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 (continued)

Azyrek slipped out of the inn early the next morning, before even Nevis was awake to tend to his business. The dirt roads were still damp, but not as muddy as the night before. He found the Mages Guild easily enough, though the building wasn't much to look at. Nothing in the town was.

"I need to travel to Mournhold," he explained to the first person he met inside.

"Guild guide is at the end of the hall to the right," the mousey bosmer woman replied without even looking up from the scrap of parchment she was reading.

Azyrek followed her instructions and entered the room. The dunmer inside had wild red hair that stuck out in almost every direction. He was sitting at a desk, apparently creating potions, as he was busy crushing ingredients with a mortar and pestle. He hadn't even noticed Azyrek entering.

Azyrek cleared his throat to get the mer's attention, "Ahem,"

"Ah! What?" he asked, jumping in surprise. He looked even more surprised when he saw the figure in front of him, "Who the hell summoned a dremora indoors?" he shouted as he cast a dispel spell Azyrek's way. Surprise seemed to be the name of the game, as the mage felt it once again when the dremora didn't fade away into Oblivion.

"Are you done?" he asked the mage irritably, "I just want to get to Mournhold..."

The mage seemed petrified, but not out of fear. Mostly confusion.

"You...wait right here. I'll be back."

"I'm trying to get to Mournhold!" he shouted down the hall after the odd mer. He was ignored, so he followed after.

"See?" the dunmer pointed at Azyrek when he caught up. The dunmer was speaking to the bosmer woman who'd given him directions barely a minute before.

"By the Nine," the woman remarked, "I'm Farawen, my eccentric counterpart here is Bervayn."

"I'm still waiting to get transported to Mournhold," he said, making his aggravation evident.

"Well..." she said, "We don't usually serve dremora,"

Azyrek narrowed his eyes, "There's a first time for everything. Or at least there better be in this case."

Farawen wagged her finger at him like a mother scolding a child, "Uh-uh-uh, Sir Dremora. If you want to get to Mournhold you'd best be a little more polite."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am. You see, beings such as yourself are difficult for mages like us to happen upon and-"

Azyrek cut her off, "Since when is summoning a dremora too difficult for the Mages' Guild?"

"If you would mind you manners and stop interrupting me, you would know that I was referring to dremora that have crossed over permanently, such as yourself. Usually we'd find them in ruins and the like, but they're always so violent..."

Azyrek seriously wanted to get violent. He couldn't believe he was taking this kind of talk from a woman half his height.

"...Anyway," Farawen continued on, "Since you're here, we can study how your form stays on this plane! In return, of course, we'll send you to Mournhold."

"What kind of studying? And how long will this take?" he asked, growing impatient, but having no choice but to play along. Unless he wanted to backtrack a week and go back to Kragenmoor, which was absolutely out of the question.

"We just want a day," she said with a grin, "We will cast some spells on you --no harmful ones, I promise-- and take notes, and compare our findings with our reference materials."

"Fine," he conceded with a sigh, "Go ahead, cast away."

"Well we aren't ready now, silly! Come back tomorrow morning after we prepare."

Azyrek hated the delay, but it was unavoidable. His only consolation was the fact that he was only half dremora. They would likely come up with all kinds of false theories if they really thought he was a full-blown daedra, which they apparently did.

"Fine," he said, "Tomorrow. One day is all you get, then you take me to Mournhold."

"That's the deal," she confirmed.

Azyrek left then, cursing his luck as he walked back to the inn. It was raining again.