The column of smoke had been reduced to a wispy, wavering smudge in the sky when viewed from a distance. By the time I got close to the Hall, I could see why: the fire had gutted the building. While most of the exterior walls still stood, charred wreckage and smoldering wood were strewn around.
Blood spatters stained the churned and muddy snow. A few feet closer, I spotted what could only be a death hound stretched out on the path leading to the building. One side of its face had been caved in like an empty eggshell. By the marks in the snow, someone had gotten in a lucky strike with a blunt weapon when it had attacked.
I eased closer and began to inspect the corpse; I had definitely never seen one before.
The beast resembled a large, hunchbacked, muscular dog with glowing red eyes. The glow of its one intact eye had dimmed to a glitter as it lay on the ground. Its front legs were more muscular than its back legs, telling me that the creature would charge, rather than leap.
Sanguinare Vampiris was not kind to animals, it seemed. Its black, hairless skin appeared to be necrotizing, with several patches of red muscle tissue exposed. The disease was most evident in its face: it had a gaping nasal cavity in place of a nose, and an exposed mouth filled with dozens of teeth. Here too was where the mutation of Sanguinare was evident: there were far more teeth in that mouth than any canine had a right to have. Every tooth resembled a needle; made for puncturing and exsanguinating rather than chewing up flesh. The thing lacked a tail: said appendage either removed or rotted off, leaving the stumpy end jutting out of its backside.
Something made me look closely at the dead beast's jaws. My eyes widened in surprise when I saw that the flesh inside its mouth was faintly blued, and a thin layer of ice was melting away.
Knowing it was time to bite a leather strip, I slipped heavy gauntlets over my hands. Gripping the jaws, I wrenched the mouth a little farther open. This was a bit difficult thanks to the fact that it had been dead for hours, and the joints had stiffened. More light fell into the mouth of the corpse, confirming it; this thing had the ability to use frost magic in its bite.
Animals couldn't wield magic. To summon the arcane, you had to have intelligence, the ability to concentrate, and the ability to study the techniques. I doubted that a dog, no matter how infected and twisted, could have the intelligence to learn destruction magic. At best, it could be a passive ability; completely beyond the beast's control. Apparently, a vampire mage had decided to experiment with some really twisted alteration spells over centuries of breeding these infected dogs...
I shuddered, let go of the carcass, and rose to approach the remains of the Hall. The front porch was strewn with the smashed remains of the front door. Inside, the building was in complete shambles. Most of the furniture was beyond recognition thanks to the flames, but I could still make out enough of the shapes to get an idea of what had happened here. Bookshelves and tables provided cover for the bodies of the fighters. The Vigilants had at least managed to fight back, despite the numbers they had been up against.
I counted the charred remains of several more death hounds, a few vampire fledglings, and even one Master Vampire. Scorched arrows still protruded from some vampire corpses, while others bore evidence of war hammers. They had come in force but had also paid for their victory among the still smoldering beams, low-burning coals, and flaky ash.
Inspecting the other death hounds revealed that they were bred to a standard look, and they all had the remnants of frost magic tied to their jaws. Definitely a breeding program. I shuddered all over as the thought solidified in my mind. Eww… let's not think about the details of breeding a pack of rotting, diseased dogs. Also, memo to self: don't let the damn things bite you.
I dusted myself off and set out again, sliding the heavy gauntlets back into my travel bag. According to my map, the crypt was to the west, around the base of the same mountain as the Hall, and up a short path. The Vigilants had been a mere stopping point to the traveling brood of bloodsuckers.
As I got closer, tracks showed that Tolan had passed this way recently. Spacing of the footsteps showed that he had been running toward the entrance to the cave up ahead. It was a Nord habit to go charging straight into trouble with their weapons drawn and a berserker roar in their lungs.
Gods, how do Nords survive long enough to reproduce? I wondered. Charging into battle works when you have a good view of the battleground and lots of level ground. You don't do it when your line of sight is limited and you risk the chance of running full tilt into a crevasse or down a hole in a cavern floor.
