Detailing the blood collection isn't something I want to focus on too much. We returned to Mzark to ambush a Falmer, and managed to collect most of the rest of it from various bandits that we slew.
Serana took the device and vanished one night, only to return near dawn with the promise that she had gotten an Altmer's blood. From her description, some Thalmor justiciars had picked a shrine to Talos as an ambush point.
Nothing new there, I thought sourly. I felt a small rush of satisfaction at seeing how Serana had a particularly healthy-looking appearance that morning. If she had a few bottles of very red liquid stashed in her bags, well, I wasn't going to comment. Even if it was too red for a health potion. Especially if it was too red.
Septimus was quite excited to see us come back with the extracted blood. His face lit up and he became quite animated as I handed the macabre device back to him.
"I can almost... hear them. I feel their life energy. I will now make the mixture." The old man opened his robes, bared his chest, and shoved all five of the hollow metal points into his flesh before pressing a button on the device.
There was a hiss, and he gritted his teeth against what could only be the very painful procedure of injecting blood into his body. He panted briefly, then strode toward the device, sweat glistening on his forehead.
I grimaced and wondered exactly how healthy it was to inject the blood of multiple races into one's own body. Would the blood of an elf, any elf, even react well to the blood of a human? I figured it wouldn't be the smartest of ideas to do it once, and this man had taken the blood of five different elves. By the way he had gone pale and started showing signs of physical distress, I knew immediately that really hadn't been a good idea.
Even though his body was going to war against itself, Septimus touched the lock and then gave it a spin.
With a clatter, the misaligned circles turned easily beneath his hand. In a few seconds, they had lined up. A few more seconds and they extended into a tunnel leading into the lockbox.
"At last!" The man's voice sounded strained but jubilant as he broke into a stumbling jog into the tunnel. Serana and I followed him a bit more warily.
Septimus came to a stop before a pedestal with a book sitting on it. The book was covered in what looked like patches of skin. Different skin tones made the book a colorful but ghastly patchwork. I recognized the skin tones of Altmer gold, Orsimer green, Redguard brown, and Bosmer golden-tan, plus a patch or two of the more pale human races.
"What is this... it's... it's just a book?!" Septimus sounded incredulous, but then perked up, "Oh, I see! It is my master's artifact, written by his most apt pupil. The knowledge it contains is not that of an Elder Scroll, but is wisdom nonetheless! The knowledge available boggles the mind. It's marvelous..."
He reached out to take it. His gaze was fixed so intently on the book that he didn't seem to realize that he was beginning to float off the ground. His expression turned puzzled as the book sank out of his reach. Then there was a sharp pulse of magical heat, and the man was reduced to a pile of fine ashes, dead before he could even scream.
My stomach churned and I swallowed several times, trying not to vomit again. Septimus wasn't a good man. Murders, dissent, and disease had all been spread by his hand. He deserved to die. Had anyone known his crimes, the Jarls would have sentenced him to death at the chopping block immediately. But seeing his master so callously kill him as soon as his usefulness ended was a grim reminder of the price of working for some Daedric Lords. I was grateful that Meridia was cut from a rather different sort of immortal cloth.
"Come, my champion."
I squeaked and spun around, finding the writhing mass of tentacles had filled the tunnel leading into the lockbox. "I'm... I'm not your champion!"
"Are you not?" He sounded mildly annoyed, "Who do you think brought Septimus here? Do you think that your journey to open the box was not foretold? I have already told you, mortal, I see all possible routes to the past, present, and future. Septimus was a useful tool for unleashing it, and just as I used him, I have made use of you, willing or not. Your free will is an illusion. Whether you acknowledge me or not is your own business."
Taking a deep breath, I growled, "What if I refuse to send this thing out into the world? What if I destroy it?"
Hermaeus Mora laughed openly, "It is a Daedric artifact. It cannot be truly destroyed by mortal means. However… I will be more than happy to take the book to my realm for a century. A small gift to you; it will not be unleashed upon the world in your lifetime."
I closed my eyes briefly, swallowed hard, and then slowly nodded, "Fine. But..." I held up a finger to emphasize my point, "no tricks. No messy surprises. I expect it to be a full century. That means that you do not do anything to end my life prematurely, nor do you send it back to the world before the one hundred years are up."
"We have a deal," the Prince all but purred, one long tentacle snaking past me. It coiled around the book almost lovingly, and pulled the disturbing thing into the mass of himself. "I assure you that I am not Clavicus Vile. I will not play the games he plays. Even so, you are wise to take the precautions you do. You never cease to amuse me, mortal. I look forward to observing you for some time to come."
With that, the Daedric Prince dissolved from the world. The two of us were left alone in the cold outpost, with the ashy remains of his last emissary.
As silence reigned once more, I sagged, "Forgive me Serana… but I need a bit of privacy… and a change of underclothes."