Author's Note: I don't own Oblivion, blargh
A great big thank you to everyone who reviewed :D You're the reason I'm not doing my English essay. Cheers!
Arty – I loved the sweetroll line too :B Also, with chapter length... when I have long chapters, I tend to write more slowly overall, and not just relatively speaking. I write less when the finish line is less visible, you could say. Also, my author's notes are -not- 1/3 of my word count. :( I don't have a problem with Traven, but Raminus always annoys me. I console him to make him a midget to appease my raeg – try clicking on him and type 'setscale 0.1'.
DualKatanas – Ironically, on the other fanfiction site, I did use description to add more words, and people there would tell me off for it, saying I was being too flowery. I guess this is just the way I write. When I'm done with the story, or out of inspiration for the next chapters, you can expect me to constantly go back and revise the old ones. Oh, and { }
Lady Reva – Yay, a new reviewer! I hope you'll like the direction I do take this, because I promise it's not going to be what anyone expects when I get to the really good part.
NoSoundComes – I'm afraid my fast streak was interrupted D: I've been scrambling to get my work done these part few days, but hopefully the weekend will allow me some good, solid writing time. I totally agree with you on Hassildor and vampirism, and as for the scene and not understanding, I never actually wrote that – when I'm revising, I'll probably add that scene. For now, I didn't deem it strictly necessary.
"Count Hassildor would like me to inform you that I am not the only person who disapproves of your policy of lying to newbies and sending them out into hordes of necrophiliacs unawares."
Raminus Polus started to correct her flawed terminology, and then what she'd said sunk in.
"You were attacked by Necromancers?"
Avielle shot him a pathetic stare. "No, they invited me out for tea with the Count. I forgot to bring back your copy of A Less Rude Song that may or may not have actually existed,by the way. What do you think happened? A group of them ambushed me and would have made me into one of their pet zombies if Janus Hassildor-" and the other one, "- hadn't fried them. By the way, I think that proves he's not working with them, fangs and all. In case you were wondering that, and that was actually the reason for you sending me off."
The Imperial processed this. "So you're aware of the Count's... condition?" he finally said, rather evasively.
Avielle realized that she definitely needed to recharge her staff as soon as possible. Forget about self-protection, she just wanted to make this pompous aristocrat kiss the floor.
"Yes, and I fail to see why you didn't consider it important enough to tell me about," the girl snapped. "Of course, you didn't even mention that I was supposed to spy on him, which sort of made the entire mission doomed to screw up right from the start."
"I'm sorry," Raminus placated. "You were never supposed to be in any danger, and it was wrong of us to use you like that regardless. But you must understand, we didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Our relationship with Count Skingrad is tenuous at best -"
"If this is your typical policy towards him, I'm not surprised," Avielle cut him off. "If you keep sending people to get books from him that he never borrowed, he's going to think you're trying to annex his personal library. Blather on to somebody else about how important this was, how it's vital to the guild, et cetera, okay? I'd like to get started on my work now, after all these delays, because I actually do have other things to do besides play your errand girl. Oh, and by the way, the Count said that the next time you wanted something from him, get it yourself. I approve."
She stormed out, leaving Raminus want to both cry out in frustration at this hard-headed Journeyman and sigh with relief at having narrowly avoided telling her that Irlav Jarrol was looking for somebody to help with his latest project.
Avielle was also frustrated and relieved. Relieved because she now had time to access the University's impressive facilities for more than five seconds, and frustrated for a much deeper reason.
She was walking in the land of her mother's dreams, her paradise, the final destination transferred from a dead woman's dreams to her own... but the happiness she'd expected was nowhere to be found. She had worked to reach the top for so many years... maybe the way it had always appeared as a pinnacle to her, a respite from all the problems in the guild's lower tiers, had left her expectations overlarge. But this reasoning didn't make her any happier about it.
Even so, the University seemed like the only possibility, the only way to complete the work that her mother had started.
