Neloth gave Dianthe and Tachkal the run around before he said anything worthwhile. Fetching heart stones and helping him repair the damaged portion of the fungal laboratory were tedious but simple tasks. Everyone was gathered in the newly repaired chamber housing imprisoned spriggans by the time Neloth finally got around to producing the ring.
"Here, I've enchanted it so that you'll sleep painlessly," he dropped it into Dianthe's palm, "perhaps painlessly is an exaggeration," he corrected. Dianthe raised a worried eyebrow, "specifically what will this do?"
Neloth was already leaving the room, forcing his listeners to follow while he babbled, "you're not suffering from nightmares in the sense of dreams. Vaermina's been spiriting you away to play with in her realm of Quagmire. Do try to read a book or two in your lifetime, if you're not illiterate," he threw over his shoulder making Dianthe scowl before continuing, "there will still be nightmares but you will be beyond her harm. Your sleep will be restless but your mind will be your own."
Dianthe spun the silver ring between her fingers, frowning at the light tinge of enchantment that glistened across the dull surface. "Are there…side effects?"
Neloth's red eyes settled on her and she could just tell how stupid he thought she was, "as with all magic there are unforeseen circumstances bound to arise. Now, if you don't mind I'd like to actually get work done today. Talvas, get over here!"
Dianthe left Tel Mithryn quickly, not interested in what the elves were getting up to. Tachkal had barely ducked through the round doorway before unsheathing the Bloodskal blade. Dianthe looked up from the ring in time to see an Altmer in necromancer's robes and three raised reaver corpses come into view. Tachkal pushed past her and with a rapturous roar and swung the blade, sending a ribbon of crimson light whipping towards the group. The Altmer barely managed to conjure a ward when the attack hit but his thralls weren't so lucky. The most rotten of the corpses split in half like spoilt milk and dropped wetly into the ash. The remaining two corpses stumbled before recovering and drawing their weapons, the taller of the two using a glass warhammer and the other unsheathing twin elven blades.
"Defiler!" the Altmer bellowed, ice spikes forming in his hands. Tachkal was already throwing himself into battle, slamming his greatsword against the thrall's warhammer. Taking a deep breath through her nose, Dianthe pocketed the ring and readied her crossbow.
"I honor Vaermina by slaughtering you and your slave," the necromancer barked, whipping forth ice spikes. Dianthe ducked for cover behind the fungal walkways, popping up to snap steel bolts into the elf. He cried out, stumbling back when one caught his shoulder. When he raised a hand to grasp the wound, Dianthe smirked and shot him again, relishing his cries as his hand now lay pinned against his chest. Now only capable of casting with one hand she had him at a disadvantage. She spared a few more poisoned shots before the elf threw a lucky shard, knocking the crossbow from her arms and cracking three of her fingers.
Tachkal skewered the warhammer wielding reaver, kicking the corpse from his blade just as it began to burn into lavender colored ash. The dual wielding thrall ducked under a slow swing, springing up and driving his swords against the daedra. Sparks erupted from where weapon met armor and with the elf so close Tachkal lunged. He tossed aside his blade, grabbing the reaver around the throat he brought back a clawed fist and slammed his hand into the thrall's belly. Dianthe felt her breath catch when Tachkal yanked out a mess of bulging intestines, writhing in his hand like fat gummy snakes before he discarded them to tear more of the reaver's innards out. Soon chunks of ribcage and a heart joined the growing mass of gore, only then did the reaver finally crumble into ash.
Tachkal breathed deeply, his shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. His immense frame turned, unfathomable black eyes meeting Dianthe's watery grays and for a moment she was pierced. Frozen in place she felt the heat and bloodlust scorching her, her body responding traitorously to that dark gaze. Beneath her armor gooseflesh rose on her skin as her thighs pressed together. And then a spear of ice shattered against the Dremora's back and the moment was gone.
Turning his immense frame and charging, Tachkal gave the necromancer enough time to feel fear before their bodies collided. Daedra and elf crashed into the stony ash, the bigger male settling on top and ripping into the other's chest. Dianthe heard every scream and gurgle, watched as the elf hopelessly kicked his feet against the ash, and all the while the blush on her face grew. The sound of the daedra's masculine grunts accompanied by wet snaps of tendons and bone reverberated in her skull, echoing down through her body where it warmed and wet her womanhood. She whimpered at the sudden slickness, her hands tightening and shaking she reached out to support herself against the fungal walkway, but found her hand already occupied by the Razor.
She gasped, dropping the blade and stumbling back, collapsing into the ash. Her heart thundered, her body overly sensitive, and the Razor shined back at her. She pressed a hand over her heart, squeezing her eyes shut as the rush of blood in her ears deafened the world around her. Dianthe curled back in on herself, focusing on healing her hand rather than the other sensations fighting to overwhelm her control.
Tachkal leaned back, sighing contentedly at the smear between his knees that used to be an elf. He got to his feet, flapping his hands to whip the gore from his gauntlets. Kicking a severed hand out of his way he ambled through the mess of bodies and ash to recover the Bloodskal blade from where he'd thrown it. Sheathing the weapon, he took one last moment to survey the aftermath. Tachkal couldn't help the prideful swell in his chest, the haughty smirk at his work. The utter decimation of his enemies would truly honor his lord.
When the mortal didn't come to bother him for a time, Tachkal searched for her. He found Dianthe sitting with her legs bunched up, knees nearly touching her chin. He approached at his own leisure, noting the distant look in her wide eyes. Tachkal followed her sightless gaze and felt his lip curl back in a snarl.
"You leave Lord Dagon's Razor to lie in filth?" he shouted. Tachkal snatched up the Razor, gripping the cursed blade until his palm cut as he offered the hilt to Dianthe. She wrinkled her nose, "you're hurting yourself."
