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The Orc approached behind the Legion soldier. Her armor, an old and poorly maintained set of Ebony, creaked and clanked slightly as she slowly stepped forward. She hefted her Ebony War Axe –its condition was as poor as that of her armor- and brought it down upon the helmet of the soldier. He staggered and fell down onto his knees. Another Legion guard witnessed the assault and sprinted forth to arrest the Orc.

“Stop right there-!” He gasped as he caught a clear glimpse of her face. She as gaunt and her skin was a disgustingly pale green (almost the color of a sick person’s snot). Her eyes –pale red- burned with a fierce hunger and a kind of madness that came only from constant suffering. To make matters worse, she was the missing Arena Grand Champion, which meant that she was one of the best fighters in the Imperial City… If not the entirety of Cyrodiil. The man stammered, “You… A vampire! Feeding time is over!”

He lashed out with his long silver blade. It glittered under the light of the fading stars as the Orc vampire lifted her shield to block the blow. Several flakes of rust fell to the ground as the sound of the impact –similar to that of a gong- reverberated through the air. Several nearby guards rushed in to help once they heard the sound. The soldier who was originally struck was back on his feet and fighting with his peers.

Despite her skill in battle, the sheer number of guards soon had the Orc overwhelmed. She fought as hard and as fast as she could –her frenzied blows powered by her blood starved madness- until she simply couldn’t handle it anymore. Still, though, she would not surrender; it was not in her nature to give up. She would only stop when she was near death.

Her armor was dented and cracked from the blows of the soldiers. The shield she held was broken in two and axe was chipped to the point where it was useless. Holes in her armor –weak spots which would not have been tolerated by any sane individual- allowed the guards to stab her. The Orc was bleeding heavily and, not long after the battle had begun, her strength failed. She dropped the shattered remnants of her shield and axe before finally collapsing against the dirty white stone of the walls of the Imperial City… Stone that was being stained red.

The guard that she had originally struck kneeled down before her as the others sheathed their weapons to watch. He took a glance at the brightening sky before he lifted the Orc’s chin. Her breath came in rapid, rattling gasps. Blood bubbled from the corners of her mouth and her eyes were beginning to dull. The guard considered asking her why she had attacked him, but he doubted she could answer him; she was dying and did not have the breath to spare for speech. Or so he thought…

She dragged in one deep breath and forced out her last words, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, “Thank… Thank you.”

“What?” The Imperial was shocked, but he never got an answer. Dragonheart –the name she had chosen for her match against the Grey Prince- closed her eyes; her head lolled to the side as the soldier released her. Her breathing grew weaker until it stopped entirely; moments after the sun sent its first rays over the horizon.

The guard ordered a lower ranking soldier to clean up her body before the crowds started to grow (no doubt the citizens would want to get a good look at what happened. Of course, they would be curious anyway when they noticed the blood stains across that section of the city). He sent a messenger to the Arena to inform them of the fate of the blue team’s last Grand Champion.

They never fully understood what had motivated her, but it was clear that she had attacked the soldiers because she wished to die. Disgraced as a vampire and unable to return to the Arena, she had done the only thing she could have done in her madness: she sought death to end her suffering. They didn’t know why she didn’t just choose to put a blade through her own heart. It was just generally assumed that it was an Orc thing.

Whatever her motivation, there were those who hoped that she, at the very least, found peace in death. Although plenty of Arena spectators wished that they had witnessed her last stand; it would have been a fight worth remembering.

The heart doesn’t choose who it loves, but Sylmirie would force it to dislike the young Nord apprentice who stood in the way of her life and her marriage. He lingered in her thoughts like the silky-sweet taste of Cyrodilic brandy sipped on late at night, enjoyed best in her most private hours. But although her demeanor towards him was cold and haughty, inside she felt a tug in her chest that could only be explained by the existence of something deeper than she understood.

She considered herself in love with her husband, Aicantar, the man who rescued her from a failed attempt by the Thalmor to end her life. But she longed for Onmund, a human with basic looks who did not compare to her well-bred husband in the least, and whose magical skills were best paired with that of an elven child just beginning to grasp the concept of mental focus. Wobbly, uncontrolled, tense.

And oh, how he permeated even her dreams at night!

Sylmirie lay next to Aicantar in their shared bedroll, and under a silvery blanket of stars. The mountainous area of the Reach carried a moist, cool scent along with a prickly hint of the oncoming winter. It would grow even colder soon, but the apprentices needed their magical practice and so they had to adventure on.

She turned to face her husband’s back. His soft and peaceful breaths stung in the center of her chest. She hated thinking about Onmund laying just a few feet away in his own bedroll. She closed her eyes and threw her arm over Aicantar’s waist. He was the one--not the other--

“Wake up, Milady.” His identifiable whisper aroused the hairs on her arms. She looked up at him, already dressed in his smooth turquoise mage robes and shiny ebony boots which reflected the crackling campfire’s orange glow.

“Go back to bed.” She whispered in return, and waved him away with her rail thin hand.

Onmund shook his head. “Forsworn, milady. Just over the hill.”

Sylmirie blinked up at him. “Really?”

“Yes. Hurry. Before the others wake.”

With a guilty side glance at her husband, she slid her hand into Onmund’s and allowed herself to be pulled up to her bare feet. She smoothed out the wrinkles on her purple robes and looked for her cloak.

“No time.” Onmund said and grabbed her by the hand.

He pulled her past the sleeping apprentices, a Dunmer and Khajit, to the edge of the rocky hill they camped out on. She crouched down next to him and squinted when his hand released a magical glow that hovered above their heads.

Below the rocks which protected their camp, there gathered a handful of Forsworn skinning a couple deer. They seemed unaware of the mages’s presence above them as they joked and conversed without any cares. They were dangerously close, and would most likely find Sylmirie’s camp by morning.

“Their talking woke me.” Onmund said in a low voice. Lines drew together at the edge of his eyes as he narrowed them to get a better look down at the Forsworn.

“We have to kill them.” Sylmirie said, and pushed herself off the ground.

He reached up and wrapped his hand around her calf. She wriggled free.

“Stop touching me.” She whispered through gritted teeth. “I ought to slice off your fingers for that.”

“They have a child with them.” He said, and pointed back down at the Forsworn. “A baby. We can’t kill them.”

“And that child will grow to kill your people.” She frowned. “I’ll go and wake the others. You stand here and watch--”

“No.” He said and stood up. “I won’t let you kill and innocent child.”

“Hush. They’ll hear us.” She put up a finger to her mouth and glared at him.

“The others won’t kill a baby either.” He lowered his voice again. His eyes widened with determination.

“And just who in Oblivion do you think is in charge here?” She said it with such ferocity it made him tense up.

“Sylmirie.” He said, and tapped one of her loose blonde braids. “You’re better than that.”

She wasn’t above it, but she didn’t try to convince him of that either. She let him rest his hand on her shoulder for a moment before she shrugged it sharply off. “Milk drinker.”

She walked away and he followed her.

“Will we leave then?” He asked.

She stopped and turned to face him. She wanted him to disgust her, she wanted to hate him. Sweat trickled down her cheeks, even as cold as it was. She nodded. How could she let him convince her of not killing that group of Forsworn? She lifted her head and looked past him.

“Help your fellow apprentices pack up their belongings, and send my husband to me.” She said.

He muttered something under his breath, but she scowled at him and he walked off. She was in charge. Not him. And she had control over herself, over her feelings. Over everything.

She walked back to the edge of the cliff and knelt down on the cool dirt. She sucked in a breath and fire warmed her palms. She sighed and sent a massive fireball down on the Forsworn camp.

I am known only as Vulom Staadnau. The man who was writing these volumes before me, Gallus, is dead. He has been dead for twenty five years. I feel that it is imperative that the tale surrounding his demise is told. While I doubt it will have any impact on the future –as history has a habit of repeating itself- it is still something that must be recorded.

This tale does start more than twenty five years ago. When Gallus was still alive, he noticed suspicious behaviour from fellow Nightingale Mercer Frey; the Breton man was living an ‘unduly lavish’ lifestyle, even for a master thief. Gallus investigated but, unfortunately –for both him and the Guild- Mercer Frey caught onto him. He lured Gallus to the ruin of Snow Veil Sanctum and murdered him.

