I am Lena Wolf, Lena's life as it happens Options

[Lena Wolf]

Yes, well, Traven is alive in my game, the Mages Guild thing is just only going on here now. How did it happen? Who knows. But that's what we're at. I never completed it before, so it all fits.

Lena's father... yeah, she doesn't know anything about him, he's a mystery. So of course she's got to know, got to find out. You'll see. And Delphine is being her charming self, as usual.

Yeah, I'm still off modding. It's been a bit of a hectic time at work as well, so not feeling like starting a brand new game to play Tribunal DLC with Lucien. Rather make house mods and clean up stuff instead! Digital dollhouses, as my hubby calls them. So a bit of a break in writing.

[Renee]

Digital dollhouses, that's very true. It's like playing dolls, but on a much larger scale!

Wolf Asgarsen. So this was her father? 🐺 She doesn't seem convinced. I love the way each scroll and letter gets opened, one at a time. It's like, sort of dramatic.

"How is Jeanne holding up?" - asked Lena, grinning to the memory of the pranks they played on her.

And then in the next sentence it says Jeanne can levitate. Which is true, right? There are occasionally NPCs in the game which levitate. There are rare but they are there. This is due to glitches of course, but still.


http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=337824

This post has been edited by Renee: Apr 26 2023, 04:29 PM

[Lena Wolf]

Well, the name is certainly suggestive. Father's first name being Wolf, that name given as the last name to the child... May be. But it's pretty flimsy as evidence goes! It is a fairly common Nord name, after all. She'll need more proof, something more definitive.

Jeanne levitating... Well, I was referring to the Levitation magic from Morrowind, of course. Just because you forbid something, it does not seize to exist. But with it forbidden, Jeanne is not likely to let anyone know that she masters that particular art.

[Renee]

Right, Wolf is a common Nord name. Similar to "Jones" or "Smith" in English-speaking countries. Or "Gonzales" / "Gomez" / "Fernandes" to Spaniards. Still, I feel like Lena's on the right track.

As I understand, the addition of walled towns meant that we wouldn't be able to just float into civilized areas anymore, and the Levitation Decree (whatever it's called) was Beth's in-game way to explain this. I do like to pretend there's evidence that not everyone follows this doctrine during TES: IV though (NPCs floating / flying occasionally over the years due to glitches), and Jeanne being part of a rumor that she's ignoring this decree confirms this is so. At least, in a pretend sort of way.

Now. 15 Sun's Height. Lena's riding a paint horse. I've always liked the paint, even though they are the slowest (assuming that's not Blossom). Paints are easiest to navigate into rough territory, avoiding boulders and trees and such. Enemies who try to follow a paint into rough territory are going to have a tough time, assuming we can get them stuck behind obstacles which a paint to easily avoid/jump over. Black horses, with their higher speeds, are best for the open road / fields.

Hey, it's the Shrine of the Mudcrab! Hermaeus Mora, that is. 🦀

Oh nice. Lena allows Caranya to keep this amulet, away from Traven. Yeah, because the default Arch Mage isn't really all too trustworthy, in my opinion. And from Your perspective (as the player behind Lena) it's also remarkable that you aren't always choosing to go for the path which guarantees some combat. I am the same way. That could've been a pwnfest, adrenaline rushes and so on. The story is what's more important, though. The story is what Lena wants, after all, whether you see yourself as your character (as mirocu does, for instance) or not.

Drunken Dragon Inn's such a great place to find! As stated, there's a lair nearby to plunder, as well. If I recall, there's also a merchant in the inn to do business, but maybe that's just my mind... playing tricks on me.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=337902

This post has been edited by Renee: Apr 28 2023, 09:19 PM

[Lena Wolf]

Right, Wolf is a common Nord name. Similar to "Jones" or "Smith" in English-speaking countries. Or "Gonzales" / "Gomez" / "Fernandes" to Spaniards. Still, I feel like Lena's on the right track.

I was rather thinking of it as a first name, and Lena's last name derived from her father's first name (or rather taken over in this case). It is a common Germanic tradition.

Now. 15 Sun's Height. Lena's riding a paint horse. I've always liked the paint, even though they are the slowest (assuming that's not Blossom). Paints are easiest to navigate into rough territory, avoiding boulders and trees and such. Enemies who try to follow a paint into rough territory are going to have a tough time, assuming we can get them stuck behind obstacles which a paint to easily avoid/jump over. Black horses, with their higher speeds, are best for the open road / fields.

