice, shoving them into his arms, "Talvas, see to it these are sold. Have Varona pick up soul gems as well, and I'll be needing a look at your toes later." The younger Dunmer shivered, but nodded quickly, heading to the levitating entranceway with the staves bouncing about in his arms. Deciding that was all she was going to get from Neloth for the day, Dianthe beckoned for Tachkal and together they left Tel Mithryn.
The Breton and the Dremora hunted through the ash-covered land, eventually finding a trap door in a barely standing shack. Descending into the basement Tachkal quickly tore apart the two reavers inside before tossing their remains out through the trap door. Dianthe hunkered down in a chair by the fire, idly scooping a few gems from the table into her satchel. She yawned, shaking her head and digging through her pack for something to eat.
"That Neloth is a bastard but I don't know where else to go," Dianthe muttered, offering Tachkal a few strips of smoked and salted meat. He took it without question, tearing into the venison. Dianthe took a few bites of her own before handing the rest to the daedra, then delving deeper into her pack and producing a small nearly empty drawstring bag. She drew the small pouch open, shaking fingers dipping in, pulling out a shard of solid moon sugar. The shining gold and pink crystal was as large as the last segment on her pinkie.
Tachkal remained silent, glaring into the fire as his mistress sucked the shard past her lips, hunching forward and holding herself as she savored the raw sugar. Beside him the small Breton folded nearly in half, humming quietly and shuddering as the moon sugar melted and flooded across her tongue. After a few minutes the shivering ceased, her body easing as she sat back and blinked slowly down at her lap. By now the darks of her eyes had widened, nearly enveloping the watery gray irises, her ever present trembling banished with the small taste of moon sugar settling in her veins. Slowly she arched back, stretching luxuriously against the chair and smiling wanly at the hum in her blood. Dianthe would stay in this state of pleasure for a few minutes, not a care in the world to be had. With her euphoria came insomnia. It was the reason she had taken up the vice, seeking respite from the things in her dreams and Vaermina's ministrations.
Beside her Tachkal had finished eating his meal and the remains of what the reavers had been dining on. He had slaked his thirst on he and Dianthe's shared wineskin, idly licking the dark juice from his lip. When Dianthe lay on the rug beside the fire he stripped her pack and crossbow away, moving her things out of reach as she drifted into a state of unfeeling delirium. With her eyes cracked open she simply stared straight at Tachkal, occasionally having the decency to wipe the drool from her cheek.
"Don't look at me like that," she complained. The Dremora snorted, looking down at the girl between his feet. He wasn't sure why she was so resistant to letting Vaermina's beasts into her dreams. Instead she let her body and mind fall into rot, choosing not to trust him to protect her. He resented her for it.
"I will look at you as I please," Tachkal rumbled, nudging her stomach with a spiked boot. She loosed a quiet complaint, pouting and lightly slapping at his armored calf. He continued to push her until she rolled onto her back, blinking questioningly when he kept his heavy boot on her stomach. During these moments of moon sugar abuse he often enjoyed performing small cruelties to his master. She was too incoherent to order him away properly, her mind too fuddled to remember what he'd done. Hooking her under the arms he pulled her onto her knees, positioning her between his spread thighs. She frowned when he set her hands on his sides.
"Remove my armor, whore," Tachkal growled, enjoying the faint spark of fear in her eyes. With clumsy fingers she began unhooking his cuirass, scooting closer to reach around the Dremora's wide chest. She undid the buckles, letting out a small grunt to lift the heavy black and glowing red plate from his body. Next she obediently set to work on Tachkal's belt buckles, biting her lip in concentration. On her third try he helped her, giving her a slap on the back of the head for her incompetence.
The Dremora discarded his gauntlets and leaned back on his hands, further spreading out his legs when Dianthe tugged off his boots. He was left in a charcoal gray tunic and steely black pants, the fabric stretched tight over his gargantuan body. The clothes had been snagged from a fallen enemy a while back; Dianthe had spent time altering them to make room for his thickly muscled form. However she hadn't lowered the hems. It left the Dremora with sleeves that came to an end at his forearms, pants at his calves, and the tunic showing a hand's breadth of dark skin around his middle. He wasn't so petty as to care about his appearance around mortals, yet still disliked the clothing. It was a symbol of his indentured life in this realm, of his ties with the drug-addled girl leaning heavily against his thigh.
"You're pathetic," he purred, running long clawed nails through her hair, undoing the fat braid. She shrugged limply, nuzzling against his thigh. Tachkal curled a finger around a lock of white blonde hair. "Everyday I loathe you more, I fantasize about how neatly your small heart would fit in my palm," he sneered, tugging sharply. Dianthe whined, looking up at him with wide confused eyes. She lurched forward, locking her arms around his waist and taking a deep breath against his stomach, relishing the man's musk. Blood, firewood, and rain filled her sense of smell. She smiled stupidly into the bare skin before her, nearly licking the salty flesh in her delirious state. Roughly Tachkal shoved her away, sending her to her back, hitting her head on the raised lip of the fireplace.
"Don't do that!" Dianthe yowled, tears springing to her eyes as she held the back of her head. The Dremora growled in warning, resting his arms against his knees and watching the flames again. Before long she would return to her reserved state, barely capable of holding herself together anymore. Tachkal's lip curled, his belly burning with contempt.
He was of the Kyn, an immortal warrior whose appetites were slaked only by the blood of men and mer. To serve something so unworthy of himself as the thing lying at his feet was shameful. He would rather be slain a thousand times than spend another moment at her side.
Still in the throes of her high Dianthe sat up and rest a hand on Tachkal's knee, smiling shyly while tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. "Thank you for not abandoning me," she sniffed bowing forward to wipe her wet face on his inner thigh. The daedra hissed his displeasure, digging his clawed fingertips into the surface of the table.