Valien, using the full strength of his body punched the traitor Lokil in the cheek, the studded gloves instantly bloodying his face and with a final thrust, ran Lokil through with his sword, Susjusk, just as Jenassa and the small contingent of Volkihar warriors finished off the last of the traitor's followers.
The cavern descended into silence once more as the gentle rippling of the water replaced the clashing of steel and unnatural echoes of magic.
Lokil grunted silently as his knees slumped to the ground, black congealed blood gently leaving his chest as viscous ooze from the sword still impaled through his chest, Valien never once removing his hand from the ebony hilt. Watching the defeated pretender to Lord Harkon's throne squirm with slitted eyes the very image of Coldharbour's burning skies, Valien felt no pity for the defeated creature before him.
Jenassa silently walked to Valien's side, her face covered in vampiric blood as she looked down upon the defeated vampire, only cold contempt in her dunmer features.
Snarling, she spit the blood of Lokil's concubine at his feet, "Lokil the Betrayer. A millennium of service to our Lord, the man who brought you the gift that very now surges through your veins, and this is how you repay him."
Raising her hand, a surge of heat and light sparked to life within her palm. The Volk behind the three instinctively backed away from the unnaturally hot flames within the palm
The seconds crawled by, as Jenassa's face grew more and more enraged at Lokil's continued silence.
"Well, what have you to say, filth!" The burning eyes of the dark elf turned vampire flashed as her voice echoed across the dank cavern.
The only response that greeted her was the subdued chuckling of Lokil, his dulled eyes half lidded as the loss of blood took its toll.
"Ironic, that you pups who have none but of a traction of the unlife as I, see fit to lecture me of loyalty. Tell me...how can you have loyalty to one whose treachery knows no bounds." A baleful grin spread across Lokil's gaunt face, the stains of blood from the dead vigilant speckling his mouth and overly long fangs, signs of one who paid no heed to the sensibilities of mortals.
A dry cough forced itself from his mouth, as an ever more furious Jenassa and unimpressed Valien looked on, " I, who have served Harkon since before the founding of the Third Empire, have come to see him for what he truly is. You and your generation of lapdogs in waiting are no more safe than the elders he so gleefully slaughtered when his precious-"
"Enough!" Both Jenassa and Lokil were caught of guard by Aelius's sudden outburst before he brutally pulled the sword from Lokil's chest and lifted his other hand, a small spark quickly morphing into barely contained flame, much as Jenassa's had. "You, Lokil are a traitor and you will suffer a traitor's death. Be grateful there is no time to deliver you to his Lordship for a proper departing."
With that, both Jenassa and Aelius unleashed their knowledge of the destructive aspect of the arcane and bathed Lokil in the vampire's bane. Lokil's anguished cries fell upon unsympathetic company and before a minute had passed, the traitor responsible for the defection of much of the Clan lay as a pile of ash on the damp cave floor.
Valien slowly lowered his hand, sheathing his sword while as the flame within his palm that just moments before had burned so bright and hot quickly extinguished without magicka to sustain it.
Turning his head to his companion since the return of the Dragons, he jerked his head up towards the way they had come, "Return with the company and make all haste back to Volkihar with news that we have vanquished Lokil's little rebellion."
Jenassa's eyes, lit from within by her high born blood glittered in the near complete darkness before she waved away the group that had accompanied them, their fleeting steps like ghosts through the air. They had long departed when Jenassa spoke again, away from prying ears, "What of you, my lord."
A shadow of a smile lined Valien's cyro-nordic mouth as he put his hand on the shoulder of substantially smaller dark elf. "Lokil did not come to this place without a reason. I will find out what he was hiding."
Without voicing her dissent, a frown marred the inhumanly elegant features of his longest companion, fifty years his senior by the reckoning of mortal-kind, yet just as devoted to him as the day he opened her eyes to the Night. His smirk quickly morphed into a chuckle as her frown grew continually deeper.
"My Lord, would it not be prudent for me to accompany you, where I may be of service? There is no reason to suspect that the whole of Lokil's camp is defeated..."
"You fret too much old friend, you will be of service to me with the task I ask of you. You are right of course, and that is way I'm asking you to return and maintain watch over the Court. Our Lord may be in danger from further dissent." A wry grin spread across his features, with just a hint of challenge, "Besides, I'm sure you do not believe me incapable?"
