Blood of the Kyn, Volume I Options

[Dantrag]

Well, after some unfinished stories and a long hiatus, I'm back in this territory of the forums. Not that anyone should care. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my latest creation.

Prologue

It was a dark night, and the rain fell in sheets over the town of Cheydinhal. Unbeknownst to the gate guards, a cloaked, shadowy figure climbed the stone wall on the other side. He sat perched on the wall for several seconds before jumping to the ground below, using the loud pitter-patter of the rain to cover the sound. Swiftly and silently he ran, clutching a package tightly wrapped in a gray cloth. He reached his destination in a matter of seconds, and after lifting the grate up, he descended into the darkness of a well.

He was welcomed at arrow point.

"I need to speak with Vicente," he said in an otherwordly voice from the shadows of his cowl. He turned his side to the woman in front of him, shielding his cargo should she decide to fire.

The archer, who was a Bosmer woman dressed in the typical black leather armor and hood of the Dark Brotherhood, fumbled for a response. Before she could give one, a hand from behind rested on her shoulder. Taleandril looked to see that it was Vicente Valtieri himself, the oldest member of their specific chapter of the Dark Brotherhood, due to his vampiric nature.

"Don't worry, Taleandril, I'm expecting company," Vicente said reassuringly. Taleandril gave the visitor one last glare before going about her business.

"Let us go somewhere more private," the vampire suggested, leading the way through the dark, damp corridors until they reached Vicente's quarters. There was no door or any other typical way of creating privacy, but the other assassins seemed to respect the vampire's space and gave him a wide berth. There was not a soul near enough to overhear anything that might be said.

"Kyzra, old friend! What brings you from Oblivion?"

"Trouble," Kyzra replied, removing his soaking wet cloak, revealing his black and red skin, horns, and armor that marked him as a powerful Dremora. He sat down at the small table across from the vampire assassin.

Vicente gave him a questioning glare. Anything Kyzra believed to be trouble must be dangerous indeed. The two of them had been through much together, though most of it had been a hundred years or more ago, and Vicente could not remember a time when the Kynmarcher had feared anything.

"I have disgraced the clan and insulted Lord Dagon himself. I will not live long, I assure you. Even my own armies have abandoned me, and my most trusted Kynreeve has taken my rank and title."

The vampire stood angrily, "You would bring an entire Dremora fiefdom here? Endanger me and my brothers and sisters?"

"You owe me!" Kyzra shouted, his booming Dremora voice echoing througout the halls. Just then, the bundle he carried made a sound. It cried loudly. Vicente's rage was put to a halt as he wrapped his mind around this new development.

"It is my son," Kyzra explained, "Half Dremora, half dunmer. I want you to take him; I cannot bear for him to die for my mistakes."

"That was your disgrace, then? A dunmer woman?" Vicente asked, sitting back down.

"She was only the half of it," Kyzra replied cryptically, "Will you take him?"

Vicente nodded, taking the infant from the Dremora Lord, "I will warn you, I am no parent."

"As long as he lives, Vampire, I do not care how you raise him. Just promise me one thing."

"If it is within my power."

"Never tell him my name, never speak of me."

Vicente nodded in silent understanding. Kyzra stood and began to exit.

"What is his name?" Vicente called after him.

Kyzra paused for a short moment, as if he had never thought of the answer to that question. "Azyrek," he finally said, "Azyrek."

He left the hideout without another word. Azyrek cried all night long.

[Dantrag]

sorry this one's so short but...oh well.

Chapter 2 - Exodus (continued)

Azyrek did not sleep through all the daylight hours, yet he stayed well away from the road until his cover of darkness was restored. He pressed on towards Mournhold at a steady pace, though the road was harder to travel on this particular night. The young assassin was passing through the mountains now, and as he ascended, the air became colder and thinner and the wind blew harder. Around midnight, he reached for his canteen to take a drink, only to realize that his water had frozen. Within the hour snow was falling. Azyrek was crouched low on his horse, trying to stay warm in the blizzard. It wasn't daylight yet, but he thought it best to stop for the night and let the storm pass.

Keeping an eye out for suitable shelter, he soon found a small cave that seemed decent enough. It had a low but wide entrance, and Azyrek had to get on hands and knees just to get in. The interior was spacious enough, though, and no wind or snow was leaking in. His horse became a small problem, as it could not possibly fit inside the cave, but he simply removed its saddle and reigns and set it free.

"Even if you'd survived the night, you wouldn't survive living in Morrowind," he said to it before slapping its hindquarters and sending it galloping back the way he came.

Soon he had a fire going in the cave, and he set his canteen near it so that its contents would melt. He sat on his saddle in front of the fire chewing a piece of dried meat. He took a glance towards the cave entrance to check on the weather and was surprised to see a person crawling in. Because of the dim light, he couldn't make out any details.

"Hello...?" the stranger asked, "You aren't a Legion Forrester are you?" her tone hinted that she knew the answer to her question and was not pleased with it.

"No, I'm not," Azyrek replied, thankful that the cold had forced him to keep his cowl pulled over his head, "Why?"

"Well...I was really hoping that you were a guard, and since you aren't...Oh, by Mephala, I've gotten you in trouble now!" she was pacing back and forth quickly, in some sort of mild panic, "I have to leave now before they kill us bo-"

"Stop!" Azyrek shouted, standing up to move towards the stranger. It was a dunmer woman, and her looks did not match his first impression of her. She was clad in a light leather armor and wore a quiver on her back and a dagger on her hip. In her hand was a bow, and by the lack of frost on it, Azyrek could guess that she had been firing it.

"You mentioned trouble," he pressed, "Explain. Slowly, please."