Against Gallus’ wishes, Karliah had followed him to Snow Veil Sanctum. She witnessed his murder and attempted to stop Mercer Frey right there. She failed and was blamed for Gallus’ death. Mercer Frey –taking advantage of the Guild’s predicament- maneuvered himself into the position of Guild Master.

The Guild itself went into a decline after Gallus’ death. All of the connections he had formed fell apart and the Guild could no longer operate as it once had. As time went on, the thieves found themselves unable to do even the minor jobs; to put it simply, the luck that thieves pride themselves on had simply dried up. Some believed it was a curse.

The truth is, of course, more complicated. In reality, the troubles the Guild was experiencing could be traced back to one thing: the theft of the Skeleton Key. It had been stolen from the Twilight Sepulcher by Mercer Frey and, as a result, the Ebonmere –a conduit that allows Nocturnal’s influence to reach Tamriel- was closed. It was essentially a curse of luck. Nocturnal is known as Lady Luck for a reason. Without her influence, the Guild suffered and it could not recover.

During the twenty five years of her exile, Karliah worked tirelessly to lay a trap for Mercer. She created a plan that would effectively leave a rift between Maven Black-Briar and the Guild. However, in order for her plan to work, Karliah had to leave a trial for Mercer to follow. This is where I come in.

I was approached by Brynjolf in Riften’s market. He saw something in me –a thief can see another thief without too much trouble- and enticed me to join the Guild. What he had me do isn’t important, but when he had seen enough, he brought me to meet Mercer Frey. I found myself being advertised as a particularly rare and valuable commodity. Not surprising considering the state of the Guild…

When I met Mercer, I could practically smell the betrayal on the man. I just didn’t know what it was at the time. I got a rather pronounced feeling of distrust from him. He sensed something in me as well; I could see something shift in his eyes. It was clear that the game had changed.

Mercer Frey let me into the Guild without much hesitation. He immediately sent me out to Goldenglow Estate to do what Vex could not: infiltrate the bee farm to find out why Aringoth was no longer cooperating with the Black-Briars. I managed to burn three of the beehives without being seen before I slunk into the house and emptied Aringoth’s safe. The information that I found there wasn’t exactly encouraging; Aringoth had sold Goldenglow.

After bringing that information back, I was sent to meet Maven. Our meeting was purely one of business. She wished for her main competitor, Honningbrew Meadery, to be shut down. I was told to meet with Mallus Maccius who would reveal the plan. It was actually rather simple. Sabjorn had a bit of a Skeever problem –caused by a mad mage living in the tunnels beneath the building- and somebody was needed to take care of it. I would offer to do the job and, after Sabjorn provided the pest poison, I would use it to poison his latest batch of mead. The mead that he planned on serving to Whiterun’s captain of the guard.

It worked. Sabjorn was put in prison and Mallus took over the Honningbrew operation –now known as Black-Briar West. I returned to Maven and then to Mercer. I’m certain that he already knew who was responsible (there really only was one person with the skill required), but he sent me out to Solitude to ‘convince’ Gulum-Ei to reveal who it was; he did, after all, have an act to maintain.

Gulum-Ei himself did not cooperate. Not at first, anyway. I had to follow him through the East Empire Company Warehouse in Solitude. When I cornered him, he revealed that Karliah was the one responsible. He seemed shocked that I didn’t know who she was. The Argonian did, however, reveal that she had said she was going ‘where the end began.’ Mercer jumped to Snow Veil Sanctum the moment I told him. He ordered me to follow him. Every sense I had told me not to follow him, but I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t about to run off, either. I am no coward.

When I arrived at the dungeon, Mercer told me to take the lead because I ‘used to be an adventurer.’ He followed me through the crypt and, along the way, we encountered many traps that Karliah had set; I made certain to set off as many of them as I could on Mercer. I will admit to enjoying the barely restrained fury that burned in his eyes. That alone made enduring his constant comments –for a thief, he seemed unable to keep his mouth shut- much easier.

Mercer managed to unlock the claw door at the end of the dungeon –using the Skeleton Key, of course- and then he told me to enter first. I did not hesitate to refuse his command. The anger in his eyes flashed and he pushed me in. Seconds later, I heard the twang of a bow string and felt the sting of an arrow piercing my thigh. I could feel the poison that coated the arrow climbing my leg. I managed to glare at Mercer (he looked like he was going to laugh) before the poison reached my heart; by that point, I could do nothing else. I was on the ground –barely conscious- and paralyzed. Karliah is a skilled alchemist. There is no denying that…

My vision was dark and blurred. From my position on the stone-and-ice floor, I could see that Karliah and Mercer were now facing off. I could hear them bickering as if I was listening from a fairly long distance. The snippets I did catch made it clear that Karliah was innocent… At least, as innocent as a thief could be. Mercer was the guilty one; the whole situation confirmed my original suspicions about him. Karliah was still an unknown. She drank an invisibility potion and hid. Mercer approached me. He spoke for a minute or two –claiming that he was now going to kill me the same way he had Gallus- and then slipped his blade into my chest. I blacked out.

I awoke under the care of Karliah. She had pulled me out of Snow Veil Sanctum and healed me. After a few minutes of talking, she informed me that the poison on the arrow had aided my survival; it had slowed my heart to the point where it was barely beating and prevented me from bleeding out before anything could be done.

We continued to speak while I recovered. Karliah revealed that her original intention had been to shoot Mercer. Her plans had changed the second that Mercer had pushed me into that chamber. Before that, she had managed to recover a journal from Gallus’ remains. There was a problem, though: Gallus had written his journal in the language of the Snow Elves. I knew what it was, but neither myself or Karliah could read it.

I took the journal to one of Gallus’ friends at the College of Winterhold. While he wasn’t able to translate the journal –I hadn’t expected him to be able to- he was able to point me in the right direction. Calcelmo of Markarth operated a Dwemer Museum. The history of the Snow Elves is closely tied to that of the Dwemer. Because of that, Calcelmo was also studying the Falmer… And he happened to have a stone that contained a translation guide.

One of the first things that came to mind was that Gallus himself probably had to take this path in order to learn the Falmer language in the first place. The Dwemer Museum was heavily guarded –because of thieves like Gallus and myself, no doubt- and so I had to use every bit of my skill to avoid capture. The stone itself was just outside of Calcelmo’s quarters. I took a charcoal rubbing of it, but as I went to leave, I found myself trapped by Calcelmo’s nephew and two of the guards. Aicantar believed he had heard something and so he wanted the guards to investigate. I nearly laughed; the only thing I had to do was create a distraction and slip past them. They offered no resistance.

Getting out of the tower was another thing entirely. I couldn’t go back the way I came now that the guard were on alert, but there was a waterfall leading into the river. The pool at its base was very small, but it looked deep enough to jump into. It was quite the leap. I hit the water perfectly, though, and suffered no harm. I made it back to Winterhold several hours later.

The man was able to translate Gallus’ journal with the charcoal rubbing. The information it contained seemed to horrify both Karliah and Gallus’ friend; Mercer had apparently broken his oath and ‘defiled the very thing he had sworn to protect.’ In other words, he had stolen the Skeleton Key and broken his oath as a Nightingale. And robbed the Guild of everything it had.

Karliah gave me Gallus’ old blade –with the warning that I may have to use it if the Guild wasn’t willing to cooperate- and we went back to Riften. As expected, the rest of the Guild was far from welcoming; we were met by the points of their blades. I was wary and ready to fight if I needed to. Fortunately, Brynjolf was willing to listen to Karliah. He read the translated journal and nearly dropped it from the shock. His reaction caught the attention of Delvin and, after he inquired about the journal’s contents, he agreed to open the vault.

There was absolutely nothing left in it. Curses flew around the Guild as every member echoed the indignation of being robbed by their now former leader. Just outside of the vault, I found myself cornered by Brynjolf. He asked me for what Karliah had told me and then tasked me with tracking down either Mercer himself or, if finding him wasn’t possible, his plans. I was to go into his house –a gift from the Black-Briars- to see what I could find.

The manor was guarded by all sorts of mercenaries and common bandits. Most of the lower sections of the house were filled with all manner of traps. I was able to get past everything without too much difficulty. There was no visible sign of Mercer –but I did have the feeling of being watched, so I assumed he was there, but hiding- though I did manage to recover his plans… He was going after the Eyes of the Falmer. Brynjolf was stuck somewhere between appalled and insulted.

