Author's Note: I do not own Oblivion, the province of Cyrodiil, or any of its residents besides Avielle Fradaun.
Awright. Author's note is just in the story, I guess? Huh. On another fanfiction site I wrote for some years back, they had a separate input for forenotes and footnotes, as so to not skew the word count. Oh well. It's easier to ramble in here, anyways.
Arty – Thanks for reviewing! I hope to make her more prepared throughout the course of the story, but I wanted her to start off fairly naïve. However, she isn't inexperienced – she just isn't well-rounded. As for the bed, heh, there has to be some reason a vampire would choose to sleep on a stone block.
DualKatanas – As ever, you're an extremely helpful reviewer. :D I'm glad you're taking the time to review my story.
Firstly, I'll admit, I never even considered a bound sword. I guess it's because I never use Conjuration in that way – I like my weapons permanent and containing nice Absorb Health enchantments. So let's just say the guard never thought of it? :B
Secondly, I guess I never thought about making Oblivion larger than it is in game. Just now, I took my vampire to 100% vampirism and ran from Skingrad West Gate to the Sanctuary's well – it took virtually no time, but then again, I was wearing 100% chameleon getup and I ignored every hinderance on the road. Regardless... I think I'm going to have to stick with the smaller, easier-to-traverse Oblivion that I'm familiar with. Mind you, he was running full-tilt the whole time he was traveling. If we have characters in groups later, they're more liable to walk, thus taking longer.
Lastly, with the vampirism age constraints – I took that upon my own liberty. Creative license, you can call it. I create my vampires out of a mix of different stories (do not fear, Twilight has no part in it), although I have to say out of any one 'breed' of vampires, the Cyrodiilic vampires are really well-thought-out. The way I see vampirism is that the ability to blend into society soon after feeding is more of a transition stage than a permanent thing. As the vampire gets older, he becomes more of a creature of the night, and less like he was beforehand – as if some lingering trace of life remained and slowly faded over the years. I'll use an example of my reasoning behind this; it's said that the first stage of vampirism can blend in unnoticed among society, and it does, if you have a vampire PC. But if that's the case, then why does Hassildor never come out of the castle? If he could reach what we consider 25% vampirism, he'd look 'normal' to all of his citizens, he'd be unaffected by the sun, and really, he wouldn't have to be such a complete hermit. Poor introverted Hassy. :(
And a final note – while I'm by no means a novice writer, I do have an unfortunate tendency to turn characters I like into Sues. And I really, really like Vicente. So I am making an effort to keep him real, but later on, if he starts becoming Sue-y, please whack me gently but firmly. Nobody likes Sues, myself included, but it can be hard to realize when they're forming.
Hoo boy. Long note. Hopefully it won't be so long next time. Anyway, enjoy the story!
('[]')
"Paralysis. Ten second duration. One of my finer works, if I may say so myself." The Redguard proffered the newly completed staff to the Breton.
After the guards had finished questioning her, Avielle had returned to the Skingrad guildhall to ask, as casually as she could, if anyone knew of a cloaked stranger in town. Unsurprisingly, nobody had, so she'd left Skingrad for the Imperial City, where she'd stopped at A Fighting Chance to purchase a weapon before spending the rest of her waiting time at the University.
The smith, Rohssan, had been a kindly woman who'd helped the weaponry novice choose something to wield. They'd both agreed right off the bat that Avielle would have difficulty using anything heavier than a dagger, and she'd eventually settled on a silver one that fit rather nicely in her grip. It felt strange to carry, but the cold metal soon warmed in her fingers. When she'd mentioned how she'd been assaulted, Rohssan had been generous enough to give her a few basic lessons for free to help her protect herself in the future.
But still, this kind of weapon was what she preferred.
Avielle took the staff into her hands, testing how it felt in her grip. It was the same knotted piece of wood as before, but in the light, a silvery-green resplendence emanated from the finished staff. Its power hummed through her, the skin on her arms breaking out into goose pimples... but it was a good feeling, a satisfying tingle. This kind of staff would cost mountains at Rindir's, and she'd gotten it for free. Well, as free as single-handedly taking on a bunch of necromancers was.
Still, it was a much better prize than a slip of paper. Maybe the Arcane University wasn't going to be so bad after all.
"It's perfect," she sighed as she weighed it. She was no dab hand in the school of illusion, but she knew that a targeted paralysis spell that lasted for ten entire seconds would be beyond the grasp of nearly any mage. She'd chosen wisely.
