Epilogue

In the woods of Skyrim, near Riften in the Rift, two figures trudged through the mud. One was a tall and broad Orc, built like a war machine. The other was small and lithe, and moved as gracefully as a deer—a Bosmer. They were there to hunt for food and profit, even though they had a comfortable jingle of gold septims in their coin purses. But that was their way of life.

Further beyond the Rift, deeper into the province of Skyrim, was a single Altmer trying to sell her wares in the trade city of Whiterun. But it was not her skills as an alchemist and mage that brought her there; it was the ongoing search for her father, and the skills she was eager to inherit.

Near the city of Dawnstar, nestled in the shadow of a mountain, was the Hall of the Vigilant. A Breton sat at one of the many tables within, drinking and speaking with his friends and comrades as he examined the maps of known enemy lairs and hideaways. He was eager to see the eradication of his foes.

Also examining maps, but in the city of Markarth in the Reach, was a tall and broad-shouldered Nord, who endlessly traced away as he looked for patterns and plans of attack by the new boldness of the undead he was charged with slaying. This was a task he assigned himself to avenge his fallen allies.

The five there could never know the destiny that had tied them to each other, which was their sole reason for being born in the Nirn. The strings of their fate were pulling taut, dragging them closer without them even realizing it.

All it would take was one catalyst: the one they called the Dragonborn.

Soon, their destinies would be judged and tried, and they would meet challenges and face foes that would put their limits and their sanity to the test. But to be held on so fragile a string was costly, and each would have to inherit a degree of caution to face their newfound foe.

This enemy had just awakened from slumber, with dusk slipping into night and the stars dotting the skies. He stretched his shoulders, back and neck, then covered himself with noble and ancient regalia he'd used since times long past. His skin was pale, which attributed to his years spent indoors, but his hair was so dark in contrast he may as well have been a sketch popping up from a notebook.

The villain absently stroked his handsome goatee and strode from his lavishly furnished room, complete with a bed he never used, and into the dimly-lit halls of his home. Servants and those of lesser import bowed and mumbled greetings or compliments that he deflected with a stern look or a question into their time spent into the objectives he'd tasked them with.

He made his way down to a pen that reeked of human excrement and bile, chose his latest victim and hypnotized them with a mere look. In seconds, fangs as sharp as knives had sank into the victim's neck. She struggled briefly at the pain, but the hypnotism took effect and she soon melted into his arms as he fed from her lifeblood.

She was nearly dead by the time he was satisfied. He dropped her, wiped the blood away from around his mouth, then turned and left the pen.

He was met by his resident alchemist, Feran Sadri, a Dunmer Vampire he'd turned centuries ago, who immediately bowed in his presence.

"Lord Harkon," Feran addressed him cordially. "I come bearing interesting news for you, my lord."

Harkon made his features indistinguishable, so Feran would not read him. He had a hearty dislike of when his brood knew what was on his thoughts. "Speak, Feran."

The Dunmer Vampire grinned. "Two have come in search of your gift, Lord Harkon," he explained. "I almost thought them to be unworthy of your presence, but they are... intriguing."

"How so?"

With a sly grin, the Vampire said, "Well, one is the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, my lord. The other is much less extravagant, but appears... useful."

While not wholly interested, Harkon was intrigued and followed Feran to the dining hall, where human cattle were sprawled on the table for his brood to feast from. At the far end of the hall, near the entrance to the castle, were two lesser Vampires. One was a Dunmer, like Feran, and was wearing the undeniable black leathers of the Dark Brotherhood. The other, a Breton who had certainly been turned in recent weeks, held Harkon's gaze until the intensity of the Vampire Lord overwhelmed the contest.

"I am Harkon, lord of this castle," he said loudly so his voice would echo off the stones. "I understand you seek entrance to my court?"

The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood bowed his head. "I am, Lord Harkon. I seek power so the brotherhood may rise again. If it is under your leadership, I know we shall never fall again, as we did all those years ago."

"Your intentions are clear, then." Harkon's gaze shifted to the Breton. "And what of you, new-born? Why do you seek the power I can bestow?"

Hatred filled his gaze like blood to Harkon's cup. "I... want to... kill... that bitch...!"

"Revenge. Upon whom?"

"Her name... She is..."

"I understand you have trouble voicing yourself. I see your cravings are getting the better of you." Harkon grinned, flashing his fangs to the two. Typical new-born... he mused. "What is your name?"

"I... am... My name is... Arnand Bienne..."

Harkon waved for Feran. "Feran, take those two to the cathedral," he ordered the Dunmer. "I will grant them my blessing. And soon we shall be free of the tyranny of the sun."

With that, Harkon strode back to his quarters, stripped, and easily found his way to the cathedral. The two were instructed to strip as well. It took Arnand longer than the Listener because he was distracted by the smell of blood that wafted throughout the castle.

"I will show you what you will receive first, younglings," he told them, and then let his body throb and adjust to the power that was overwhelming him. He enjoyed the change, revelled in it. But most of all he enjoyed the surge of brilliance and strength he felt.

As a fully-transformed Vampire Lord, Harkon approached the two and readied his fangs.

"You will each receive your desires," he told them. "As long as you serve me faithfully, I'll ensure it."

With that, Harkon sank his monstrous teeth into the Breton's neck, and Harkon's Vampire brood grew.