He revealed that Karliah wanted to speak to us. We went to the center of the Cistern where she was waiting. She said that we would need an edge if we were going to take down Mercer. After she told us to meet her at the stone outside of the Hall, she wandered off. At the stone, Karliah said that she wished to induct us into the Nightingales. I can’t say that I was surprised. Everything seemed to be pointing in that direction. Besides, the Nightingales had been disbanded long ago. There was room for two more and Brynjolf and I were the best –and most obvious- choices.

We were brought inside the Hall where Karliah summoned Nocturnal. The Daedric Prince named the three of us Nightingales. Karliah and Brynjolf cornered me again after the ceremony. Karliah revealed that the Skeleton Key was the source of the Guild’s woes. Brynjolf… Well, what he had to say did surprise me. I suppose it’s because all of my focus had previously been on work. Evidently both he and Karliah thought that I should be the one to take over the leadership of the Guild once we were out of this mess. I needed no persuasion to accept the position. Once the Guild was restored, I would be named Guild Master.

The three of us left the Hall and went right to Irkngthand. I had plenty of experience with Dwemer Ruins and I felt that this one wouldn’t be so different… Aside from the fact that Mercer Frey was there. He took every opportunity to taunt us. In one part of the ruin, he managed to use the power of the Skeleton Key to knock down one of the old towers. In another area, he wrote ‘one step ahead’ one a metal grate over an empty chest. I was starting to get rather irritated.

Mercer Frey was eventually cornered in the sanctuary chamber. He was prying the Eyes out of the statue when we entered. We didn’t have much time to do anything before he turned around and destroyed the ledge I was standing on; I landed perfectly on my knees, never breaking eye contact with Mercer. He didn’t waver and neither did I. We exchanged insults for a minute or so before he used the power of subterfuge on Brynjolf, forcing him to attack Karliah. I heard her curse as Mercer went after me.

I can’t say for certain how long the fight lasted. As soon as Mercer came at me, I sunk into a powerful bloodlust. I don’t really know what happened. The only thing I can say is that Mercer fought like a thief; he was a cheap opponent who frequently went invisible. Unfortunately for him, I am an extraordinary mage. I was able to locate him and strike without mercy using nothing more than a simple detect life spell. He was… Torn apart. To put it lightly. Both Brynjolf and Karliah have admitted to being a little disturbed by what I did.

Mercer triggered some sort of explosion when he died. It shattered several pipes and the chamber started filling with water. Karliah shouted for me to retrieve the Skelton Key and the eyes –which I did- while Brynjolf tried to pry open the doors. They were stuck. The three of us were trapped inside a sealed chamber that was rapidly filling with water. I wasn’t concerned about myself –I always wear an item with a waterbreathing enchantment for situations like that- but I wasn’t certain if Karliah or Brynjolf had anything that could help them.

The other two Nightingales struggled to stay on the surface of the rising water. Soon, though, they were forced under the surface. I was lurking near the bottom of the chamber, waiting impatiently for something to happen. We are fortunate that the roof of the cave collapsed in one area. It formed a tunnel into a nearby cave that allowed us to escape…

Fortunate? Or was that the machinations of the Skeleton Key? I don’t know. Either way, we hauled ourselves out of the water and into the cave. The only thing left to do was return the Key to its rightful place. A task that, ultimately, fell upon my shoulders. Karliah couldn’t bear returning to the Sepulcher and Brynjolf was needed back at the Guild. Karliah did, however, give me her bow. She didn’t know what I would be facing and she hoped that the bow would bring me luck.

As the others returned to Riften, I set out for the Twilight Sepulcher. There, I met Gallus. He was overjoyed that Karliah was still alive and that Mercer Frey was dead. During our conversation, he revealed that he didn’t know what I would be facing. He also said that, while he would be honored to take the Key back, he didn’t have the strength. In his own words, he said that he had felt himself ‘dying’ ever since he had arrived at the Sepulcher. Without the Key to open the conduit, he had been cut off from Nocturnal. Without restoration of his powers, he was beginning to fade. He would have lost his mind if the Ebonmere hadn’t been opened soon.

I entered the Path after that revelation. It wasn’t difficult to deal with; the already maddened Sentinels were easy to avoid and the puzzles seemed quite simple. Perhaps I was used to that sort of thing… Or maybe it was just obvious. Darkness is, after all, a thief’s ally.

I eventually found myself in a pit with a skeleton. There was no way out and so I sat down and examined the Skeleton Key. It started vibrating after a few minutes and I stood… Just as I fell through the floor of the pit. The sudden change of location disoriented me for several seconds, but I soon realized that I was standing on the Ebonmere itself. The sealed lock, anyway. The Key felt like it was going to vibrate itself out of my hand, so I put it into the lock.

The reopening of the Ebonmere forced me back several feet. A flock of birds burst out of the odd purple liquid –or gas? I’m not certain- as Nocturnal herself appeared. I noticed that Karliah was now standing on the other side of the chamber as Nocturnal began to speak.

To shorten her speech, I will simply say that Nocturnal was pleased, though most wouldn’t have been able to tell that. I couldn’t. She always sounds rather annoyed (Karliah reminds me that I tend to sound the same). The Daedric Prince told us to choose our power. Before leaving, she reminded us to keep our eyes on the Key this time. I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes.

I had another chat with Karliah. She informed me off all the abilities we could choose. The Agent of Subterfuge could frenzy those around them. The Agent of Shadows could become invisible in darkness. The Agent of Strife could use the darkness to steal the life of an opponent. I chose the Agent of Strife; it suits me more than the others.

After I chose my power, Gallus appeared. Before he entered the Evergloam, he had a brief reunion with Karliah. I tried my best to ignore them –I had no desire to interrupt- but Gallus chose to take the opportunity to thank me for my actions. Only when he went into the Evergloam did I return to Riften.

I can say –quite honestly- that I worked my ass off to bring the Guild back to its former glory. Once it was returned, however, I was called into the Cistern. There, the ceremony to make me Guild Master took place. Everybody seemed much happier than they had under Mercer’s rule.

A new era for the Guild began when I was handed the reins. It would irritate me to see that fall apart within the next few hundred years. This is part of the reason why I have chosen to record this tale. Take its lesson to heart or else face the scorn of Nocturnal and the Nightingales of this time. We worked too hard to see it fall apart any time soon.

I am known only as Vulom Staadnau. For hundreds of years, I have deflected all sorts of questions about my past. I have grown tired of doing so. Approximately twenty five years ago, Gallus began writing about the history of the Nightingales and the current members of the trinity. The only one he managed to write about was Karliah. Now I write about my own past in the hopes of silencing those who would constantly bother me about it. Just be warned that I have had no ordinary past. As improbable as it may seem, I am not inventing any of this.

I was born in the Second Era. The exact date has been forgotten, but I do know it was in either the 2E 550’s or the 2E 560’s. Ten years isn’t that much of a difference. Not when you get to my age, anyway. I imagine that ten years can still seem like a long time to a human. But… Enough of that.

When I was around the age of five years old, I contracted some sort of flu or similar illness. It was quite prevalent at the time. I believe I was unconscious for most of the duration of the illness, though I do have vague memories of my mortal mother attempting to comfort me. The fever was intense so I don’t know if that actually happened or if it was just a hallucination.

The early years of my existence were spent on Vvardenfell. I was born and raised in a small Ashland settlement. There wasn’t much work, even though I was gifted compared to the others in my family. Contrary to my current profession, I did not start out as a thief. I had the skills, but there simply wasn’t enough opportunity. I instead chose to become a mercenary.

It was on a job when everything changed. I was only twenty or so years old when I was returning to a city to receive payment for clearing my client’s farm of Cliff Racers. It was late at night and I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to be late for my meeting and so I chose to travel at night. That was a mistake. I was ambushed by two Berne vampires that had been stalking me since the sun set. Ordinarily, they wouldn’t be a problem, but they were faster and stronger than I was; my exhaustion made me weaker and slowed my mental processes.

Those two vampires had caught me off guard. I resisted to the best of my abilities, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. The male vampire raped me and beat me multiple times for trouble I caused him before, under the urging of his female companion; he turned me into a snack. I was left –without any of my armor or my other possessions- on a less traveled road in the swamps of the Bitter Coast.

