Loredas, 14th of Last Seed, 4E 201 3:00am
Archeologist and historian, Dunmer Naren Soran, finally finished setting up his markers, outlining where he thought the Hero of Kvatch had buried his treasure. Everyone told him he was mad, that he was crazy, that the Hero had left everything at Cloud Ruler Temple, where he served as the Grandmaster. But Naren knew that there was something was buried here by the Hero.
According to his records, the Hero had bought a ton of steel two hundred years ago but the metal was never recorded in the Blades' Storage so that lead Naren to believe that he used it to build a chest in which he buried his treasure in. He visited Bruma and talked to an Altmer named Karinnare who lived in Bruma during the time that the Hero lived and said that she saw him and some others loading a metal case into the back of a carriage one night, having been there to get some money that a Blade owed her, and that it headed toward the mountains.
Normally, he would've scoured Skyrim until he found it but he'd made a wrong turn and found himself in the remote valley he was in now. What better place to bury treasure than here?
He found the rough area where the Hero buried it because everywhere in the snow, flowers shone through, but in a rough area of about fourteen feet by ten, everything was dead. It was like whatever he buried in the ground resonated death and killed the flowers that grew near it.
Naren was getting giddy; he was so close to finding it! He was going to be rich! Oh all of those naysayers who said he was mad were wrong! Those fools at the Mages Guild before it fell apart, his now ex-wife, all of his friends who said he was mad, he would show them!
He picked up his shovel and started digging feverishly, desperately needing the case to be down there.
Loredas, 14th of Last Seed, 4E 201 5:00am
Two hours later and there was a giant, square hole in the ground. In the center, Naren was still digging, using the spell Frenzy on himself every now and then to keep his energy going, nearly close to tears at not finding anything but having to hope that he would soon find the chest.
He thrust the shovel down into the soil and heard a solid 'thunk'. His face lit up with joy with a bit of relief. He hit something! He continued digging, hearing more and more hits every time he plunged the shovel into the ground. The only time he stopped was to get one of the torches lining the pit to put it next to him.
The first piece of metal reflected the light, pointing itself out to Naren. He squealed like a little boy and jumped to it, brushing the dirt away. His joy turned to confusion when he found it was a chain. Why would a chain be on a chest?
It didn't make sense. Setting that aside in his mind, he went back to work, clearing the dirt away from the metal until he found the sides. It got even stranger when he stood back from it to get a higher point of view and found it a coffin. A steel coffin with chains wrapped all around it. That explained the steel the Hero bought, but why a coffin? And why all of the chains? Who was he trying to keep out?
And then it hit him like a wall of bricks: It's not who he was trying to keep out, but what he was trying to keep in. What was it? An evil weapon with the mind of its own? A piece of armor, cursed? Or… He chose the coffin for a reason. What was in it?
He climbed out of the pit and retrieved a Elven axe from his supplies. It was recently made by a smith in Bruma, a Nord. Claimed to be the best there was. Every smith did. He jumped down into the pit, landing softly. He stalked toward the coffin, wonder and crazy in his eyes. He reached the side, looking down.
He raised the axe as far back as he could with falling over and brought it down upon one of the many chains, snapping it in half. He reached down and moved it to the side so he wouldn't hit it again before repeating the swing on another. He continued this process for half an hour and even then he wasn't halfway through the chains. The Hero really didn't want whatever was in the coffin to be free. There were over fifty chains upon the coffin.
One hour later…
The sun was just beginning to rise as the last chain snapped.
Naren moved to the opposite side of the coffin, mania in his eyes. It was like Sheogorath had taken over his mind, filling him with thoughts of wonder and treasure; he was nearly insane with greed.
Swinging the lid open, he froze, confused. Inside was black. It looked like an endless void into Sithis' realm, also named the Void. Grasping the axe under the blade, Neron poked at the void. He hit something solid, plushy, almost like…
Two glowing red eyes opened at the top of the coffin, glaring straight at Neron. Neron screamed and dropped the axe, falling onto the ground, clambering away, eyes wide with fear. That was not what he was expecting at all. But he had a sinking feeling in his gut. This was what the Hero wanted to keep from everyone, this is what he was hiding. He heard popping, like someone cracking their neck, and a sigh of relief.
"By Talos, I needed that. Fuck!" Said a voice, coming from the coffin. A man sat up, dark brown hair sticking up in every direction, beard unkempt. Cracking his neck again, he looked over at where Neron was cowering and smiled, fangs shining and making Neron wimper. "Hey, what year is it?" The vampire asked, rather politely.
"Two… Two hundred and one..." Neron squeaked, deathly afraid for his life.
"Damn! Two hundred years? My, how the years have flown in that thing. You got any animals? Goats, chickens, cows? Hello?" The vampire asked, waving over at Neron when he didn't move or say anything except stare at the vampire.
"I've got a… a few chickens…" He stuttered.
"Wonderful! You mind if I kill them? Don't worry, I won't eat them, I'll leave that for you. I just need a little… something, if you know what I mean. Two hundred years can make someone really thirsty. Oh! I'm forgetting my manners, what's your name?"