Jenassa huffed, realizing that her master had made up his mind and bowed minutely. He was well aware that her true loyalties sat with him even if she was wary enough of others to never voice such sentiments, for which he was grateful, for all their sakes. "Never, my lord, forgive my impudence. It will be as you say."
Valien merely raised his brow in suspect of her claim, although his lightly upturned mouth somewhat dampened the effect, "I am sure you will quickly find another reason to question me again, I have no worries in that regard, Jenassa. Now go, make haste before the Sun rises and feed before you take shelter for the day. Await my return at Volkihar."
A quick bow was the only answer he received and within an eye blink the shadows had carried Jenassa across the cavern and out of his sight.
Valien watched her depart, his face inscrutable before looking down towards the body of the captured Vigilant of Stendarr that the party had first heard of after clearing a path through the old nordic barrow.
Moving towards the dead body of the evidently aged former daedra-hunter, he couldn't help but feel some pity for the fool. It was upon the slopes of the very mountain he now dwelt that the modest hall of the Vigilants had been swiftly dispatched, apparently by Lokil's party if the lone vampire left without sentiment upon its cold stone floor was any indication.
He was aware of what it was to lose those with whom you shared brotherhood and purpose.
Stealing away such thoughts, he eyed the still supple body with new found hunger. Merely scavenging the kill of another was less satisfying for a hunter to be sure, but nearly a day and a half without feeding had parched him, and he had no wish to take leave of his senses this far within the bowels of Tamriel.
Twining his clawed gloves into the enchanted armored robes of the dead man, Valien lifted his entire body into the air before he tore into the unblemished neck, sucking deeply to make up for the lack of a pulse.
The moment the first drop of blood fell upon his tongue his mind vanished into the familiar and ever blissful realm of utter satiation in something no mortal could ever understand. His half recollections of the carnal pleasures of his mortal life paled in comparison to the sheer majesty of this most intimate act as he felt new power invigorate his body with the utmost intensity.
After nearly a full minute Valien had his fill as the veins began to dry and the moment pass, he dropped the noticeably shriveled body to the cold stone ground, a new spring in his step.
As the former vigilant hit the ground however, a small journal fell out of his pocket and onto the ground. Looking down at it for a moment, Valien knelt and reached for the rough leather bound booklet. Licking the pointed ebony studded fingertip with his bloodied tongue, he flipped over the cover to the first page.
"Notes on Dimhollow Crypt...the third volume," Looking back to the stiffening body, he frisked the ragged robes, searching for the previous two volumes in the series, only to find nothing.
Mentally shrugging, he read past the inconsequential meandering of the opening paragraphs, before he came upon what he was looking for, "...observations regarding Dimhollow Crypt's possible connection to the Ancient Vampire Clans of Skyrim's history, I wrote of a great chamber, far larger than anything I have seen here in this crypt."
Looking back towards the chamber and the impressive stone island in the middle of the blackened lake, he lifted from his haunches and began moving towards the elaborate structure.
Now that he looked upon it, the architectural styles between Volkihar Castle and the stone island were uncannily similar. Besides the obviousness of the immobile gargoyles, which were universal among most vampires descended from the Volkihar, it was clear the design was part of what he recognized as the old style of ancient Volkihar architecture, unused for a thousand years since the glory days of the Clan.
He left the bodies of the slain behind as he moved across the small pathway into the cavern proper and onto the grand circular platform. The spaded arches forming a perimeter around the island towered over his head as he moved towards the inner circle sitting a circle of minor arches, where in the center sat an austere pedestal, unadorned except for a miniscule opening on the spherical head.
Staring at it for a few moments, his enhanced senses detected a signature in the air, an amalgam borne of his lower senses, that was both familiar and foreign at once. Eyes closed in concentration, Valien slowly turned to look under him as his mind caught up with what his heightened senses were telling him.
"Whatever it is, its under the platform." Lifting his foot, he brought his heavy leather boot down upon the stone floor; only for ancient dusk to puff up from the unyielding stone, a dull thud confirming its thickness, beyond even his physical abilities to break through.