Paint horses are Nord horses - heavy duty farming and general work horses. Strong and hardy, if not very fast. I find speeds in Oblivion rather too high anyway, and like you say, a slower horse is easier to steer.

The story is what Lena wants, after all, whether you see yourself as your character (as mirocu does, for instance) or not.

I am Lena Wolf. And I am not... still can't get that daedroth summon to work myself!

[Lena Wolf]

23-28 Sun's Dawn, 4E203 - Vampires

"But why, brother?" Lucien stood over the corpse of a Dark Brotherhood assassin who had attacked him in his sleep. Granted, The Eight Plates in Balmora was not a high security establishment, but still, Lucien had not expected an attempt on his life. A futile attempt, too, for the dead assassin didn't present much of a challenge. Lucien sighed and went back to bed - it was only three in the morning.

The owner of the inn didn't know anything about the attack, she shrugged it off and said that she would have the body removed, and would Lucien like to book another night? She assured him that he would not find a finer inn in all Morrowind... But somehow Lucien wasn't convinced. However, he still had business in Balmora and since there were no other inns in town... he booked another night.

The following night another assassin attacked him. This was getting repetitive, and Lucien decided to make some inquiries.

...

"Good morning, Master," Lucien entered Caius Cosades' house and closed the door behind him. Caius was awake, but not out of bed. "Please don't get up." He handed him his spoon and candle.

"What brings you here, Speaker?" Caius sat up once the burned sugar brought his vision into focus.

"I am here to prevent bloodshed, but it seems that someone objects. I've been attacked in my sleep twice already, by our own assassins, no less. Can you tell me anything of use on the matter?"

"I know of your mission," Caius nodded. "I hear the local chapter of your organisation is having a hard time winning contracts from Morag Tong, which is not surprising," he smirked. "Of course the locals prefer their own guild. Why set up shop in Morrowind at all?" He looked at Lucien with a question in his eyes. If Lucien wanted information from the Spy Master, the Spy Master wanted some information in return.

"Well, we didn't set up shop here, as you say..." Lucien rubbed his chin. "We do not actually have any official branches in Morrowind."

"The two assassins you killed seem to suggest otherwise," Caius smirked, looking at Lucien expectantly. That wasn't enough information to make him share his.

"If there is a rogue group, I'll have to find them, but I didn't expect any and have no contracts on anyone in particular," Lucien said, but Caius still kept silent. "Well... there was a rumour of someone seeing our armour in Mournhold... I was on my way there, in fact."

"Ah." Caius smiled. "You will want to speak with Apelles Matius at the Legion there. Don't expect much, but it will hopefully get the ball rolling. Mention my name if he refuses to talk." Caius stretched for a small bottle on his bedside table. "If you find anything of importance for the Empire, I would appreciate a hint," he smiled.

"Of course," Lucien inclined his head. "As always."

...

Morrowind didn't have horses, and Lucien took one look at a guar without a saddle that he was offered for transportation, and shook his head. Silt striders made him dizzy, and teleportation with the Mages Guild made his skin crawl. Was he the only person in the Empire to bemoan the lack of horses in Morrowind? Probably not. And so he decided to walk.

It would take him a day or two to reach Vivec on foot, what with the usual rats and mating kaguti along the way, so he prepared for a long journey. He would then stop at the Willow Cottage near Vivec before continueing. He hoped no assassins would interrupt his sleep, but he didn't count on it.

...

The assassin that came for him to the Willow Cottage, was clearly more experienced than the previous ones. What's more, he struck while remaining completely invisible. When Lucien finally struck him down and the Chameleon spell fizzled out, he saw that the assassin was a vampire.

"At least this brother is not gone forever," Lucien thought moving him into the storage room of the cottage. "He can lie here until he rises again." He looked into the vampire's features - the vampire had been famished. "Might take a while in your condition," he shook his head. Morrowind was extremely intolerant to vampires. He checked his own wounds - they were serious but not life-threatening; he would need to spend another day there and hope that no one would come for him the following night. He tried to guess whether he had caught Porphyric Hemophilia, but didn't think so. It would not be his first spell of vampirism, but without the purgeblood salts of Deepscorn Hollow, it might become more than a mere nuisance. So far he managed to get each spell cured before he had to feed - he never drank mortal blood, and so his vampirism never became recessive. He was still a true mortal, and he aimed to keep it that way. "Perhaps best stop by a shrine in Vivec, just in case," he thought and hoped that Dunmer saints would not turn away an assassin as most of the Nine did. There were no shrines of Dibella in Morrowind. "We had no purgeblood salts when Lena got infected," he thought of her wondering where she was at that moment. "She stood no chance."