It was only after her funeral that Avielle had learned the why behind her mother's long nights in the basement, punctuated by flashes of red and orange lights that would flare from beneath the door... the tests that backfired so frequently she'd often emerge from that metaphorical cave burned and bleeding...
She leaned against the stone, letting the sunshine soak into her body. Whenever she had asked her about the experiments, her mother would always get a faraway, even rueful look. "It's a secret," she'd tell young Avielle, and send her off with a kiss. "It'll be over someday, sweetie. Don't worry about it."
But Casselia Fradaun had not lived long enough to see that end, and her spirit seemed to cry out to her daughter, begging her to give closure to the driving force of the final sixteen years of her life.
And when Avielle had learned the reason, she had been only too happy to oblige.
0o0o0
Two days later, dangerously close to daybreak, Vicente made it back to Cheydinhal.
So close was the sun to the horizon that he didn't even bother with the well, entering the abandoned house by door like a new Murderer or a foolish beggar simply because he was closer. He sighed inwardly with relief as the door creaked shut behind him, a primal feeling of safety lending him a momentary triumph as he slid from dawn back into the shadows. He'd been caught in the sun a few times, the most recent of which was half a century ago, and if he never felt it again, it would be too soon – even an instant in the weakest light was as excruciating as bathing in molten metal.
When safe from its proximity, however, inability to stand the sun seemed like a small price to pay for vampirism's upsides. Some of his kind lamented their inability to bask in the natural warmth, but while Vicente did suffer from the occasional wistful pang, he had taught himself to love the glory of the night rather than long after the day. There was much more beauty to be found in moonlight than pain, after all.
He waited for a minute, listening for the sounds of anyone who might have seen him enter the house. When he was certain that he had not been followed, he made his way into the basement, treading carefully over the splinters and skulls that welcomed assassins home.
Vicente ran a languid hand over the door's smooth ebony; recognizing him as one of the Night Mother's children, it slid open without protest. Six in the morning was not a lively hour in the Sanctuary, and the foyer was empty; even Teinaava's omnipresence near the small mahogany bookshelf was absent. The onset of day was even leaving him suddenly tired, although for purely different reasons, but he had to report back in before anything else.
He glided into Ocheeva's room, where the Argonian slept. Her armor was still on in her rest, but loosened for comfort, and the collar that normally covered her neck folded back down to reveal glittering jade scales, bobbing up and down with the rhythm of life that pulsed beneath...
Suddenly, there was nothing else; no Sanctuary, no wooden bed frame or pillows or torches. The familiar fog was swirling in his head, making her throbbing jugular the center of his universe, the only relevant thing to be found. He could feel the faint sting of venom beginning to well up in his mouth. Vicente swallowed and took a step back, running his tongue over his fully extended teeth. Yes, it had been far too long since he'd fed... He took a deep breath through his mouth, tasting the familiar scents of everything else around him, as he resorted to when he felt his instincts rebelling against his will. He was a vampire, perhaps, but... how had Janus phrased it? He refused to be an animal.
Finally, the haze clouding his mind receded, and his fangs retracted perhaps a centimeter – as far back as they could go at his age. He knew he was perfectly welcome to his family's blood whenever he pleased, but he would not demean them so much by using them as sustenance.
He gently tweaked the Argonian's ear fin; having been raised as a Shadowscale, Ocheeva and her brother would awaken to the lightest stimuli. He was not disappointed; she jolted upright, grabbing the dagger – not fumbling for it like a certain Breton girl who had been much more awake – in her belt before realizing who had prodded her. Some people were heavy sleepers, but assassins were not, and Argonians in warm climates were even less so. She allowed herself five seconds to get her bearings, and then she was as awake as she ever was.
"Greetings, Brother. It's good to see you back. You do not have to pinch so hard, by the way."
