Here the darkness is always. There is no sun, no dawn; just the perpetual gloom of shadow. The only light comes from the dimly lit candles set near sacrificial posts and above dining tables elevating a supply of organs and flesh and blood. The cave was just the place for Sedrane and his followers to make their abode. It was always in shadow, rendering terms like day and night meaningless.
This small haven granted them refuge from the sun, and safety from the hunters and the neighboring cattle. But not for long, though. Many enemies were out there, and he was sure they would be closing in one of these days.
The Dunmer patriarch sat on the table of his makeshift office in the corner of the chamber, flipping through the pages of an old book, pages yellowed with age. In this book, in Dunmeri words, was the knowledge he sought. What he had now, what he was, was but a speck of power compared to what he could become and what was out there waiting to be claimed.
I need it . . . I need it . . . my immortality depends on it! No longer will I sit and wait until a hunter walks into my lair to slay me. I must put my plans into motion or else it will be too late . . .
Vampires were all blessed with the power of Bal in varying degrees all over Tamriel. But the purebloods . . . the Daughters of Coldharbour and the Vampire Lords . . . It marked them as the elite; it elevated them above the lower ranks of the undead. And it was an existence that was fervently protected. To the eyes of the pureblooded, vampires without any connection to a clan was an abomination; by custom and law such a creature could not be suffered to live and Sedrane had to change that. Lamae was the first of their kind, the matriarch of the nosferatu and from her came countless vampires who never had to evolve. And there was walking relics there to be found. One had been located, but not yet retrieved and it was near. Closer than he once thought.
But his followers, the ones he turned, did not know of this. They only craved blood, not knowledge. They wanted flesh, not information of the betterment of themselves and this pained him. This is why Sedrane promised them that if they find the mobile relic that would make them vampire lords, the ultimate being of the vampiric race. No manner of captives, cattle, or thralls could ever substitute that. And so he sent three of them into the night to search for rumors. One returned alive, and with nothing. And this worried him.
The hunters are on my scent, and it would only be a matter of time before they find my lair and what I hope to discover. That in Cyrodiil, one of these relics of ancient power was there, alive, and within reach.
Sedrane rubbed his eyes, and closed the book shut. He needed rest, and he needed it right away. The stories of old, the tales of mythical antiquity could wait. But not the coffin.
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And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed. I long for scenes where man hath never trod A place where woman never smiled or wept There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled where I lie The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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