...

Lena was clinging to Roach's neck trying not to fall off - her wounds were deep and the loss of blood made her dizzy. She hoped Roach knew where she was going, and she did. Roach stopped by the water, Lena slid out of the saddle and reached for a trapdoor in the grass, opening it with her key. She nearly fell into the space below, not daring to let go of the ladder. Deepscorn Hollow.

"Mistress..!" She heard hurried footsteps approaching, someone supporting her, she let go of the ladder and blacked out.

...

Cold fever was rushing through Lena's veins, if there is such a thing as cold fever. This cold was burning. It was reaching into the tips of her fingers and engulfing every joint. It made her flesh tingle. Then it subsided, leaving a feeling of calm behind. Calm and cold. Lena slept without any dreams or movement.

...

Lena woke up in the bedroom of Deepscorn Hollow. Someone had brought her there, laid her on the bed after she had collapsed by the entrance. Fenris, of course.

Fenris was sitting in the corner of the room reading a book, or rather waiting for Lena to wake up. When she opened her eyes, he walked over to her bed.

"Forgive me, Mistress, I could not stop your bleeding," he said softly. "Your wounds were too deep."

"But I am not dead..?" Lena sat up, stretched out her hands to look at them. They were pale, with a slight blueish tint, her nails bone white. "Ah." She nodded. "How..?"

Fenris rolled up his sleeve, revealing a fresh cut over his vein. "I just brought it up to your lips, you fed instinctively. I didn't dare to give you mortal blood - if your vampirism had receded, you would not have survived."

"Of course," Lena smiled at him. "Thank you." The hand on the Dark Brotherhood tapestry caught her eye. "This target fought back. He was a mage, a necromancer. Summoned a lich that summoned a wraith, the three of them were hurling frost curses at me... The lich had a sword too! The wraith also!" She shook her head at the many bandages that Fenris applied to her wounds. "I only survived because my vampirism flared..." She shook her head again. This time she came too close to failing her contract. "Vampirism does come handy in my profession... That mage is dead, of course," she added with a smirk.

...

Feeding on Fenris's blood - the blood of a vampire - meant that Lena's vampirism progressed from a recessive form to full, and feeding on mortal blood would no longer drive it in remission, but only strengthen its hold. She now had to take a cure - the purgeblood salts in the basement pool of Deepscorn Hollow should do the trick. But not straight away - switching between different forms of vampirism was taxing for the body, and Lena was not likely to survive it in her present state. On the other hand, the longer she remained a full vampire, the greater was the risk of passing the infection to the child she was carrying, and she wanted to avoid that at all costs. A balance had to be found.

The stress of these worries made her black out again.

...

"Do not fight it! It is the only way," a booming voice spoke from the darkness. "I can grant it to you now - embrace my gift and rise as a Pure-Blood, your wounds healed, your pain extinguished!"

Lena was floating above the bed, an unseen force supporting her from below. She felt light, she felt steady, her cold veins were now carrying strength and agility, spreading it through her body, down to her toes and fingertips. She felt twenty again - not two hundred and twenty, but twenty, like back then. The cold not only washed away the pain, but also painful memories of the past two hundred years. She was young again. Young forever.

The unseen force turned her upright - she was levitating. She was no longer in Deepscorn Hollow. A strangely familiar city spread before her.

"Welcome to my Realm!" The voice sounded closer. "This should be your home. For one like yourself, I'll find a palace or a castle to live in. You will have a clan of your own, you will be the Queen."

"The Wolf Clan with a Wolf Queen, how ironic," Lena smirked. "Well, I don't like necromancers either, but that's taking it a bit far, don't you think?"

She was now flying over the city, with its houses, shops and cathedrals eerily quiet. It was daytime, yet there was no sun, a blueish light like in ancient Ayleid ruins filled the air.

"Why me?" Lena tried to control her movements, but couldn't. "Plenty of vampires in Cyrodiil, why do you want me?"