As I neared the entrance, the first few flakes of snow began to drift down. It looked like a storm was moving in. I glanced up and saw nothing but an ominous wall of gray. As my eyes traveled toward the horizon, the gray darkened to a black that was more sinister than the night sky. I spared a moment to hope that the nearby city, Dawnstar, had battened down, before settling my thoughts on the task ahead. As if in response to the hope, a foreboding gust of wind moaned through the crags of the mountain.
I found a single, fallen torch on the stone stairs a few feet outside the entrance. Its flame had been mostly doused by the snow it had fallen into, but a few embers still glowed, and a tiny trickle of smoke still wafted from it. It would seem that Tolan's emotions had gotten the better of him. He had given up on waiting for me and had charged in, likely figuring he could take on a few vampire guards alone.
Bad idea. Stupid, in fact. I shook my head in dismay. Stendarr have mercy; I knew it… He's a true Nord. 'Victory or Sovngarde' indeed. Better to die violently and fail, than to bear the 'shame' of retreating for a bit and coming back with a better plan.
"Oh Tolan, you're a real arrow to the knee." I sighed deeply, slipping through the narrow entrance on silent feet. Moving through a cramped tunnel, I soon found myself in a medium-sized cavern with an underground stream.
The murmur of low voices cautioned me to remain in the shadows by the entrance tunnel as I swept the room for activity.
A male voice spoke, an Altmer by his accent, "These Vigilants never know when to give up. I thought we'd taught them enough of a lesson at their Hall."
The voice that responded was female, and a Dunmer aristocrat by the sounds of it, "To come here alone... a fool like all the rest of them."
"He fought well though," the Altmer vampire conceded, "Jeron and Bresoth were no match for him."
"Ha! Those two deserved what they got. Their arrogance had become insufferable."
Hello, pot? The kettle has a question about also being black. I crept along the stone path, grateful for the chattering stream that covered the sounds of my footsteps. Thick stone pillars supported the roof of this cave, which reassured me that there wouldn't be a cave-in. Unfortunately, they also made it next to impossible to see the two vampires, and whether any more death hounds lurked nearby.
The Dunmer's comment seemed to discomfit the Altmer because he tried to change the subject; "All this talk is making me thirsty. Perhaps another Vigilant will wander in soon."
But the vampire female had some more opinions to share; "I wish Lokil would hurry it up. I have half a mind to return to the castle and tell Harkon what a fool he's entrusted this mission to."
Lokil and Harkon. I'll have to remember those names.
As I eased farther to the left side of the cave, the two came into sight. A single death hound was snuffling at a body dressed in warrior priest's garb. I felt a pang; though I couldn't see the body's face from this far in the shadows, I had a bad feeling.
Glancing up, I could see that the Altmer's body stance was stiff and offended, "And I have half a mind to tell Lokil of your disloyalty."
The Dunmer spun on him and closed the distance, putting her face inches from his, "You wouldn't dare. Now shut up and keep on watch."
I wouldn't get a better shot than this. The impact of my arrow seemed to drown out the sounds of the stream.
The Altmer jerked forward against his companion before slumping to the ground. The Dunmer froze, for a precious moment, in shock. Her glowing yellow eyes were wide and uncomprehending as she stared down at the dark vampire blood that now coated her entire front. After centuries of unlife, the arrival of true death had caught them by surprise.
The death hound, which had been bending down to feed on Tolan's body, jerked its head up and looked around.
The second arrow rocked the Dunmer's head back, and she fell without a sound.
The hound spun and spotted me, glowing red eyes locking on as the beast uttered a wet snarl and charged. The thing pounded along the path and came straight for me, only to fall as an arrow punched through its skull.
After making sure that there was no one and nothing left to threaten me, I gave the cave a more thorough looking over.
Tolan's body lay sprawled on the frost-covered path, signs of feeding marred his neck. By the horrendous-looking bite on his thigh, one rimmed with clear signs of frostbite, the death hound had partaken as well. He had indeed managed to kill two vampires, who lay beside him, and I had killed two more and the death hound.
I shook my head in regret. I understood, all too well, how rage and pain could overcome someone's sensibilities. I was even guilty of it. The difference was, I had been newly freed from my thrall-dom, alone, and with a major advantage; every vampire had been asleep, with no one else to guard them. Tolan had to have known that the vampires would be here in force to get their hands on this artifact. He'd had the luxury of waiting for backup, and had chosen not to.