Untroubled, Valien looked around his body, clad in the traditional armored garb of Lord Harkon's Court, searching for any clues on how to access the hidden compartment beneath the stone platform.
Finally his eyes settle upon the pedestal once more, and to the small hole adorning its top.
Regardless the a dawning suspicion of what the hole was meant for, he removed his enchanted leather glove and cautiously placed his hand upon it.
His ears picked up a small internal click from within the pedestal before a long needle-like prod impaled itself straight through his hand, its bloody ebony body jutting proudly from his flesh for just a moment, seeming to absorb his essence into itself before quickly retracting back within the pedestal, leaving a rather obvious hole in the center of his hand.
A half snarl spread across his features as he half cradled his hand to his chest, "Damn the creator of this cursed contraption to Coldharbour!" Gingerly, he replaced the ebony studded glove back onto his hand, the knowledge that the wound would heal in less than a score's time not lessening his annoyance in the slightest.
His half-hearted grumbling was silenced however as he felt slight tremors in the platform quickly morph into quakes that rocked his feet from under him.
The unpleasant sound of rock scraping upon rock emanated from all around him as the second from last indented ring that made up the platform suddenly shifted lower, quickly moving inward towards the center pedestal.
The most inner ring, the one he stood upon, finally shifted beneath all the others, to the point where he could only partially see outside the ninety degree inclines. His mind did not register this however, as all his senses focused upon the overpowering scent emanating from the suddenly visible pillar in front of him.
"That scent...it can't be possible." Valien slowly reached forward, his hand just barely sliding upon the rough surface of the obelisk, nearly ten feet tall and five feet wide.
He fell upon his rear as the front half of the pillar, more of a sarcophagus from what his senses could tell, pushed forward half a foot, before sliding heavily around the structure like a trap door.
Looking into the surprisingly pristine interior he watched as a decidedly feminine figure-an especially well preserved one-stood deathly still, most likely in a state of torpor.
Apparent from his own confused thoughts, the undoubtedly ancient vampire, her scent did not lie, was not exactly what he was expecting. Valien could only admire the sheer, cold beauty of the creature in front of him.
She was tall, almost six feet he would say, with darkly lidded eyes and framed with prominent cheekbones and a strong, feminine nordic jaw within the cold marble of her skin.
Her powerfully aristocratic face, similar to Lord Harkon's perhaps not coincidentally was complemented by the obviously finely made yet rugged attire she wore. He noticed however that it bore more than passing similarities to the battlewear of Lord Harkon, which he knew to be of ancient design and unrivaled quality, incorporating techniques long forgotten to all but the Night Lord himself.
Although none that he knew of existed from those founding days of the Clan other than Harkon himself, Valien was aware, both from his own mentor, Garan Marethi, and his own studies into the scant records of the old clan that there were some unmentioned others that shared in the pure bloodline, gifted directly by Molag Bal himself.
He knew of no other besides Lord Harkon that could claim such high blood as that of the direct descendant of the most powerful of Princes. Valien himself, who could say with merit of being favored by Harkon regardless of his recent exploits as a Dragonborn and in spite of his rather young age, was considered of high born blood in regards to the rest of the Volkihar despite being only a third generation. His sire, the dunmer Garan Marethi himself was unique among the Clan in having been directly bornt from the blood of Lord Harkon.
His body tensed as he saw the eyes of what could only be a previously unknown Vampire Lord, a paragon of their kind, flutter into consciousness. He felt a half formed wish that he had indeed kept Jenassa at his side, for in spite of all his power gained during the return of the Dov, he was rather unsure if he could survive the force of an avatar of Molag Bal's will made flesh in realm of Mundus.
Finally, sensing as if realizing herself that she was indeed returning to consciousness, her eyes flitted open to reveal rich crimson irises surrounded by pools of enchanting ebony unlike any he had seen before and that he likely would have enjoyed looking upon were it not accompanied by such danger. As if confirming his thoughts within an instant an ornate ebony short sword, crafted in the style of the Akavir was upon his throat and behind the powerful elder's full lips rested impressive fangs barred in an equally impressive snarl.