"Take it," he growled. When she made no further move he dropped to a knee, roughly yanking her arm out and shoving the hilt into her hand, clasping her fingers around it for her. Dianthe stared at the daedric blood staining her pale skin. He clamped both her limp hands around the Razor, pushing her hands back against her chest, forcing her to cradle the blade.
"Tachkal," she began, but her voice broke. She paused a moment, clasping his wrist and keeping the warm gauntlet against her bosom, "I don't think Lord Dagon minds the Razor lying in filth. He did give it to me, after all."
He felt a muscle under his eye twitch, a bark of laughter escaping before he could restrain himself. Dianthe stared up at the chuckling Dremora with wide wonder filled eyes as she took in his gleaming fangs and the pull of his red facial markings when he wiped a drop of moisture from his eye. She in turn felt her own stubborn despondency slip away, a grin tugging at her lips as her nose crinkled. She didn't know Dremora could laugh, or that Tachkal could smile without blood covering his face. He looked nice like this.
When he composed himself Tachkal hauled Dianthe to her feet. She teetered a bit but Tachkal righted her. She looked up at him, feeling oddly shy. Stepping out of his arms Dianthe sheathed the Razor at her hip and patted ash from her rear. She spared a moment to finger the ebon scabbard, running the tip of her finger around the silver daedric rune. The Prince's influence was showing in her, the cruelty in her kills, her desire and nonchalance with bloodletting, and the strange lusts.
Her small hand tightened around the bloody hilt. It could be the Prince's hold over her, or she had always been like this beneath the surface. That was why Dagon had given her the Razor, the key to her potential. He'd known her true nature all along. Dianthe could almost laugh at the thought, the absurdity of her being champion to the Prince of Destruction, of Ambition, of Change.
Dianthe briefly entertained the though of returning to their cozy room at the Netch, of testing out Neloth's enchanted ring and catching a normal night's rest for the first time in years. Then again, she had the rest of her life to waste sleeping and only a few more hours of daylight to burn exploring Solstheim.
"Captain Veleth said something interesting about Fort Frostmouth. Let's check it out."
The ash spawn guarding the fort fell easily enough, brutalized and split apart by Tachkal's greatsword. Dianthe crouched over the remains, sifting through the ashes for any valuable gems or ore, occasionally taking pinches of the ash for alchemical purposes. They found an East Empire pendant within the fort along with ruby and sapphire geodes. Dianthe had a spring in her step and a weighty jingle to her pack by the time they reached General Falx Carius.
Dianthe had spotted him first, holding out an arm and dropping into a crouch. Tachkal took note, silently drawing his daedric greatsword and falling into a wide stance. Dipping her bolts into a potent poison of slow bottled on her hip she readied the crossbow and with a quiet snap she fired. She managed four more hits before Carius pinpointed her location. Ducking to the side she began readying another poisoned bolt and made way for Tachkal who rocketed forward to meet the long dead general. Ash spawn began to crawl from the ashes all around them, stirred by the thunderous clashing of Carius's warhammer meeting Tachkal's greatsword.
The ash spawn converged on Dianthe, their slow movements affording her a handful of successful hits until a fire bolt caught her arm. She cried out, disoriented as heat stung her eyes and the scent of her own burnt armor met her. One of the creatures took full advantage, lunging with its condensed ashen blade. The molten sword came down hard, Dianthe barely managing to shield the blow with her crossbow. The blade stuck fast, twisting and melting into the steel and wood weapon. Dianthe screamed as globs of steel dripped onto her hands. She threw herself to the side, hitting the ground in a roll and popping up to her feet with the Razor already drawn.
From the corner of her eye she saw Carius had corralled Tachkal to the raised portion of the room and was bearing down on him. Flames erupted over the Dremora's back, three ash spawn converging on the dueling pair. Dianthe ripped her attention from the daedra, barely bowing away from another blade swing before she retaliated with a flurry of dagger strikes.
She fell into a dangerous dance, twisting away from fire bolts and ash swords only to spin back and tear into the monsters. Dianthe was a skilled fighter but her skills lay in archery. She was quickly worn down by the creatures, dodging and healing where she could. When the lumbering pillars of reanimated sediment had collapsed Dianthe took a moment to clutch her bleeding arm. She'd run out of magic and potions long ago. Turning, she brandished her charred Razor and made after Carius.
Tachkal had not anticipated the weakness of the Dawnguard armor. The flames burnt through the cuirass, melted away the steel plates and brought his pauldrons to a glowing hot red. All it took was a fraction of a second for him to let the pain move to the forefront of his senses, and the warhammer caught his shoulder. The heated pauldron collapsed like dough, the strike knocking his shoulder from the socket and the greatsword from his hands. He tripped forward but did not fall. In the meantime Carius's attention had been drawn away from the disarmed Dremora.
Dianthe shivered when the reanimated general's eyes found her, but she held her ground. Carius's movements had recovered from her poison but she was light on her feet. All she needed was to skirt around his slow swings, she'd done more impossible things before. Still, one hit from the warhammer was enough to kill. She glanced at Tachkal who was fending off an ash spawn with his bare hand, the other arm hanging limply. She wasn't going to find aid here.
She darted in and out, diving and rolling where need be and making use of throwing any furniture she could spare in the general's face before sliding in and slicing at his arms and trunk. Carius bellowed, brining the warhammer down and shattering stone beneath. Dianthe wheezed, just stepping back in time to avoid an obliterated skull. The flash of fire against her chest caught her off guard.
Dianthe swatted at her chest, quickly backing away as smoke stung her eyes shut and burned her lungs. Her gloves were in tatters when she'd smothered the flames. When she finally looked up it was too late.