I now understood Isran's attitude toward the Vigilants. Being inexperienced was one thing; it was another to be arrogant, and unwilling to learn. I murmured Akatosh's Prayer of Solace over him. I hoped he would find peace in Sovngarde.
At the back of the cave, I found my next step; there was evidence of digging, and a tunnel, blocked by a gate. A quick search of the area revealed a pull chain, and I was soon through it on silent feet.
Though much of it was a standard Nordic crypt in design, the path through the crypt was largely linear. The place either hadn't fared well over an unknown number of centuries, or had been left only half-finished. Very unusual, considering that the ancient people prefer to seal off something of importance, I noted.
I encountered a few scattered vampires, an occasional death hound, and several walking skeletons, each of whom I dispatched.
The most disturbing thing of note was the plethora of… well, I suppose you could call them graves. But none of these were dug into the floor and covered with dirt. Instead, the body lay on the surface, covered with rocks and marked with a narrow, vertical stone. These graves kept the remains undisturbed, ready to rise at a vampire's command. Then a thought chilled me, and I stared at the graves in horrified realization.
I had been in several Nordic tombs at the behest of miners who had stumbled into them. They each had their own unique floor plan, but the styles and the craftsmanship of the carvings were all similar. The crypts used stone doors, which were movable with systems of weights and counterweights. They were also designed, not in hopes of keeping others out, but to keep something dangerous in. Usually that involved draugr; walking, desiccated corpses. They were capable of wielding weapons and hacking at intruders, but not particularly bright otherwise.
But this place didn't have anything made to block progress in or out. There were doors here, but none of them even had so much as a lock on it. Pull chains lay in the open for anyone to saunter in. There was nothing to halt progress inside, once you got past the rock fall at the entrance. The place was designed to ease the way for anyone of vampiric descent, and provided easy access to dead bodies for a vampire's every call.
To be fair, there were a few draugr defenders here. I was able to observe an unlucky vampire and her death hound, who had managed to awaken one of the guardians, and were trying to fight it off. She hadn't raised any of the ready-and-waiting dead, nor had she tried to take control of the draugr. She was a fledgeling, and that seemed to be leading to her downfall, despite the death hound valiantly trying to protect its mistress.
Watching the carnage unfold, I could only guess that a few draugr were scattered to kill off the occasional casual explorer. Vampires were clearly expected to be necromancers who could take command and subdue the protectors. If the vampire wasn't able to do that, then that was too bad for the vampire… or something. I was guessing at motives here, but the evidence was making a rather creepy picture. Every vampire here seemed to be little more than expendable fodder. Considering the time and effort it took to turn a mortal and get them past the initial state of rising, it seemed strange how willing the higher echelon were to throw them away again.
Just what kind of artifact is this thing, anyway? I thought, worrying my lower lip as the battle continued. Minimal protection? Half-finished design? You'd think that whoever got this place built, they weren't planning to leave it alone for so long. Something must have happened, and gods only know how it remained undisturbed for so long...
A second draugr lurched onto the scene as the vampire and her hound struggled to take down the first. With a guttural growl, the second draugr dispatched the hound with a sweep of its battle axe. The vampire dropped to her knees with a cry as the first undead warrior gave her a devastating stab to the chest. She was soon finished off with a brutal chop to her neck.
As the two draugr stared down at her collapsing corpse, my arrows struck the undead down with dry thunks. They hit the ground and went still, the unnatural blue glow in their eyes winking out.
I continued on.
The farther in I went, the better condition everything was. Frostbite spiders had moved in sometime over the centuries. I had to step around the grotesque bodies of several spiders, each the size of a pony. Once in a while, I also had to take out a vampire or death hound that had survived the fight. In one case, a single vampire had been left to contend with a gigantic frostbite spider; the end result being the two ended up killing one another.
This Lokil character was leaving a few vampires behind at a time to deal with troubles. True to vampire form, arrogance coupled with a lack of empathy resulted in many of his lackeys falling to the place's hazards. Lokil didn't care about his comrades, so whether they survived or died was a coin toss. And here I was, finishing off whoever was left.