"Because you keep defying him, of course!" A new, mocking voice spoke in her head. "He can't have it, oh no! Not our Prince of Domination!"

"Silence!!" Molag Bal's rage sounded over Sheogorath's cackle. "Get out of my Realm!!"

"I am not in your Realm," Sheogorath cackled again. "I am in this mortal's head. You may lay claim on her blood, but her mind belongs to me!"

"Quiet!!" Lena screamed, and the force holding her in the air vanished. She landed on the pavement of the Hollow City, the seriousness of her situation suddenly becoming obvious. She was in Coldharbour, whether she wanted it or not. Could she keep resisting Molag Bal even here, in his own Realm?

"Mistress!" A passer-by bowed to her in respect.

"See, they know you already!" Molag Bal's triumphant voice sounded again. "You are home, Wolf."

...

The voices in Lena's head went quiet, both Princes left her be, it seemed. She walked the streets of the Hollow City, and wherever she looked, buildings, gardens and monuments appeared just as she pictured them in her mind moments ago. "This is how Sheogorath must be building his Realm," she thought. Something Haskill had said the very first time they met in answer to her question why the Realm was the way it was: "Because my Lord wills it so." She could never alter the Shivering Isles that way - she may have been Sheogorath's Champion, but he didn't resign his Realm to her. But Molag Bal? He was gifting her that city, it seemed. Tempting... oh so very tempting...

Lena entered a cathedral. It looked just like one of the grand cathedrals in Cyrodiil, but the stained glass windows did not depict the Nine. They did not depict anything in particular, coloured bits of glass formed random patterns. Altars stood under the windows, but what blessings did they grant? Lost in thought, she peered into the stained glass again, looking for Arkay by force of habit... and for a very brief moment, his image appeared, then vanished just as quickly. Lena dashed to the altar beneath it, touching it lightly and feeling the warmth of the stone that she did not expect. "Save me..!" Her prayer to the God of Life and Death was brief but intense.

Pain engulfed her and she collapsed onto the stone floor.

...

"Mistress!" Fenris was pressing his arm to Lena's lips, and Lena fed instinctively. Her wounds were oozing dark undead blood - her blood. The bandages that Fenris had placed over them previously, were soaked through. "I had no choice..." He kept dipping a cloth into some infusion and pressing it to her wounds. Eventually Lena let go of his arm, and he quickly set about changing the bandages, applying more and more infusion to the wounds until the bleeding stopped. "You won't be able to feed on mortal blood until your wounds close," he said with a sigh. "I am sorry."

"What happened?" Lena tried to make sense of what seemed like an impossible memory.

"You... died," Fenris stumbled. "I had to bring you back. I am sorry if..." he broke off.

Her child. The room was filled with the aroma of nightshade extract - a substance of life and death that allowed to pass from one realm to the next and back... But what would it do to her child..?

Lena never welcomed a kick into the liver more than at that moment. Her child lived.

"Thank you, Arkay!" She whispered.

[Lena Wolf]

1 First Seed, 4E203 - The Dark Brotherhood

"You are either soft in the head or suicidal," Apelles Matius looked at Lucien in disbelief. "The Dark Brotherhood, ideed! What would they want with you? I'm sure they have real targets to pursue. Besides, if they were really after you, you wouldn't be standing here telling me about it," he smirked at his own witticism. "Who are you, anyway?" He squinted, suddenly realising that the Imperial standing before him seemed different from most Imperials who dwelled in Morrowind. He didn't look lost.

"I am just a concerned citizen, really," Lucien smiled amicably. "I have recently arrived from Cyrodiil, and I don't intend to stay - it's a business trip, you see. So I was rather surprised by the attacks." He smiled again, indicating that he was still hoping for a more comprehensive reply.

"Surprised, yes, if they were indeed the Dark Brotherhood, as you claim," Apelles Matius still didn't give in. "Camona Tong more likely, or just some local rogue aiming to rob you. Nothing to do with me, the Legion or the Empire!" He puffed his cheeks looking offended. "What proof do you have?"

"Well..." Lucien cleared his throat in hesitation. "Caius didn't think I'd need any, so I didn't bother with it..." He looked timidly at the Legion officer before him, who now resembled a pufferfish ready to blow rather than an enraged bull from a moment ago. "I was hoping to get to the bottom of it, for his benefit as well as my own."