Most would have died. I did die, but it wasn’t immediate and nor did I stay dead (otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this). I woke up around noon the next day when a rat tried to eat me. The pain was enough to jolt me out of the darkness of death –if only temporarily- and I forced myself into shelter. The dizziness was intense; I was so light-headed that I almost couldn’t move. My will is strong, however. It was simply a matter of mind over body. I pulled myself into a cave before I blacked out again. The next three days were spent alternating between blissful unconsciousness and painful hallucinations.

Only after those three days had passed did I die. Although it wasn’t true death… Porphyric Hemophilia is a curious thing. My body looked dead –and, indeed, it lacked a beating heart. One of the first things checked when seeing if somebody is alive- but it was actually changing. It took a few months. Or weeks. I think… It’s hard to tell. I do recall that returning from death felt like waking up from a long sleep.

I didn’t discover that I was a vampire until I tried to go outside… In full daylight. Stupid, yes, but I was confused and not entirely myself. My arm caught on fire. The shock was tremendous. I can’t say for certain what happened in that cave, but when I came out, I was possessed by thoughts of revenge. Revenge on the man that had raped and turned me. Revenge on my mortal ‘family’ for abandoning me.

I think a certain member of the Guild at this time will understand that feeling better than most. I’m positive that revenge was the only thing that kept me going during this time of my existence. I became a predator; one that was relentlessly stalking her prey. One that would not give up until she got what she wanted.

It took me months, but I did eventually get my revenge on one of the two vampires. The female was the only one I could find; the male had disappeared after he supposedly had visions of a figure rising from the darkness to come and get him. I was furious. There was nothing I could do to find him. After being denied my vengeance, I skipped to the next part of my plan and went after my family.

Things were made simple by the fact that they still lived in the same place. They were asleep when I struck. The last thing they ever saw was the twisted, pale face of their daughter moments before she tore their throats out. I found the looks on their faces to be priceless. Of course, I did also deal with my infant brother; he was only a couple of months old –if that- and so was not important. Before I left, I took everything of value from the house. I never set foot in that place again.

My remaining time on Vvardenfell was spent moving from tomb to tomb, always avoiding the contact of mortals. I cannot count how many times some hapless adventurer met his or her doom from my fangs. It was easy feeding, though, so I can’t really complain. I just wish most of them hadn’t tasted of ash. One of the curiosities of those who lived on Vvardenfell. Of course, if they hadn’t made the mistake of attacking me, I would have gone mad and I would not be here now.

When it came time to leave Vvardenfell, I managed to hide my condition for long enough to purchase a boat ride to mainland Morrowind. This is when I got my name. I met a rather curious man on that journey who claimed that he could see the future. While he said that my future was unclear –obscured by a power beyond his understanding- he could still reveal my ‘true’ name; I was just happy to find a replacement. I was born as Vylanis Korathil, the mercenary granddaughter of an exiled Ashlander… I became Vulom Staadnau: Darkness Unbound. A name in the language of the dragons. Fitting, considering what I have become.

What happened after I arrived on the mainland isn’t important. Just know that I witnessed many of the major events of Tamriel’s history. I even closed one Oblivion Gate during the Oblivion Crisis. I saw –from a distance- the battle between the Avatar of Akatosh and Mehrunes Dagon. Most cannot imagine the things that I have seen.

My centuries of wandering came to an end when I made the mistake of walking right into an Imperial prisoner caravan. By this time, I had developed immunity to sun damage and the ability to conceal my vampiric appearance. That was not a factor in my capture. Who knows? They probably thought I was with the Stormcloaks. As if.

The Imperials took me to Helgen for execution. Just as they were about to chop my head off, Alduin attacked. The World-Eater himself. His return launched me into the wildest time of my life. I was soon revealed as the Last Dragonborn and that path led me to the defeat of Alduin.

It was odd enough just watching other heroes, but suddenly becoming one? That was new. I wasn’t used to it, but I did adapt to it eventually. I just find it amusing that the majority of Skyrim looks up to me as their hero. Very few know the truth.

I didn’t just stop with the defeat of Alduin. Since I arrived in Skyrim, I have become the Harbinger of the Companions, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, a Legate in the Imperial Legion, Guild Master of the Thieves Guild, and Lord of the Volkihar clan of vampires.

Back in Morrowind, I found myself in a battle against the First Dragonborn: a man by the name of Miraak. He wasn’t a tough opponent, but getting to him was an issue. He was being held against his will by Hermaeus Mora. The Daedric Prince of knowledge, fate, and memory. I had no choice but to work with him in order to get to Miraak. Because of that, I have traveled into his realm of Apocrypha multiple times. I’ve had the chance to examine some of the tomes contained within. Unlike most, though, I did not get trapped by the lure of knowledge. Otherwise the Guild would have lost its newest master less than a year after she took over.

I was also made a member of the remnants of House Telvanni, courtesy of Master Neloth. The Telvanni Masters will frequently pull people they deem useful into the fold. This is typical Telvanni behavior. Also typical behavior of the Telvanni is to steal the prized possessions from one another. I have stolen a few things from Neloth, but I don’t think he has caught on yet. He has stolen from me as well, though that was my fault. I accidentally dozed off in his tower and he took it upon himself to steal a sample of my blood. I don’t know what he used it for. Neloth has his uses and so I shall tolerate his curiosities. I have no doubt that I could take him in battle if I wanted to, though. He is clever –I won’t deny it- but he has no idea just how powerful I am. I’ve been studying magic for as long as he has. If not longer.

And so there it is: the history of the most recent Guild Master of the Thieves Guild. I am a one thousand year old Dunmer vampire. If you don’t believe what I have said, then so be it. I shall not explain myself any further. If anybody wants to know more –anybody of this time, anyway- then I dare you to break into my mind. You will see more than you bargained for.

This is the last volume I will be writing for Gallus’ series on the Nightingales. If any other Nightingale wishes to write more, then go ahead. Nobody will complain.

Trips-over-Tail's Diary

11 Last Seed, 4E 201

Out of skooma again. Gave my last bottle to Wujeeta, her need is greater than mine... and who knows, maybe hers will be gratitude enough to lift her tail for me again. Sweet was that night she smuggled me into the bunkhouse! If only Haelga hadn't walked in on us in search of her purloined toys...

12 Last Seed, 4E 201

Second day without skooma. Feeling well so far – a little jittery maybe, but nothing serious; mine are hands still deft enough to catch fish. Maybe I'll get away from the skooma for good this time!

13 Last Seed, 4E 201

Third day. Getting worse. Mine was to trip over my tail twice today. Hands shaking. Still caught a few, but Bolli says I need to do better. Tried to get a little time with Wujeeta alone, but hers was a cold and dejected mood; she said I'm sweet but we have no future. I don't care about the future, I want love today!

14 Last Seed, 4E 201

Mine were empty hands today. The shakes are getting worse and worse. Bolli was sad and disappointed, said he can't keep me employed if this goes on. Talked to Sarthis, but he won't give me anything on credit. Brynjolf overheard us and said he could help me to quickly make a little coin. Mine would be to steal Madesi's ring and slip it into Brand-Shei's pocket, then Brynjolf's to alert the guards. I told him mine would be death over stealing from a marshfriend to frame another, scales or no scales. The look on his face was the only good thing that happened today.

15 Last Seed, 4E 201

Second day without a catch. Bolli told me to go home to Beggar's Row, get some sleep and only come back when I'm over withdrawal and clean. Couldn't sleep though, too strung up and besides Edda's snoring.

16 Last Seed, 4E 201

Sixth day without skooma, no sleep for two nights. Mine is not strength enough to bear this another day. I'm almost ready to go back to Brynjolf and tell him I'll do his bidding after all, but my hands are shaking so hard I couldn't do it even if I wanted to.

How much lower do I have to sink?

17 Last Seed, 4E 201

Everything has changed. Whether I fell asleep at last or simply lost consciousness I know not, but mine was a vision last night unlike both a sleeping dream and a skooma trip, and it felt much more real than either.