"…Neron…"
"Well, hello Neron, I am Kasuld. Very nice to meet you," He said, smiling politely at Neron as he climbed out, his joints and everything possible popping very loudly.
Kasuld climbed to the edge of the pit and peeked over, seeing the sun he hissed in pain and retreated back down. "Fuck that hurts. You better be glad you're not what I am, hate being only able to move around at night. Sun hurts like hell. Mind doing me a favor and getting those chickens for me?"
Naren just nodded and climbed out, grabbing the chickens roughly by the neck and breaking their windpipes, ending their lives. He picked up the spit from his back and brought it down into the pit, along with a small tent.
"Thanks, friend. Mind telling me what's gone on in the last two centuries while I've been away?" He questioned Neron, sinking his teeth into the chickens.
"Um… Let me set up the tent first…" Neran said, regaining his senses. Being the scholar he was, he could gain insight as to where the Hero left treasures if the Hero was friends with this vampire enough to bury him, he might know where he kept his valuables
"Oh, how very thoughtful of you, friend," Kasuld said gratefully, tossing one chicken on the ground and picking up the other. Before he plunged his fangs in the bird, he looked back up to Neran. "Say, friend. Do you know if the Blades still inhabit Cloud Ruler Temple?"
Neran looked up from the tent, confused. "Um yes I do, and no they don't… The Blades were destroyed by the Aldmeri Dominion during the Great War, along with the Temple."
"Great War? What is this Great War you talk about? And what is this Aldmeri Dominion?" Kasuld demanded, alarmed.
Neran realized this was going to go on a while so he said, "Let me finish putting up the tent, then we can speak. Alright?"
"Alright…" Kasuld replied, deeply troubled by this news. He went to bite into the chicken again before he stopped once more. "Do you know if Jarow, the Grandmaster, still lives? I know Bosmer tend to live for a long time. Do you know?" He asked, hopeful.
"Jarow? The Hero of Kvatch?" Naren inquired, interested.
"Yes, him! Is he alive?" Kasuld asked again, his hopes rising.
"No, I'm sorry. Reports say he, or at least the current Grandmaster at the time, died the day the Temple fell. I don't think anyone survived the attack. Did you know him?" Naren asked, his hopes of reaching some valuables rising.
"Yeah, I did," Kasuld uttered, voice full of sorrow. "He is… He was my best friend. We fought side by side during the Oblivion Crisis. I went through Oblivion for him –quite literally, I must add. I remember this one time, he was otherwise engaged with this Daedra that looked like a some sort of nightmare, like a crocodile with human arms and legs, so I had to grab the Sigil Stone to close it, but, when I did, both him and I appeared outside the Gate as it closed, along with the Daedra. It looked so confused for a second, then Jarow plunged Umbra into its guy and it disappeared back into its realm. Ah… good times…" Kasuld trailed off, looking forlorn as he reminisced on old memories.
"Were you a former Blade?" Neran asked casually, as if he met a vampire that had been trapped underground every day.
"I was the Grandmaster's right hand man, equipped with the finest armor, not these… Robes," He sneered, looking disdainfully down at his black robes. "I miss my armor. But, if these Dominion people hate the Blades so much, I guess it's a blessing I'm not wearing them, in a way."
Neran's mind started reeling with the possible gold he could make for selling this guy out to the Dominion. They paid a lot for information leading to Blades; Azura knew they'd spent thousands looking for the remaining members.
"Alright, there we go. Everything's all set up," Neran stated, finishing setting up the tent, "Time to teach you some history."
One Hour Later…
"…And that's all that's happened in the last Era. You get all of that?" Neran asked, finishing his history lesson.
"Yeah, I think so, thank you, friend."
"No problem… If you don't mind me asking, am I going to leave here alive?" Neran asked nervously, "I mean you are a vampire; a rather thirsty one if I recall you saying, and I'm pretty sure those chickens didn't have that much blood in them to fill a two hundred year-old hunger."
Kasuld smiled a toothy, fangy grin at Neran. "Well, if this business with the Dominion is true, I'm afraid I cannot risk them knowing of my presence. I am very sorry, but I am going to have to kill you."
Upon finishing that sentence, Kasuld leapt upon Neran, using his strength to pin the struggling Dunmer down and forced his head to the side, exposing his neck. The sight of veins pulsing was too much for Kasuld and he sank his fangs into Neran's neck, draining him of blood. Soon, Neran went limp as his life ebbed.
Once finished, Kasuld stood, sighed, and wiped the blood from around his mouth. While draining Neran, Kasuld discovered that when he drained someone, he gained their knowledge, their experiences, and their very life through it.
What disturbed Kasuld greatly was the fact that some of the memories contained knowledge of a civil war going on in Skyrim; that a group of rebels who claimed the name "Stormcloak", after their leader, Ulfric Stormcloak, fought the Empire, a very different one than the one two hundred years ago. Kasuld was glad a historian had found his case instead of a regular person; Naren was very useful in that respect. He also learned that he had made the right decision in killing him; Naren was planning to sell him out to the Thalmor.
Peeking out from the tent, Kasuld found the sun was just above the horizon. "Damn. Well, a few more hours won't hurt, I guess." He climbed back into the coffin, closed the lid, and went back to sleep to wait for night to fall.