"How did you open the sarcophagus, vampire? Only the blood of my family would have been capable of unsealing my tomb." Her voice, imperious and threatening, was belied by an almost hesitant undertone. While he was without doubt that she would not hesitate to kill him, as any self respecting vampire, perhaps she was not as sure of her authoritative manner as she wanted to make it seem, or at at least she believed that to be so.
Still, desiring neither death nor willing to defy what was still an undoubtedly powerful ancient, Valien subtly bared his throat in submission, aware of the precarious position he found himself in of whether or not he owed his loyalty to this creature; if she was indeed of the same blood to which he swore fealty. Until then however he could not will himself to completely subject himself to her. His dragon soul and his vampiric blood, both strength and power incarnate, would not succumb to the domination of others so easily. "It was not my intent to disturb your sleep, my lady...if I may-"
An interrupting snort cut him off before he could continue, which must have been completely out of character for vampire royalty, he was sure He had never witnessed any within the court do such a thing in mixed company. He certainly could not imagine one of Harkon's kin performing such an action, most especially within his presence.
The ancient subtly sniffed the air before she looked down upon Valien's forms once more, her chilling blade never once leaving his throat. "There is blood in the air, and the musk of time...how long have I been gone, what of the war between the three alliances?"
Annoyance began to taint Valien's mind at his continued subjection to this ancient, the days of cowering abjectly to Elders had passed with the Dragon Crisis and his Dov-kin Paarthurnaax and Odahviing who both had dwelt upon Mundus longer than any living vampire, but he tempered his pride with the knowledge that he spoke to the kin of his Lord, and therefore his kin as much as any who roamed the skies of Tamriel and crept through the darkness.
Yet she spoke of a time of the Interregnum, surely? Even his previous life as a noble of the Imperial Court had afforded him little knowledge of those days, and the records within the Volkihar repositories were just as scarce as the elders who had walked the Earth during those troubled times. But he knew enough to inform this elder of her state of affairs. "It has been a thousand years, if it is indeed Mannimarco's War of which you speak, my lady."
Risking a chance to look up, he could see a light frown marring the the alabaster-like features of the ancient female, her eyes full of confliction as the leather of her attire subtly creaked against her shifting form. "If you are aware of Mannimarco's place during the war, then you must know of my father, then. Is he still alive at any rate?"
Sensing an opportunity to vacate his current predicament, while also affirm his loyalty to Harkon's bloodline for the elder, he lifted his head and spoke, careful to keep just a hint of deference, for propriety's sake if nothing else, "With respect my lady, I know you are of Lord Harkon's direct bloodline. I am one of his trusted servants, perchance you would agree to return with me to Volkihar for all of our sakes and, most importantly for the benefit of our Lord."
Another decidedly non-regal snort echoed from the forbiddingly, stunning ancient, "If you say so...hmm my father 'trusts' you, does he fledgeling? Hmm, alright then I shall entrust my well being in your hands, lets see to it that my faith is not misplaced."
Deciding to also ignore the unbecoming sarcasm tainting the elder's words, as well as her disrespect towards Harkon, for the moment at least, he could only imagine for how long that would last. Valien bowed his head shallowly, no longer keen on displacing himself for the benefit of the ancient and altogether thrown off by her behavior. Perhaps it had something to do with her extended torpor within the obelisk, he could only hope.
Turning his head back towards the entrance, ever wary of the powerful creature near him, he let the minute scents upon the air speak to his senses. After a moment he instead turned in the opposite direction, towards the towering north face of the cave. "A closer exit from under this mountain sits in this direction, my lady."
Her answer was merely an uncaring wave of her hand, before she spoke, this time in what seemed to be a rather scornful note, "I'm not your lady either, whoever you are. You may call me Serana."
Serana. Valien could already tell he was going to come to regret having to know that name.
A/N: Not sure how good this is. I pretty much just speed wrote it then went through a single spelling check. This is in the same continuity as the first chapter I suppose, just be aware it probably won't ever develop into a full story more like a series of interconnected oneshots or something along that vein. In case you can't tell either, this will probably be a Serana/MaleDragonborn/Vampire fic...or something.
In case anyway is interested, you can expect the first chapter of my Resistance story rewrite that I talked about a cringe-inducing long time ago either today or tomorrow. If it makes me sound better, I already have the first several chapters written, they just need to be spell checked. More on that development later though.