I was in a dense grove of Hist, their bark glistening with sap like sweat on Wujeeta's scales when we made love, and the air was filled with fragrance and the whispering of many leaves; and the leaves spoke to me in a choir of many voices, saying thus:

„Come, partake of our sap that thy body and soul be cleansed and nourished and forget the craving of that vile poison thy hast polluted thyself with!“

I obeyed, for his to whom the Hist speak is not to hesitate, and when I licked the sap mine was to be filled with a green light sweeter and purer than anything I had ever known; and the light spoke to me with many words of colour, taste and perfume, saying thus:

„Go forth as our emissary to our many cousins leafed and needled in the province of Skyrim and speak to them on our behalf, for we would hold communion with them! Thine is to wake them from their slumber of dumb wood and teach them how to become subtle and alert in root, stem, limb and twig. Befriend the guardian spirits who watch over them, and aid and succour them in their fight against their enemies in any way thou canst. And if thou knowest not where to begin, whither to turn, thine will be to be guided by a fox; watch out for them at all times and follow any thou seest wherever it may lead thee.

And to seal thy appointment thine shall be a new name. Trip no longer over thy own tail; for thou art Hist-Tongue, the tongue that licks us and the tongue that speaks in our name!“

I need to meditate on this.

The Blades were gathered around Martin as Seryna returned to Cloud Ruler Temple. They looked as though there had been a brief argument. The would-be Emperor was wearing Tiber Septim’s armor -what looked like an old Ebony set with various Imperial dragons on it- and a frown to match the mood in the Great Hall. She got the impression that the next battle in their war against Oblivion was about to begin. The feeling gave Seryna chills.

“Ah, there you are, friend,” Martin forced out a smile. He appeared tense; the muscles along his jaw were tight and there was a great deal of apprehension in his eyes, “Did you get the Great Welkynd Stone?”

Seryna handed Martin the large, glowing blue stone, “Yes. What, did I have a choice?” She lifted a hand as Martin opened his mouth to speak, “That was supposed to be a joke. Forget about it. What’s next?”

“Just as Welkynd Stones contain the concentrated power of Mundus, Sigil Stones contain the concentrated power of Oblivion. We require the counterpart to the Great Welkynd Stone… A Great Sigil Stone. Sigil Stones anchor the ordinary Oblivion Gates. To get a Great Sigil Stone, we need a Great Gate. To get a Great Gate, we need to let the Mythic Dawn open one outside of Bruma.”

“So… What’s the plan?” The rust-haired Imperial was not pleased with the knowledge that the Mythic Dawn would be allowed to open a Great Gate outside of Bruma. It was a little difficult to accept; the idea of letting another Great Gate open made her ill. What if they failed? Bruma would be another Kvatch.

“According to the Mythic Dawn plans that you found, they need to open three lesser Gates before they can open the Great Gate. The Bruma guards are currently closing any Gate that opens. You’re to speak to Countess Narina Carvain and inform her of the plan to let the Mythic Dawn open the Great Gate. Once she knows, I would like to speak to her myself. I will wait in the Chapel of Talos with Baurus and Jauffre. It seems like a fitting place to make such desperate plans,” Martin paused. He appeared to weigh the options for a moment, “You’re not going to like this… Jauffre doesn’t like it… I’m going to lead the battle.”

“What?!” Seryna shrieked. The force of her cry made Martin take a step back. Seryna moved closer to him, “Are you a fool? You would risk Tamriel for… For what? Ease of guilt? Damn it, man! If you die, we all die.”

“This is something I have to do. Please. You must understand. I saw the devastation of Kvatch first hand. I can’t let that happen again. I am going to lead the battle. The time for hiding is over. Believe me, I know the risk,” for a moment, Seryna swore she saw a tear in one of Martin’s eyes. She acknowledged his wish; there was no point in arguing.

“Very well, Martin, but you can bet I’ll be there with you. Until that Great Gate opens, I will not leave your side.”

Jauffre and Baurus both stepped forward, “The same goes for us, sire.” Several other Blades echoed the sentiment.

“Well, then… We need to get going. The sooner we do this, the better,” Martin nodded to Seryna, “You need to get to the Countess right away. I’ll allow Jauffre, Baurus, and a few other Blades escort me to the Chapel. We’ll be waiting there.”

Seryna left Cloud Ruler Temple and ran for Bruma. The slope gave her extra momentum and the sun –at its peak in the midday sky- made her hair look like fire. She was panting by the time she got into the Bruma Castle; instead of speaking to the Countess right away, Seryna had to delay long enough to recover her breath.

“I bring word from Cloud Ruler Temple, milady. Martin has requested that I bring these plans to you… In order to recover the Amulet of Kings, we must get a Great Sigil Stone: an anchor for a Great Gate. The only way we can get one is by allowing the Mythic Dawn to open the Great Gate outside of Bruma. We know the risk, Countess, but it is the only way we can get a Great Sigil Stone.”

“A desperate plan indeed,” the Countess considered things for several seconds, “This… Prince? Emperor? Soldier? Priest? Martin… He is willing to risk my city in order to get a Great Sigil Stone?”

Seryna was expecting the Countess to hesitate, “The Amulet of Kings must be recovered at all costs. Without it, Tamriel is doomed. Not just Bruma. Not just Kvatch. All of Tamriel. If we get the Amulet of Kings back, we have a chance. We could win.”

“I must confess that you’re the first person I’ve heard speak of any sort of victory against the Daedra. Everything has seemed so hopeless… Until now. There is a hidden heir to the throne and a hero willing to fight. Very well, Seryna. I will meet with this Martin to discuss the battle plans. Where is he?”

“He is waiting at the Chapel of Talos.”

“Burd!” The Countess summoned the captain of the Bruma guard, “Come with me. You should be present with this.”

“Aye, madam.”

The first success. Seryna followed the Countess and her guard to the Chapel. She found herself glancing at the sky; the knowledge of the impending battle was slowly making her more nervous. And paranoid. What it something went wrong? What would happen then? She could only hope that everything went according to plan.

When they arrived in the Chapel, the Countess approached Martin, “Your Highness? Is that correct? I am Narina Carvain, Countess of Bruma. At your service.”

“Please, Countess. There is no need for such formalities at this point. I’m not the Emperor yet. I’m still unfamiliar with the thought of being heir to the throne. Never mind the thought of actually being the Emperor. But… Thank you for coming. I know this requires a great deal of trust. I wouldn’t ask for this if there was another way.”

“Your champion has made things quite clear to me. I have agreed with your plans. This is a war that will not be won through caution. These are desperate times, and it will take desperate measures to defeat the Daedra.”

Martin nodded in agreement, “You have a rare gift to be able to see when desperation is necessary. So many would prefer not to launch a direct assault. You can be assured, Countess, that the Blades and I will do everything in our power to protect Bruma.”

“I know…” She sighed. Seryna swallowed; the battle was getting closer. Along with her breaking point. Countess Narina Carvain took on a grave expression, “If Bruma falls, Tamriel falls with us. We must prevail,” she turned to Seryna, “I will command my men to stop closing the Gates as soon as you give the order to fight.”

“The sooner we do this, the better. Otherwise I’m going to start questioning our sanity… As if I’m not already.”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up, “Did you just question my sanity?”

“I said ‘ours,’ Martin. You’re the one who thought of this,” Seryna let out a brief snort, “I’ve been wondering whether or not I’m mad to do this ever since I went through the Gate at Kvatch. And every other one since… I’ve lost count. Of course letting the Mythic Dawn open the Gates here seems like madness, but it’s the only hope we have,” the Imperial, significantly paler than usual, made eye contact with the Countess, “My Lady… Give the order. We fight now.”

“So be it… The fate of Bruma rests in your hands. And the hands of the Gods… Burd! Prepare the troops!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Seryna and Martin made eye contact; both saw the fear reflected in the other’s eyes. They walked out of the Chapel together and were met by throngs of Bruma’s citizens. All the people gathered cheered for Martin and the Hero of Kvatch. Both of them were blushing –their faces as red as ripe strawberries- by the time they got to the gates.

“I’ll be surprised if I ever get used to that,” Martin shook his head with a slight nervous chuckle, “Are you ready for this, friend?”

“Not at all. My hands are trembling and I think my heart is trying to break free from my chest.”

Martin snorted, “I know the feeling,” he cast a glance at the gathered troops and broke into a run, “Come on. We should hurry.”