"I wouldn't use it too much," Delmar cautioned. "A powerful enchantment like that will run out of charge very quickly. Either teach yourself a good Soul Trap spell or be prepared to surrender your wallet to the guild rechargers if you're going to go to town with it."
The Breton smiled at him. "I'm actually planning to get in some good, solid studying sessions at the University for the next month or so, so I don't think I'll need to worry about that yet. I heard somebody around here can teach me a bit of Mysticism anyways. I may just go look for her now. A Dunmer, wasn't she?"
Delmar bit his lip. She seemed so happy, for once, much more so than she'd appeared when she'd stormed into his office a week prior... why was he the one that had to deliver the bad news again?
"Actually, er."
Her blue eyes went from warm to guarded in an instant. "Yes?"
He coughed. "Raminus told me he had another assignment for you, and that he'd like to see you straightaway."
The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, suffering the full body-bind that his carefully crafted paralysis enchantment delivered, with a very angry mage standing over him. She tapped her feet, counting the time with each beat.
"Huh. It really is ten seconds," she noted, as the glow around him finally faded. "Not bad."
"What was that for?" he growled, wringing his hands as he got to his feet. Paralysis always left your muscles stiff as hell, and he'd put his best work into this one. He'd still be working the kinks out tomorrow.
Her reply was as sickly sweet as rotted fruit. "If I'm going to be the guild's new errand-girl, then I'd better make sure this thing works okay."
With that, she stomped out, probably to give Raminus Polus a piece of her mind. Delmar rubbed his eyes.
Damn. She was mad. And she'd seemed like such an unassuming little thing, too.
Next time, Raminus could go and fetch her himself.
0o0o0
"You know, I came to the University to get away from grunt work," were Avielle's first words to Raminus upon entering the Arch-Mage's lobby. "I thought that once I was here, I could go attend some seminars, listen to some lectures on magical theory from those prats walking around outside..."
"I'm sorry," the Imperial began.
"...and if this is your way of welcoming new members into your fold, then I have a bone to pick with it," she finished, more loudly.
"You'll have plenty of time to study," Raminus apologized. "But I'm afraid we're rather short-staffed at the moment."
"I've had just about enough of battling necrophiliacs for the moment."
The Master Wizard blinked. "Necromancers, Avielle. And your assignment has nothing to do with them for the moment." Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad... has a... book... of ours that I'm certain he's finished by now. One of our higher-ranked magisters would like it back for some of his research, and you are to retrieve it."
Avielle's eyes nearly popped out. She had to fetch a book? This was urgent business how, exactly?
And... ugh. Skingrad. She normally loved the town, but right now, she'd had enough of it.
"I'm not sure if you've left the University in the past twenty years, due to you shouldering all of your work off onto insignificant newbies like myself, but I have news for you. I've spent plenty of time in all of the cities, and there's only one Count I've never actually seen. Count Skingrad is fetching agoraphobic. The only way I'm going to see him face-to-face is if I break into his quarters."
By now, Raminus was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Language," he admonished. "And Count Hassildor has certain... ties... with the Mages Guild. Your status as our representative will guarantee you an audience with him." He paused, wondering if he should tell her any more.
Hmph. Perhaps meeting a vampire might knock some sense into her head, so why should he blunt the shock? She needed to start taking things seriously. Weren't magisters supposed to be full of zeal, dying to prove their worth and serve their guild?
His voice took on a more scolding note. "This is a relatively simple task, I might add. There are plenty of more hands-on things your cohorts in the guild are being sent out to do. I gave you this assignment with your recent exploits in mind, you know."
The Breton briefly considered testing out her new staff again, but quickly decided against it. It had been rash, she owed Delmar another apology, and Raminus was right; her job could have been a lot more arduous. She didn't want to start a hate-hate relationship with the person who was starting to look like her employer.
With a sigh, she slung the staff over her back. The sooner she got this over with, the better.
Time to get on the road again.
0o0o0
Dearest Vicente,
I heard you were in town recently. In truth, I'm rather glad you didn't stop by to check in with me; pardon this, but I cannot afford to be linked with your exploits. My reputation is tenuous as it is. I suppose it would be pointless to ask you to stop picking off my citizens? I was never fond of Sir Milvan, and the silencing of Glarthir's rumors is a weight off my shoulders, but if you continue with this sort of morbid efficiency, I fear I shall have no subjects left. Furthermore, I'd rather that Bravil maintained the title of the crime capital of the province.