"The Spy Master..?" Apelles Matius was taken aback. "You working for him..?" He shook his head in disbelief and took a step back. "I don't want to cross the path of the Spy Master or to have anything to do with intelligence," he said stiffly. "Go to Mournhold. They are there. Investigate if you must. I have no clue what they want with you. There's a mage here who can teleport you. Don't come back." Six short sentences, six steps backwards, a sharp turn on his heels and a march in the opposite direction was all Lucien was going to get that day.

"Nothing to do with intelligence indeed," he smirked to himself. "What a cliche."

...

Lucien was in Ebonheart and needed to go to Mournhold. His original plan was to travel overland, but he had admittedly forgotten about the lack of horses in Morrowind - it would be too far to walk on foot and too hard to avoid bandits and wild animals, since he could not outrun them as well as Shadowmere could. The prospect of such a journey looked tedious, and so he chose teleportation, even if it did make his skin crawl.

Arriving in Mournhold, he found himself dizzier than usual. Not that he was used to teleportation at all, but somehow he imagined arriving more in one piece. "Of course I'm still in one piece," he told himself. "My arms and legs didn't get switched either... It only seems that way." He looked around, noting the lavish surroundings and many doors. "The Royal Palace?" That realisation didn't help.

"The gardens are that way," an Argonian hissed at him. "Go find a bench," he squinted. "Dilettantes!"

...

The best way to get your bearings in a new city is to talk to everyone, and Lucien set out to do just that. And yet, he was not your usual adventurer who would get involved in saving damsels beset by rats and such. Even an apparent goblin army under the city did not stir his curiosity. Some people started to wonder just what was he looking for in their city of splendour.

What Lucien was looking for, was of course the Dark Brotherhood. And it didn't take long to find them either - one of the first people he spoke to, told him that there was a group of Dark Brotherhood assassins in the sewers under the Grand Bazaar. "Another cliche," Lucien thought. "Could have come up with that myself, really." He would go there in time and confront them, but first he wanted to see what they would do, now that he was in the city. "If they have a contract on my life, they should keep coming for me," he reasoned. "Or else they are imposters, like that Skyrim group." And so he took up rooms at The Winged Guar and prepared to wait.

...

Several days have passed during which time Lucien explored the entire above-ground part of the city, even including the Royal Palace, as far as a tourist like himself would be permitted. He bought several maps, correcting each of them with the things that he discovered, and marking entrances into the sewers. He memorised the looks of the areas near each exit, so that should he emerge from underground in a hurry, he would instantly know where he was. He even made friends with the Argonian mage in the lobby of the Royal Palace where he arrived - that seemed to be the only way out of that enlightened place.

And yet not one assassin came for him in all that time. This surprised and annoyed Lucien - annoyed because it was unprofessional, indicating that the group in the sewers was a group of rogues, not having anything to do with the discipline of the real Brotherhood. "I wonder what keeps them back," he mused. "Is it the abundance of guards or the proximity of the Royal Palace? And why would they be afraid of either? It never stopped any of us..."

The lack of attempts on his life also made him wonder why someone wanted him dead in the first place. Oh, he could think of any number of reasons why people would want him dead, but this wasn't any of those vendettas. What's more, there was no Morag Tong branch in Mournhold, at least not one he knew of or could locate, and he found that strange, too. Things just didn't add up. The so-called Dark Brotherhood was attacking a Dark Brotherhood Speaker, but only in areas that also had a Morag Tong presence... How strange.

...

After several days walking around, Lucien got bored. The city was squeaky clean, with more ordinators than citizens in the streets. Wide empty avenues and unnaturally quiet "Grand Bazaar" were getting on his nerves. Oh, the city was far from empty - there were plenty of customers at The Winged Guar, the only inn in town. It all felt strange, somehow...

"But what do you expect?" An alchemist at the Bazaar raised an eyebrow and squinted at a passing ordinator. "With all the guards, no one feels at ease. There's life at the Royal Palace, but you have to be associated with the Royal family to live there, of course. There's also apparently life at the Temple, but there... I don't know what you have to do to be admitted. Almalexia thinks herself a goddess..." The young alchemist said quickly, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "Almalexia is our beloved goddess," she proclaimed confidently after a short pause.