The combined forces from every city in Cyrodiil –aside from the Imperial City itself- ran with Martin and the Hero of Kvatch. Most seemed afraid, but eager to fight; they were prepared to die to defend Tamriel. Seryna wasn’t certain if she felt the same way. It would be an honor, but… What would happen to her parents if she died? And the shop? It wasn’t like she had any siblings.



“There’s a Gate!” The bark of one of the soldiers brought Seryna out of her thoughts. One Gate was already open on the battleground. That left only two more before the Great Gate could be opened. Martin broke free of the path; evidently, he was going to give a speech. Seryna positioned herself on one side of Martin, facing the Gate. Daedra could come pouring out of it at any moment. She wasn’t about to take her eyes off of it.

“Listen to me, soldiers of Cyrodiil! The Mythic Dawn plan to open a Great Gate here at Bruma. You have worked hard to close the Gates, but that time is behind us! The Great Gate must be opened and its Great Sigil Stone retrieved to ensure the victory of the Empire. What we do here today, we do not just for the Empire, but for the entirety of Tamriel! We will not let another Kvatch happen,” Martin marched back and forth in front of the troops, his hand planted firmly on the hilt of his blade, “We must give the Hero of Kvatch time to destroy the Great Gate. Do not falter because, if you do, Tamriel will fall,” Seryna spotted the first wave of Daedra exiting the gate. She unsheathed her blade and signalled to Martin. He shouted to the troops, “Do you stand with me? We do this for Bruma! For the Empire! For Tamriel!”



The troops unleashed a resounding roar as they charged the Daedra. All the sounds of battle soon filled their ears; the clanging of blades on shields, the thud of metal hitting flesh, the crunch of breaking armor… Seryna fought beside Martin as he helped the soldiers on the front lines of the defense. When he thought it was necessary, Martin would use the skills he learned as a priest of Akatosh to heal any wounded soldier nearby. Including Seryna.

Every soldier was weary by the time the second Gate opened. It allowed more Daedra to swarm the battlefield. The troops of Cyrodiil were outnumbered, but they continued to fight; every one of them knew the stakes. They weren’t about to let the Daedra win.

Exhaustion was as much of a threat as the Daedra when the third Gate finally opened. The frenzied yelling and roaring of the Dremora was growing louder while the shouting of the soldiers grew weaker as the humans ran out of breath. Seryna was more nervous than ever; she knew the Great Gate could open at any moment and, when it did, Martin would be on his own. Aside from the Blades, but both Jauffre and Baurus weren’t exactly young. She worried about them all.

The ground itself shook as the Great Gate opened. Its frame burst out of the ground and grew to enormous proportions. Seryna felt like she was going to vomit; the moment she had been dreading arrived. Martin clapped her shoulder as she ran towards the Great Gate.



Seryna came face to face with the Daedric siege crawler… The very machine that had destroyed Kvatch. It towered above her; the machine seemed to growl as it slowly clanked towards the Gate. Seryna knew she had no time to waste, so she immediately made a run for the nearest tower.



Her remaining energy was not focused on fighting; there was no time for that. Instead, she ran past the Dremora. They fired arrow after arrow at her. Some hit their mark, but Seryna pushed past the pain and continued running. She arrived at the Sigillum Sanguis with a horde of Dremora at her back. There was only one thing she could do… She grabbed the Great Sigil Stone and fell as the Oblivion realm disintegrated around her.

The momentum of her leap carried her away from the Gate and the now ruined siege crawler. Unfortunately, the impact of her body on the ground broke the shafts off of the arrows and drove the tips deeper into her body. She could only clutch at the Great Sigil Stone; the pain was too much. Seryna caught a glimpse of Martin, Jauffre, and Baurus running towards her as she lost consciousness.

It was pain that knocked her out and pain that brought her back. Seryna screamed as Martin removed one of the barbed arrowheads from her side.

“Easy, easy… I need to get these arrows out of you. You’re a pin cushion. What did you do? Run right through the Gate?”

“Yes,” Seryna groaned. The Imperial forced her muscles to unclench as she rested her head upon the pillow. She realized that she was back in Cloud Ruler Temple. A few wounded Blades were resting in nearby beds, “I didn’t really have much choice. The siege crawler wasn’t far from the Gate when I entered. There wasn’t time to fight my way through. I had an angry mob of Dremora at my back when I finally got to the Sigillum Sanguis. There was no way I could fight them all, so I grabbed the Great Sigil Stone and plunged off of the upper platform. I was lucky the realm fell apart before I hit the ground. I wouldn’t have survived that fall. As it is, my landing underneath the siege crawler was bad enough. The impact broke the arrow shafts off and forced the heads in deeper,” she fell silent for several seconds as Martin finished dealing with the arrow wound that had woke her up, “I also seem to be fortunate that you’re a fairly adept healer. The others probably share that sentiment as well. I think we have you to thank for keeping us on our feet for that long.”

“That landing did look rather horrible. You had a death grip on the Great Sigil Stone when I got to you,” he smiled at Seryna. The sight of his smile made her smile in response. Martin picked up a wad of fabric and handed it to Seryna, “The things I learned in the Chapel of Akatosh and from the Mages Guild are still quite useful. I’m happy to help. You’ll want to bite down on that fabric. Don’t worry, it’s clean. I’m afraid this is going to hurt. A lot.”

Seryna did what he asked. Every time Martin removed an arrow, she bit down on the fabric to stop herself from screaming again. She was worn down by the time he had pulled out every arrow and healed the wounds.

“You should rest for a while, Seryna. This whole ordeal has taken a lot out of you.”

“And everybody else. Including you, Martin. Don’t deny it. The shadows around your eyes are obvious. I know how much trouble examining the Mysterium Xarxes was for you.”

“It haunted me in my dreams. I just couldn’t get away from it, despite my best efforts... I did what was necessary, though. Now we can get the Amulet of Kings back,” Seryna tried to sit up. Martin placed his hand on her shoulder to hold her down, “I thought I told you to rest? You just had more than ten arrows pulled out of you. You’re not at full strength yet.”

Seryna sighed, “The problem with that is that we have no time to rest. There’s never enough time. Now that the siege crawler has been destroyed, the Mythic Dawn should know that their plan is at risk. We need to get the Amulet of Kings back before they have a chance to strike the final blow. If Mankar Camoran escapes –or launches another attack- we’ll be doomed. We must act now.”

“You’re right. We have no time to waste,” Martin stood and offered Seryna a hand, “Come on. I’ll open the portal.”

The young Imperial woman took Martin’s hand and he helped her to her feet. Both of them made their way to the Great Hall to begin the ritual. Several minutes later, the portal was open. Seryna didn’t know what to expect in Paradise, but she was certain that it would be no paradise at all. At most, a paradise for Mankar Camoran and his closest or most loyal supporters and a hell of sorts for everybody else.

With a nod to Martin and the others, Seryna entered Paradise. She would not fail to get the Amulet of Kings back.

The elven woman walked into her holodeck, and admired its black depths, criss-crossed by yellow lines one square metre apart. She spoke softly to herself: "This technology never ceases to amaze me..."

She turned to face the centre of the room. "Computer, run program Jennifere one."

In an instant, the once black and yellow walls are replaced by open sky, as a snowy and rock strewn mountain peak appears, with one ancient dragon perched atop a broken wall, and another, alive but dead in appearance, perched on a rock. A third roared his acknowledgement of her presence. "Drem Yol Lok. Its been a long time, I can't wait to tell you all I've seen since I left Tamriel."

The flying dragon lands. "Jennifere thuri." His head turns, as an ancient elf, emanating star light walks out from behind the word wall, her armour battle scarred and her cloak tattered after centuries of existance. "I was so much prettier a thousand years ago. There is little time, my younger self."

The Starfleet Captain steps back in amazement. "Hold on, this is a Holodeck simulation, I didn't code this!"

"I am Jennifere, the tenth Divine of Tamriel. Nothing is beyond my dreams. Come here, we await the third of us."

"The third?"

"Drem, All in good time." She turns to face away."

"Computer, pause simulation."

The Computers voice answers. "Error, Simulation unable to be paused."

The Divine sighs. "Your ship and crew will be fine. Do not be concerned." Her eyes glance to an elven woman arrayed in furs ascending the mountain. "It is time."

---

The woman slips on the snow, and falls. In exasperation she cries out, "How much taller can this mountain get..." before regaining composure. "Calm down, Jenn. We can do this, even if I might get back to the Embassy on time..."