Still, when you have time, I hope to see you here in Castle Skingrad to share a drink with me. Have you finished with my copy of Feyfolken III? I do believe it's the only copy in Cyrodiil outside of the Imperial Palace, and I would like you to return it as soon as possible. I know you treat your possessions with care, but you'll have to forgive me for being leery of the other assassins you stay with. Old prejudices do die hard, and I am a nobleman.
On a different note, I've heard the Mages Guild is turning their interest towards me once again. Pray tell, does our state immediately make us allies with necromancers? Those Guild fools know nothing, and I cannot run a county with children spying on me. I suppose I'll have to let my steward inform me when the eventual lackey arrives. It's only a matter of time.
I do hope you are well.
~JH
Vicente chuckled, folding up the letter and sliding it into his desk. Yes, that was Janus for you. No tact on the surface, but he was a very dear friend to him.
"Ocheeva?" he called.
"Yes?" came the reply from the room above.
Deciding such a raised conversation was impolite to hold, the vampire made his way up the ladder into her quarters, where the Argonian was enjoying a glass of wine at her table. She glanced up at his approach, her orange eyes meeting his own. "What is it, Vicente?"
"Do you particularly need me for anything the next couple of days?"
Ocheeva frowned. "You know that I do not handle paperwork nearly as well as you, and Sithis knows that without you, it accumulates very fast indeed. What did you have in mind?"
"An old acquaintance of mine wants to see me." Vicente shrugged. "Who am I to oppose?"
The Santuary's mistress quickly rifled through the accumulated contracts on her desk, making sure there were none that the others couldn't handle. "No, I suppose you're free to go then, but do return soon. Walk always, dear Brother."
"Night Mother watch over you." He dipped his head, and then made his way into the foyer.
"Teinaava?" Spotting the Argonian in his usual corner, he went up to him.
"Yes, Brother?"
"My sincerest apologies, but I fear I'll be needing that book back sooner than expected..."
0o0o0
"What do you mean, he doesn't want to see me?" Avielle raged. "I was told specifically that he would!"
Mercator Hosidus fixed the Breton with his most pathetic stare. The Count had told him to keep his eyes open for a Mages Guild representative, but he had his own plans where that was concerned.
"Having seen you myself, I cannot blame him," he continued, his cadences dripping acidic condescension. "Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to change his opinion on the matter. Come back in a day after I plead your case."
Not that the Count would agree to see her, of course. No, the two of them would not be meeting. He'd make sure of that.
"But -"
By Mannimarco, she was a thick one. "Has a day passed yet? No? Then I really don't have anything more to say to you, do I? Move along."
Avielle watched Mercator Hosidus strut away into some off-limits sector of Castle Skingrad, her fluttering fingers itching to have a go with her staff and wipe that smirk off of his face.
Ugh. She should not have gotten a paralysis staff. It was becoming one hell of a temptation.
She wouldn't be hurting them, would she? No, it was more like... induced humiliation. And well-deserved.
It's still assault, she mentally grumbled. But Conceited Brocade Guy was just begging for a nice bolt of paralysis to the back.
Really, could anyone blame her? When she was a young girl in High Rock, her mother had always sat her down on her knee and told her of the beautiful gardens and wondrous facilities that only the Imperial City had held. She had been kicked out of the guild before Avielle was born, due to some particularly dangerous experiments that had ended up claiming the life of some of her fellow magisters. Her mother wasn't a bad person, just blind to risks and wrapped up in a false sense of immunity, and her daughter had worshiped the ground she walked on. Young Avielle had been determined to finish up her mother's dream and become a mage to make her proud, and even in childhood she'd found a remarkable enjoyment in the mysteries of magicka.
Even after her mother's experiments with Destruction magic eventually and inevitably claimed her, her dreams still lived on in her daughter, now fully caught up in them.
And while she hadn't been in the Arcane University long, the Breton was not finding it up to her expectations.
One of the guards cleared her throat. "Do you have an appointment with the Count, miss?"
Apparently not. However, it was pretty clear that that was the guard's euphemism for 'you are loitering' and not an honest question.
Time to spend another day in Skingrad. Once upon a time, she'd revel in the prospect, but now it just felt exactly like it was.
Grunt work.