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]

Chapter 4 - Stuck

It took him nearly a week to reach Andrethis, and Azyrek was tired, wet, cold, and hungry. Entering the small town after nightfall to hide his heritage, he walked the muddy streets keeping an eye out for somewhere to hide from the merciless rain. There were no major landmarks in the town, with the exception of the guards' barracks, which was the only stone structure in the place. Everything else was wooden shanties, inns, taverns, and shops; the basic necessities of any town. He couldn't believe that Rinori had sent him to this hellhole. Moving forward despite his poor luck, he pressed on towards the least well-kept inn. That would be the one with the least questions.

On entry, he found that he was the only one in the common room, save for the elderly dunmer behind the counter. The place was dimly lit; as a few candles mounted to the wall gave off a soft glow. On the rickety shelf behind the clerk were various forms of alcohol, all of which looked very appealing to the road weary assassin.

"Brandy?" he asked the mer.

The old one shook his head, "None of that here. Greef, sujamma, and matze,"

"Sujamma, then," he replied, sitting at the bar though staying careful to keep his head down.

The barkeep put the sujamma in front of him, "Five gold."

"Room and food?"

"Twenty for all of it, then."

Azyrek dropped the coins in his hand.

"So can you say more than three words at a time?" the comment was obviously a playful one, no harm intended.

"I can," Azyrek replied, trying his best to kill the joke.

The old one laughed, "Well prove it, then. That was only two. I'm an old lonely bartender. I'm used to talking, and you're my only customer in days. I'm bored to tears here. What's your name, Sera?"

He hesitated for a moment, but he hadn't had the presence of mind to come up with an alias earlier. He decided it didn't matter; there wasn't a soul in this country who knew his name, save Rinori, and she was miles behind.

"Azyrek," he finally answered, extending a hand.

"There aren't many names like that around here," the dunmer looked at the gray and red hand curiously, but still shook it, "I'm Nevis, good to meet you. So where you from, Azyrek, what brings you here?"

Nevis turned away while he ladled some soup into a bowl. Azyrek took a sip of sujamma. Not bad.

"I come from Cheydinhal in Cyrodiil, heading for Mournhold. I heard there was transport from here?"

"Mournhold? From Cheydinhal? You're pretty far south to be headed to Mournhold. Why not get transport from Kragenmoor?" he put the bowl of soup in front of Azyrek.

"What?"

"Kragenmoor. It sits on the border. Pretty much due east of Cheydinhal, once you pass through the mountains. They have a Mages Guild there that could have taken you directly to the city."

Azyrek's jaw tightened and he slammed is fist on the counter, "That little..."

"What's wrong?"

"I passed the place days ago," he answered, taking a significantly larger sip of sujamma, "Apparently someone wanted to make me take a detour. A long one."

I swear if I find her in Mournhold...

Nevis laughed again, "Don't get too worked up about it; there's still a guild guide here, so all is well, right?"

"I suppose," he said, pausing for a moment to taste the soup, "Well tell me this; would it be difficult to cross the Badlands?"

"Oh, that much you've got right. You know anything about deserts? Better to come here than try to cross. There are almost no settlements, food is scarce and water scarcer."

So Rinori wanted to delay him. A week. While still making sure he survived. Why? He admitted that it could have been innocent enough; maybe she wanted to make sure she caught up with him in Mournhold? Possible, but unlikely. There was something deeper, here. Something strange.