"My apologies." What was gentle to the vampire could be anything from light to bone-shattering to anyone else, but he usually did a good job of keeping to the former. "Did anything occur while I was gone?"
"Well, yes." Ocheeva settled back down into her pillow. "Very much so, in fact. We have a new Brother. He just arrived here yesterday."
The vampire clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! It is a gift to see our Family grow once more. Still, I cannot help but wonder why Lucien did not inform us of this beforehand. It's simply not like him."
"I disagree," the Argonian replied. "It's unexpected, and therefore definitely Lucien. He probably had his reasons, anyways. Perhaps he was simply too busy. The life of a Speaker is not a carefree one, that is to be sure."
"Indeed." Having achieved that rank before stepping down to a more quiet life, Vicente knew firsthand what it meant to be a Speaker of the Black Hand. "What of this new Brother, though? Is he here at the moment?"
"Yes, although he's sleeping. I decided I would wait and let you give him a contract, to allow him the chance to get used to working with you."
Vicente frowned. "I wish I'd known to expect him. If I had, I wouldn't have left."
And that Avielle Fradaun would have died, commented a nagging voice in the back of his head. He had no idea why, but the notion bothered him. Much more than it had any right to, anyway. He cast it out of his mind – he had other things that needed considering, and he was only just beginning to realize that he was once again on the way to breaking the Brotherhood's largest unwritten guideline. This time, with somebody who was getting embroiled in such a momentous string of events that he might well be contracted to kill her.
But no... he didn't actually care about her, did he? He had intervened the first time for the hell of it, and the second because Janus had needed to talk to her alive. That was all, wasn't it? He was reading too deeply into this... it was fine to be cautious, but surely finding out about her being marked for death would mean nothing to him if Sithis willed it. He had no logical reason to have any ties with her; they had nothing in common, they'd not shared even ten sentences with each other, and she was not the type to be inducted into his world.
But still, there was something there. Something he couldn't quite place his finger upon... something he didn't like.
All of this, he managed to process while still attentively listening to Ocheeva's speech. Such was the flexibility of a civilized vampire's mind.
The Argonian shrugged. "It does not cause us any problems. In any case, Brother, I suggest you go get some sleep. You have circles under your eyes again."
While the vampire was tired, the circles stemmed from a completely different problem; one that he was in no position to remedy while the sun shone. "As much as I'd love to, I'm sure you'd rather I dealt with the paperwork before it gets any more severe."
"Well," Ocheeva sighed, "if the dead will not sleep, at least kindly allow the living their rest. Good night, Brother."
"It's actually morning." he noted dryly. "Isn't that when you're supposed to be up and about?"
"Hnnh."
He smiled as she rolled over, her breathing already slipping back into the regular pattern of sleep. Mortals and their need for instant gratification to their bodily complaints... Ocheeva may have been the mistress of the Sanctuary, but he often felt like a father figure, a patriarch watching over a group of children. He supposed this was partly because of his age and partly because they all shared vulnerabilities he did not. If he tried hard enough, he could sometimes dredge up memories of his ephemeral life and the sensations that had accompanied it, but they always seemed strange and incongruous to him. As a vampire, everything was optional. Ignoring needs could be done indefinitely, so long as you could withstand growing torment the longer you let those desires go unchecked. As tired and thirsty as he was, he could go on without sleep or blood for an eternity and still exist, albeit miserably.
He headed down the stairs to his quarters and eyed his desk critically. On it slouched a messy pile of parchment that had most definitely not been there when he'd left for Skingrad.
The vampire sighed, casting his slab a longing glance and picking up his quill instead.
He had his responsibilities, and they always came before his whims.
0o0o0
The expected knock came to his doors perhaps three hours later.