She trudges up, and arrives at the summit, slightly bewildered. "Err..."

The glowing Jennifere smiles, remembering words long lost to history. "Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am... Jennifere. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah... my mountain?"

"What? I... You're me."

"Yes, as is she. We await one more."

The latest arrivals both speak at once. "One more?"

The Divine answers. "Yes. There are four of us. Myself, High Queen of Skyrim, Empress of Summerset, and Lady of the night."

The Captain spoke. "But why drag us all here?"

"Because even the gods cannot see all ends, and I need you all for-"

She is interrupted, as the Simulation ends - just the captain and the goddess remain. The ship shakes as weapons impact. The two Jennifere's look at each other.

"It can wait, come on." She taps her combadge. "Transporter room, two to Bridge."


They disappear and reappear on the bridge...

The Dunmer vampire whipped around to glare at the vampire hunter that sat huddled and bleeding on the floor. She had an expression on her face that was half way between anger and amusement. One of her hands slipped into a pocket in her cloak and, when it came out, the hand was grasping a sealed letter. The vampire thrust it at the vampire hunter with a curt comment, “Take this to the man who sent you. Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad, correct? He is rather notorious for, ah, not allowing his kind in County Skingrad. He doesn’t want to be discovered. The problems that could cause for him and his wife would be… Tremendous.”

With a whimper, the vampire hunter took the sealed letter and ran… Not before getting a swift kick to his rear end. The Dunmer vampire was smirking at his rushed exit. Still smirking, she turned around and began gathering her things. It was no use remaining in that cave. Janus Hassildor would no doubt send vampire hunters until she was either dead or gone; she wasn’t about to die, so it was best for her to leave. Perhaps she would pay the Count of Anvil a visit. He did have quite the reputation.

Several hours later, the wounded vampire hunter staggered into Castle Skingrad. He wheezed as he struggled to Hal-Liurz. The Argonian steward closed the distance. She was confused when the vampire hunter shoved the letter into her hands. He expired moments later. Letter in hand, Hal-Liurz ascended the steps to the Count’s chambers; she had noticed the letter was addressed to him. The letter had a mysterious blood-red seal on it. Other than that, there was no way to tell who had sent the letter. It was odd.

Hal-Liurz knocked on the Count’s door, “Count? Er… We’ve just had something strange happen. One of those vampire hunters just returned with a letter. He thrust it into my hands and then died seconds later. It’s addressed to you.”

Count Janus Hassildor stepped out of his chambers; his brow was furrowed and his red eyes bore a hint of cautious curiosity. He ran his gaze over the letter before glancing down at the body of the vampire hunter. The Count nodded to his steward before withdrawing back into his chambers.


Count Janus Hassildor-

Your reputation precedes you. As expected, you have finally sent vampire hunters against me. Finally. I admit to being disappointed that it took so long. No matter. The deed has now been done. By now, you should have realized that your vampire hunters have failed. The last one should have arrived and died immediately after. I robbed some of his blood and poisoned the rest. Simple, but effective. He was made aware of your condition, so I believe it is in your best interests that he is no longer alive.

It should please you to know that I did not come to Skingrad expecting to remain long. I know of your dislike of other vampires and your fear of the general population discovering your true identity. By nature, I am rather nomadic. Such is the consequence of being of Ashlander descent. A blessing and a curse from your view; you despise me for my presence on Skingrad land, but yet you will be pleased with my disappearance.

But know this: I am old. Far older than you. Older than you can imagine. I have powers that you could not hope to master. Sending more men against me would be foolish. I will exterminate them as I did those hunters you have already wasted. Although I feel I should say that, if you intend to send men against any vampire –not just me- you may wish to find those who actually know how to deal with our kind. The ones you sent after me were rather idiotic. I almost got the impression that was their first time going against a vampire.

Honestly, man… What vampire hunter doesn’t know that we are immune to poison? That normal weapons don’t damage us? That we are immune to frost damage and weak to fire? It’s almost an insult. Although my weaknesses and strengths are not the same as those of a Cyrodiil vampire. No. I am, after all, of Berne blood. I have no allegiances to the Berne Clan, though. Otherwise I would have had no reason to leave Vvardenfell.

Now…By the time you have reached this point, I will be long gone. I have no desire to be hunted by another vampire. To make things simpler, I have chosen to relocate. I will not say where. I can, however, say that you will not be troubled by my ‘antics’ again. Not for a while, anyway. By the time I return, it will be of no concern to you. Just know that I am no longer in County Skingrad.

-From vampire to vampire,
Vulom Staadnau.


Count Janus Hassildor folded the letter. A muscle in his jaw twitched in irritation as he tossed the parchment into the fire. The vampire that had sent it was arrogant. Arrogant, but intelligent. That was more than could be said for most vampires that troubled him. If it was true that this vampire –Dark Elf, since he or she admitted to being of Ashlander descent- was gone, then there was nothing he could do.

It was clear, however, that he had a potential enemy out there; another enemy in a world of mortals that would have loved to see him dead if they knew the truth, despite what he had done for Skingrad over the years. The perils of being undead. He shook his head before returning to what he had been doing before he was interrupted.

Thankfully, Arcturus' reputation as a murderer in Whiterun was diminished due to the fireballs raining down upon the city. Arcturus was assigned to the guard of the city, taking the other members of Auxillary Unit Arcturus; Belrand, Vashkei, Meeko the Wardog, and Arc's good friend Benor.

The siege was met at the gates, where the imperials were pushed back into the city. Vashkei and Belrand decided to retreat and then go for a flanking attack, and Arcturus lost sight of them in the chaos and the flames. They held their lines but were pushed into the trading district of the city.

Arcturus saw many men cut down and he and his companions were losing ground fast. In the nick of time, lightning bolts struck the enroaching Stormcloaks as Vashkei and Belrand charged into their flank. With their magic, the Stormcloak ranks finally gave in and scattered. In the confusion, Belrand was cut down, and Vashkei was wounded. The majority of the Stormcloak soldiers were put to the sword before they could retreat too far, and few escaped. The battle, though difficult, was a decisive victory for the Imperials at the cost of many soldiers and 2 men of Arcturus' unit.

Belrand had died in battle and his axe recovered, while Vashkei's wounds would keep him from a battlefield for some time. Jarl Balgruuf thanked Arcturus for his service, and the young Nord's past crimes were forgiven as mistakes. As a new champion of Whiterun, Arcturus stayed the night and made for Solitude the next day, with the Housecarl Lydia following his as a new member of his unit.

Arcturus received his new orders from General Tullius, to assist in the taking of Fort Dunstad, where a large Stormcloak force was residing. On the way, however, they ran into a group of men in matching uniforms, who were being set upon by bandits. This being the case, Arcturus and his unit rushed to their aid.





Unfortunately, they did not arrive in time, and the entire force of uniformed men was killed before the last of the bandits fell.



This being the case, Lydia scavenged the armor of one of the warriors; it was better than her own and wouldn't be serving them well in death; and the unit continued on the the village of Dragon Bridge. From there they would make their way to the fort.

The group spent some time resting in the town; there Arcturus met a young maiden working at the inn, by the name of Julienne Lylvieve. The two connected instantly and Arcturus regaled her of a few tales of his recent exploits and the struggle he faced on his way to the Legion.





The night ended too soon for them to become any closer, however, and Arcturus bade her farewell and promised to return once the war was over. On their way to the fort, they met up with a hired mercenary named Stenvar, who was appointed by Legate Rikke on personal reccomendation to join the Auxiliary Unit to bolster its' numbers. Arcturus entrusted the mercenary with Belrand's axe.



Once the team was assembled, the assault on the fort began.







The Stormcloaks were more heavily fortified than the Imperial Force had originally expected, however, and the battle quickly turned tide against the Imperials. Desperate, Arcturus called upon the power of the Ritual, initiating an explosion of energy to raise the fallen warriors around him to help win the battle.



Arcturus' move, despite the disgust from the soldiers, was the right one to make, and the reanimated soldiers easily pushed back the Stormcloaks and helped win the battle. Arcturus noticed, however, that one of the corpses was his companion Lydia. He had not noticed her death in the battle.