"But..." Lucien quickly looked over his shoulder - the guard was out of earshot. "Wasn't Almalexia killed just before the Oblivion Crisis?" He asked softly.

The alchemist nodded and repeated: "Almalexia is our beloved goddess." Then after a pause she added in a barely audible whisper: "And her ghost as well."

This was intriguing and Lucien went to the Temple.

"The Goddess does not admit just anyone," the guard looked at him with disdain. "Have you been invited? No. That says it, really."

Of course there would be ways to get invited, Lucien was sure of it. But whether Almalexia was a ghost or a lich, he really didn't care, and it made no difference to him. The Tribunal clearly held sway over Morrowind, he noticed it on Vvardenfell too, and they've done it for centuries. They would have no reason to send assassins after him.

"It is curious however that this city houses both a goddess and a king," he thought walking towards the Royal Palace. "Perhaps the King wishes for more power. Kings are often like that."

...

"King Helseth doesn't see just anyone," a guard stopped Lucien from entering the Throne Room. "Have you been invited for an audience? No. So try one of the doors leading out."

Here again, there would definitely be ways to get invited. And again, Lucien didn't care for it. There was nothing else left but to go and confront the "Dark Brotherhood" assassins in the sewers.

...

"There you are!!!" Someone shouted and attacked Lucien on sight. Several other attackers joined in, all clad in dark, smooth leather armour. Their faces were covered as well, they looked identical.

"Well no, you are not quintuplets," Lucien thought, twisting and turning, parrying and lunging. "You don't all have the same skills or weapons either." When the floor was littered with bodies, Lucien had a chance to examine them closely. They wore what looked like Dark Brotherhood armour and wielded an assortment of generic weapons. He found the assassins in the sewers. "Right, now let's find your leader."

Although Lucien had won that fight, he did not come off unscathed. His wounds would require treatment, but he wanted to finish his investigation then and there rather than leave and come back to another fight. He decided to proceed with caution from then on and cloaked in chameleon.

He noted several dozens more assassins along the way, and wondered whether the leader was one of them, indistinguishable from the rest. "Probably not," he thought, smirking at his own attire which was different from the armour worn by his subordinates. Finally he noticed a Dunmer without a face mask and wearing some other kind of armour. "Looks expensive," Lucien thought. "This must be the leader." The Dunmer seemed to be bored - he paced the room without purpose, picking a book here, a scroll there, reading a bit, tossing it aside, taking a sip from his hip flask, pacing some more... And so when he was distracted with another book, Lucien slipped a poisoned apple into the Dunmer's pocket. All he had to do now, was wait.

...

Sitting with his legs crossed behind some crates, Lucien had a chance to look around. The guard who told him about the whereabouts of the assassins, did mention that they occupied "The Old Manor". Lucien didn't pay much attention to the description at first, but now, looking at the carvings on the walls and smoothly worked ceilings, he realised that these halls must have been built for a rich family - this was indeed a manor. Or rather, a ruin of an ancient manor. "Much like the Dwemer ruins in Skyrim," he thought. The atmosphere was somehow similar too; there were no automatons, but the doors and possibly parts of the walls were metal - he could tell from the echos. It was an altogether eery place, and poorly illuminated. Assassins in identical suits of armour were pacing the corridors, and Lucien counted over twenty. "This is a very large group," he thought, keeping an eye on their leader who still hadn't tasted the apple. "This is far larger than any Sanctuary. We would never keep a cell as large as that. This is more of an army."

Suddenly a dull thump in the room occupied by their leader interrupted his observations. One bite of the apple was all it took. The assassins noticed their leader's demise, they were running around in panic looking for the intruder, but Lucien kept quiet behind the crates, even though his legs were going numb from crouching for so long. He needed the place to be quiet so that he could go through the dead man's pockets.

Eventually the assassins calmed down and walked away, returning to their conversations about the wonders of the Imperial City and the local mudcrabs and goblins, and Lucien slipped into their leader's room and quickly checked his pockets. One scroll stood out from the rest, and it was a contract on his life. "Well, as good as," he noted, for the scroll was requesting the death of "that black-haired Imperial wearing a black robe with belts over it and some strange bracers". "Yep, that'd be me," he grinned, pocketing it, cloaking in chameleon and quietly leaving The Old Manor. It wasn't the right time to study the scroll; his room at The Winged Guar would be a much more comfortable place for that.