The new Brother was an Imperial who looked more like an Arena poster boy than a cold-blooded assassin. Somewhere between seventeen and twenty, the boy seemed... insouciant; there was a recklessness, an arrogance in the way he carried himself, maintained even in a den full of assassins. His new black leather armor contrasted sharply and rather ridiculously with the curly blonde hair that fell past his shoulders as well as his tanned skin; it also served to emphasize his impressive musculature with its tight-fitting design. The color of his eyes was a light brown, dark gold in the torchlight. He had a roguish air to him, more bandit than Brotherhood, but Vicente knew better than to trust first impressions.
His respect for him increased as the Imperial took in his skeletal features without a trace of the usual shock or fear that Vicente inspired. He extended a hand, which the vampire shook warmly.
"Hey there, Brother. I'm Ray. Ravolian Markaius, really, but that's a mouthful."
He definitely talked like a rogue, too, but there was a certain charisma to him. Hopefully his nonchalance wouldn't be so present when he was on the job.
"It's so good to finally meet you. Vicente Valtieri, at your service."
The Murderer peered at him more closely, as if affirming something. "I get to work with a vampire? This is awesome."
Charismatic and tactless, then. An interesting combination, to say the least. But tactlessness was better than fear – it was difficult to train people who were terrified of you, and in his current ravenous state, he was not in the mood to stay in a closed, confined space and placate somebody whose heart was pounding like a rabbit's. He smiled widely, displaying canines a Daedroth would have been proud of. "I am glad that you see it so. For the moment, however, I am simply in charge of assigning you your contracts. Speaking of, I have one ready if you've finished settling in."
Ray's Oblivion-may-care grin now looked distinctly like that of a Cheshire cat. "You know, when that Lachance guy told me I could actually get paid to kill people, it sounded too good to be true."
Vicente's character judgment whirled, trying to pin down the rookie. He was definitely not one of the twitchy, jumpy kinds that joined the Brotherhood out of terror and inability to turn back time rather than love of killing - those who had murdered in the heat of anger, passion, or other fleeting whims, and found their lives as they knew them ruined. While a few things about Ravolian seemed a bit strange, and he did strike the vampire as kill-happy, he didn't appear psychotic... and he seemed to be fine with the undead, which was a nice touch in Vicente's book.
"How did Lucien stumble upon you, by the way?" he asked casually.
Ray shrugged. "Got drunk late at night, rowdy, Imperial Legion had a problem with it. You know how it is."
Vicente did not know how it was, being unable to enter a bar in the first place without causing an uproar, but he let the new Brother go on. "And you killed a guard?" he guessed. It wasn't a rare story in the Brotherhood, and he seemed like the type...
"Well, yeah, but I was drunk. Doesn't count. Anyway, they chucked me in prison for it, and that's when the good stuff happens."
He leaned forward. "I've been in a few jails, but I have to say, the way they try to psyche you out in the I-C is way out there. They were trying to pull some serious mind games on me or something. A bunch of guards brought this crazy guy into my cell and told me to stay put, then unleashed the head case on me. And when I say crazy, I mean crazy crazy. He was wearing a bloody dress. Anyway, the guards opened up an escape route to torture me some more – probably thought I couldn't get out unarmed with the three of them blocking it and a nutjob all over me. The old geezer had me in an iron grip, ranting about how he'd 'seen me in his dreams' or whatever. Gramps was in my way, so I asked him nicely to shove off. Guy just tried to give me a damn necklace, so I cracked his neck and skedaddled. Guards tried to chase me, but them these other head cases in pink popped out of nowhere and held them up. I know, didn't make sense to me either. If they cared so much about the old guy, well, they were seriously just asking for him to get killed if they used him to freak out prisoners like that. There wasn't any time to think about it, so I just got the hell out of there and laid low for a while, and then Lachance showed up. Great, isn't it?"
Vicente had been matching up this tale with a more sketchy and fragmented network of events he knew of, and what he figured out made him suddenly long for a relaxing soak in the hot springs.
Lucien had recruited the bloke who'd killed the Emperor. And that bloke was not a brilliant and calculating assassin, but a naïve child.
Yeah, just great.