Arcturus stood face to face with his fallen comrade once the battle was over, and felt pity for what he had done to her. To end her torment, he drew his blade and swiftly beheaded her, releasing her to death once more and preventing any further raising.

For his service, Arcturus was promoted and gifted an ancient Akaviri Katana by Tullius himself.



Arcturus' next mission was to assist in the taking of Fort Greenwall, to help liberate The Rift, joined by another mercenary by the name of Marcurio to again bolster the unit's ranks. This course meant he would be traveling close to his home of Kynesgrove. As such, he decided to stop in for a visit. He was greeted by Kjeld, leader of the village, who expressed his pride that an up-and-coming hero of the Legion had come from his town of all places.



Inside the inn where he once worked, Arcturus met with an old childhood friend of his; Kjeld the Younger. He expressed wishes to join Arcturus on his missions, and though Arcturus initially objected, Kjeld came out in an heirloom set of glass armor and a brand new crossbow, to prove that he was adequately equipped and ready to fight. With a sigh, Arcturus agreed to have his friend join him on the front lines.





On their way to the fort, Arcturus met with an ex-adventurer named Anneke Crag-Jumper in the small mining town of Darkwater Crossing. She asked for their assistance in wiping out bandits that were troubling the town, and Arcturus agreed to making a detour to aid the village. They made their way to the massive Lost Knife hideout with blades in hand and destroyed the force of bandits easily.









Their venture in the hideout netted them a suit of ebony armor that was claimed by Benor, and the alleigance of Anneke Crag-Jumper who joined the auxillary unit. She promised her husband and daughter that she would be back soon, and donned her armor to help fight the rebels. Meeko was left to be taken care of by Anneke's family, so that he wouldn't have to suffer through the hardest the war had to offer.



Arcturus and his companions arrived just on time to begin the siege of the fort, which turned out to be easy at first.



However, the tone of the battle shifted when the Imperials were assaulted from the back in a pincer attack, initiated by a force of rebels and Riften guards in hiding. Trapped and being attacked from both sides, the Imperials fought desperately for their lives.









The Imperials eventually prevailed, though once again at great cost. Arcturus and his unit scanned the carnage, and discovered a sad sight; the body of Kjeld the Younger, whom had been wounded in the pincer attack and leaned himself against a wall in the fort, where he bled out.





Arcturus was broken up upon losing another companion in battle, this one a close friend he had known for many a year. He doubted his capacity to lead for a moment, but Anneke gave him a stern talking-to at camp to bring him back to his senses. Though he was still rightfully saddened, he absolved to continue in his duties. With their business concluded, the group made their way back to Solitude once more.

Winterhold was next on the empire's agenda, and the lightly defended territory proved easy to take. AUA had a role in taking a fort and rescuing a group of imprisoned Imperial troops, and in the end the trek to and fro the fort ended up being the most dangerous; the way was frought with giants, mammoths, and a unusually well-equipped bandit.







Arcturus neglected to wield the obviously demonic blade of the fallen bandit, but this was well enough when General Tullius surprised the young nord with a promotion to the rank of Legate for his distinguished service. Within the stretch of a few months, Arcturus had risen from simple villager to one of the highest ranked military officers in Skyrim. With this new station came yet another blade as a gift; an ancient blade of unknown origin, though some dwemer intervention was expected in its creation.



The final step before assaulting Windhelm itself was taking Fort Amol. AUA was of course chosen for this job, since taking forts had become their specialty of sorts.



The unit joined Imperial soldiers and hit the fort hard, taking her with no casualties from AUA's ranks and damaging Stormcloak morale.





Arcturus and his unit returned to camp and reported to Legate Rikke, who called upon a few fighters to join with Arcturus to assist on the final assault on Windhelm. These three were people Arcturus already knew; the brothers Ra'zhar and Ra'ziir, whom he had met during his initiation into the Imperial forces, and the previously wounded Vashkei, who had recovered well enough to participate in the final battle. AUA, at its' largest size, was prepared to be the hidden heroes of the assault on the city of Windhelm.

The siege began with the falling of flaming mortars falling upon walls, setting the backdrop for the battle. It was almost a hellish scene with the flames falling from the sky, breaking walls and crushing unfortunate soldiers. Spearheading the assault on the gates was none other than Legate Arcturus and his faithful companions.





The fight to take the bridge into the city was the hardest of all; admist the uproar, Vashkei was wounded once more, this time unable to fight against the grip of death any longer. The argonian perished on the field of battle, surrounded by several rebel soldiers.



Night fell as the actual push against the bridge was made. Arcturus personally led the charge against the veritable wall of soldiers.





Another loss was had during the fierce fight on the bridge; Ra'zhar, who was caught off guard by a Stormcloak arrow from behind.



With their victory nearly in hand, AUA pressed forward with General Tullius and Legate Rikke joining their charge; however, they were interrupted by a deafening roar; a dragon had taken notice of the fighting and swooped in to wreak havoc on the two sides.



Anneke's skillful sniping helped bring the dragon to the ground where it could be more easily engaged.





Ra'ziir took the first charge, still in a fit of rage over the death of his dearest brother. In his recklessness, he was fatally bit by the dragon and fell, killed almost instantly. Arcturus took over and raised his shield to bait the beast, enduring a fierce blast of frosty breath while his companions went in to strike the beast further.



Upon seeing an opening, Arcturus replicating his slaying of the dragon in Solitude and leapt onto the beast's head, stabbing at the eyes until the creature was slain.







Leaving behind the bodies of Vashkei and the Khajiit brothers, Arcturus joined Tullius and Rikke in their assault on the Palace of Kings while the remnants of Arcturus' unit stayed behind to prevent any other Stormcloaks getting into the city.





Arcturus fought with fervor inside the city. Living in Kynesgrove meant he had sometimes visited the city with his parents, but those pleasant memories were now gone; now all he saw was the smoldering shell of a once great city, tarnished by the ambition of a man.



Arcturus joined Tullius and Rikke alone in the Palace of Kings, where Galmar and Ulfric resisted their demands for surrender. With no chance of compromise, both sides drew their weapons and engaged in a battle in the Palace of Kings, with Tullius and Rikke both fighting the stalwart Galmar while Arcturus dueled Jarl Ulfric on his own.











Arcturus, with the past few months shaping his natural talent for combat, kept up a steady defense against Ulfric's relentless assault with his two axes. With block after block, Ulfric began to grow impatient, and loosed a defeaning shout against his foe to blast him away. Arcturus, however, dug his heels and raised his shield to block the blast. He skidded a few feet back, yet stood on his feet much to the shock of Ulfric. Arcturus counter-attacked and scored a winning blow on the Jarl, bringing him to his knees next to the body of Galmar.



Tullius charged Ulfric with multiple charges and ordered his summary execution, intending to do the deed himself. Ulfric, however, requested that Arcturus be the one to perform the deed. He proclaimed that the village boy who had raised to the ranks of the Legion and became a hero would prove a better fit to end his life, seeing as he was also the one to defeat him in head on combat; in his words, "it would make for a better song".

Arcturus nodded and stepped forward, raising his blade, taking a deep breath, and bringing it down. In an instant, the Stormcloak rebellion was over.

With Ulfric dead, the trio left the burning palace.



Once outside, Tullius greeted his victorious legionnaires and praised their hard work and dedication in defeating the rebellion. The soldiers cheered, hailing both their general and their new hero, Arcturus. They praised him and deemed him "Ember-Heart" for his blazing courage and his rise from nothing to saving his province. Arcturus adopted the title as his last name, becoming Legate Arcturus Ember-Heart.



Rejoining with his companions, Arcturus purchases passage to Solitude. Though they had seen much death, he decided that those who stood beside him deserved a drink now that tensions were, at least for the moment, over. Thus, they met up at the Winking Skeever to toast their fallen and to revel in their victory.







In the middle of their revels, however, Arcturus stood up and headed for the door; bidding his friends farewell, Arcturus insisted that he needed to return home, to pay homage to his beginnings and what had brought him up to his station in the first place. His values, his dedication, and his perseverance; all virtues born in his early life at the village of Kynesgrove.



Thus, the hero Arcturus returned home. Though his life and adventures were far from over, he knew it was time to lay down the sword for a time and to enjoy the peace he helped create. He would do this, of course, over a mug at the inn where he had spent so much of his life. No matter how much things change, some things find ways to stay just the same.