Finally, I left the tunnels behind. That's when I felt the thrill of discovery. I was now in a room, created with cut stone blocks. Looking ahead, through a doorway with an open, metal grate, I could see a balcony overlooking a huge, natural stone cave.
This would be where that artifact was sealed.
Easing my way through the open doorway, I found myself overlooking a large subterranean lake, with an island of black stone in the middle. But this island was not natural. Someone had taken great care to design it with an eye for something ceremonial. Stone columns ringed the entire island, and linked with stone arches. Through the arches, I could see what looked like grooves on the floor of the island, their design obscured by the surrounding columns. Massive stone gargoyles crouched around the edges of the room, looking ready to come alive at any moment. It looked like someone had crossed a bat with a reptile and made it vaguely humanoid.
Creepy.
No one in Skyrim used this kind of architecture, now or before… except here. How would anyone even imagine these gargoyles, much less carve them from stone? Were they sourced from a creature long gone extinct? I had never seen anything like them in Hammerfell or Skyrim. None of the books I had perused even hinted that such a creature lurked in the wilds of Tamriel.
A man's voice spoke, furious and defiant, and I snapped to attention, "I'll never tell you anything, vampire. My oath to Stendarr is stronger than any suffering you can inflict on me."
I peered over the edge of the balcony and saw another Vigilant in the hands of a tall male vampire. This would be the lone survivor of the Hall; Brother Adalvald. Another vampire, a female, lurked nearby, arms crossed. They were too distant and too buried in the shadows to risk a bow shot. I would have to get closer…
I moved toward the nearest set of stairs and began to creep down them.
The vampire that had Adalvald had to be Lokil then; the high-ranking vampire; "I believe you, Vigilant. And I don't think you even know what you've found here." Lokil drew an ugly-looking black blade and shoved it through the human's chest, "So go... and meet your beloved Stendarr."
I swore to myself; it had happened too quickly to save the man. Though, all in all, it had been a merciful kill by vampire standards. Far more kindly than it had been with my fiancée.
Too busy, and in too much of a hurry, I suppose, the thought was bitter, even after all this time.
Lokil sheathed his still bloody weapon, dropping the man's body like a soiled rag. Spinning on his heel, he walked toward the stone structure, followed by the other vampire.
The female vampire objected in a low voice, "Are you sure that was wise, Lokil? He still might have told us something. We haven't gotten anywhere ourselves with-"
Lokil cut her off, his tone icy, "He knew nothing. He served his purpose by leading us to this place. Now it is up to us to bring Harkon the prize. We will not return without it. The others will make way for me after this."
Harkon…That name again.
The female vampire's voice grew an edge, "Yes, of course, Lokil. But do not forget who brought you news of the Vigilants' discovery."
"I never forget who my friends are..." his voice dropped an octave and a heavy current of menace flowed in, "...or my enemies."
The two vampires strode along the path to the island in silence.
I knelt by the body of the Vigilant, knowing that it was hopeless but having to try. Blood no longer even seeped out of the hole in the man's chest. His eyes were open, but his gaze was sightless. Gently, I closed his eyelids, whispering a quick prayer to Akatosh in the hopes that the poor man's soul found rest.
Following the vampires was a matter of sticking to the shadows and not making much noise. The vampires had the very human trait of being complacent when not expecting trouble.
I smirked. If one ignored the complete lack of morality and compassion, vampires were as human as they come. They were walking, talking examples of how low a human could sink.
Keeping to one dark side of the pathway to the island, I assessed the situation. Lokil and the other vampire joined a single human thrall. He seemed to have been wandering around, inspecting the stone structure while his master had handled the Vigilant.
There was a pedestal in the center that looked promising. There were also several short braziers, brimming with glowing purple crystals instead of flame. The thrall seemed to think along the same lines because he fiddled with the braziers a bit before going to the central pedestal.
His expression turned triumphant and he called, "Master, I think I found it!" at Lokil, before slapping the center of the pedestal with his hand.
"No, you idiot!" Lokil snarled, but it was too late.