[Renee]

Me too (in regards to horse speeds being ridiculously high.... but also slow sometimes). And that's not even getting into the speeds bipedal beings can achieve....

Anyway, where was I?

I am Lena Wolf. And I am not... still can't get that daedroth summon to work myself!

That'd be so awesome if you could. Just imagine. I wouldn't want to summon anything, but damn... having the ability to go invisible at will would be pretty sweet! That's what I'd want.

I always felt that this quest line was too linear - there were no choices in it at all. So I decided to change it. biggrin.gif I tried to modify the quests themselves, with only partial success, so there won't be any "Alternative Mages Guild Quest Line" mod released because I can't figure out how to make it right... and because I don't have to - I can fudge it through the console.

I have this idea to add Requirements to all the Cyrodiilic guilds, which means if we haven't got the necessary skills/Attributes this leads to an alternate dialog being said by the guild our guy or gal's trying to join. "Sorry, but we feel you do not meet our current standards, please return after X..." (X being 'you have gained more worldly knowledge / have studied to the point of gaining insights... etc.'). But it's one of those ambitious ideas I've never gotten around to doing. Probably some other mods (like OOO) do this sort of thing as well.

Then again, that's a Morrowind idea. The guilds and houses of MW do this sort of thing because of all the conflicts in that game. In Cyrodiil / 3rd Era, they seem to be taking anyone in, especially because they need all the help they can get as the Crisis unfolds.

Anyway, where the heck was I? Lena's just spoken to Traven. "He doesn't have many mages left who'll do anything for him" she says. Ha ha ha ha that's very true.

Uh oh, Lucien is here. *Love scene*

Alright, this is really neat. You've outlined a timeline for the events of your gameworld, that's really lovely. Oh wow. "In 3E413 Lena's mother Lillian Delacour had a son. As she was a Dark Brotherhood assassin, and her son's father was a high placed citizen of the Empire, their relationship was clandestine and they decided to send the boy away to the Northern Realms to be raised as a witcher of the School of the Wolf. He later became known as Geralt of Rivia,"

So Geralt is Lena's brother? Am I reading that right?

Lena joined the Mages Guild and sounds like she did the Main Quest as well. Dark Brotherhood, too.

Hauk and Lucien knew each other before Lena met Hauk, I see. Lena is also Dragonborn. 🐉 Geralt eventually became involved with Lena at some point. Again, are they bro & sis, or did I read that wrong?

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338017

[Lena Wolf]

That timeline changed slightly by now, but only slightly. You will come across another chronology later on.

Yes, Geralt is Lena's brother. But they didn't grow up together as you see here. In fact, they only met and discovered that they were siblings when Lena went to the Northern Realms. She stayed there for a year or so, then returned to Cyrodiil. Geralt followed some years later, arriving in Skyrim. I won't tell any more because the next few episodes from your bookmark are going to pick up that story.

[Lena Wolf]

3 First Seed, 4E203 - H

Back at The Winged Guar, Lucien locked the door of his room, barred it for good measure, poured himself a glass of very expensive Imperial Tamika West Weald, and set about examining his wounds and his findings.

"Back at home this bottle would have cost me... what? 4 septims? 8 perhaps? Not 87 like in good old Morrowind..." he smirked, but wasn't willing to drink the local brew. He hoped that several suits of Dark Brotherhood armour and half a dozen fancy looking swords that he picked up along the way, would help with the wine fund.

He twisted to remove the swords stuck into his belt, and a sharp pain under the ribs reminded him to reconsider his priorities. The inn didn't have a bath, which meant he would have to make do with bandages and restoration magic. He finished offloading the gear, took off his robe and examined the damage.

"I'll live, most likely," he concluded. "But there is internal bleeding." With his limited means that meant magic, then back to mainland in search of "professional" treatments. "Caius would know where to find what I need," he decided. "He's been in a few fights himself, and lived..."

With this understatement of an era, he took a closer look at the Dark Brotherhood armour in his possession.

"Good workmanship, smooth leather, but not quite our style," he concluded. "This is not our armour."

Next, he turned to the scroll that he retrieved from the leader of the assassins.

"This is a most peculiar document..." he read through it. "And what was it that the Dunmer murmoured with his dying breath..?" Lucien strained to remember. "Tell my leige that I have failed... What a strange request to make of the one you were trying to kill. And who is this 'H'?"

The Bearer of this document, under special dispensation of the Night Mother, who has entered in a contract in perpetuity with H, is given special dispensation to execute a certain ex-prisoner recently residing on the island of Vvardenfell. In accordance with all laws and traditions, the afore-mentioned personage will be executed in the name of H in the most expedient manner possible. All services of the Dark Brotherhood are at the disposal of the Bearer of this binding and non-disputable document.

The word "ex-prisoner" was crossed out, and a note in a different handwriting was added underneath:

That dark-haired Imperial wearing a black robe with belts over it and some strange bracers.

"Well, the contract is now here, with me. And it does say that the bearer of the document is to get all support, etc." Lucien smirked. "But perhaps I shouldn't test my luck with the assassins again. Who are they, I wonder? And what's with the goblins? No goblins I know can afford that kind of weapons or show that kind of discipline..."

Mulling these things over and sipping his wine, he finally fell asleep. No assassin came for him that night.

...

Lucien's wounds were too serious to be ignored, and he prescribed himself bedrest and regular trips to the Royal Palace and the Temple for healing - both provided healing services, so the more the merrier. He only needed to get patched up sufficiently to make the trip back to Balmora, where, he was sure, Caius would help him.

At the Royal Palace he overheard a conversation between guards. They were talking about the King, and they referred to him as "H". King Hlaalu Helseth. Could he be the mysterious "H" in the Dark Brotherhood contract? That document had nothing to do with the Night Mother, Lucien was sure of that, at least not with the real Night Mother - he'd heard there was some woman in Ald Sotha claiming to be the "Morrowind Night Mother", or the head of the Dark Brotherhood in Morrowind. "More fairy tales," Lucien dismissed it. Oh, he had no doubt that there was a woman calling herself the Night Mother and all that. It's just she wasn't the real one.

"If 'H' is really King Helseth... That would explain the army of assassins in The Old Manor which just happens to be directly under the Royal Palace," Lucien was turning over the scroll. "That would also explain where the money for all their quality armour and weapons come from," he agreed with himself. "But why? What is the King planning? Or perhaps he decided that assassins were more reliable than goblins?" He smirked. "A goblin army! The whole city is talking about it already." The din in the inn behind his door was getting louder as the evening advanced. "But why want to kill me?" He returned to the scroll. "And who is this 'ex-prisoner' that they wanted to kill originally?" He paused in thought. "No..! Well, it would fit... Things are worse than I had expected."

The following morning he left for Balmora, sincerely hoping that all the teleportation and silt strider travel would not cause his inner organs to find their way to the outside through his reopened wounds.

[Lena Wolf]

6 First Seed, 4E203 - The enemy of my enemy must be my friend

"This is most worrying," Caius shook his head reading the scroll that Lucien handed him. "Yes, the 'ex-prisoner' must be who you think it is, but he didn't report any attacks, so I suppose he either got lucky, or they started a bit late and switched to you very quickly. It isn't about your renegade member - Rayenna, was it?" He shot a glance at Lucien who nodded. "No, this is much, much bigger..." He focussed on the scroll again. "I'm sure 'H' is King Helseth. He's been trying to increase his influence for ages... At this point it seems that any disturbance in Morrowind would be in his interest, including a war of assassins..."

"Which he would of course quell and restore universal peace," Lucien smirked.

"Quite." Caius passed the scroll back to Lucien. "Hauk will need to be told, since he's the 'ex-prisoner', even though the danger for him has passed. But he can then go back to Eno and report, and that will complete your mission."

"Where is he?" Lucien winced involuntarily realising that going in search of Hauk would mean a lot of travelling, and his half-healed wounds were still bothering him. However, he needed to speak to Hauk himself. "I shall also need to wait until he'll have spoken to Eno Hlaalu," he pointed out.

Caius did not object. "Actually, he is in Balmora," he winked and handed Lucien a note with a name of a healer, and Lucien knew that it would be more than just common Restoration magic.

...

"Nice place you have here," Lucien was sitting on the roof terrace of Hauk's house in Balmora, and Hauk had seen him from a good distance away. "Hello."

"Come in," Hauk motioned Lucien to follow and unlocked the door, grateful that his friend did not take the liberty of breaking in and waiting for him inside. "I have a bath in the basement," Hauk said in passing, noticing Lucien wince as he turned. "And did Caius..?"

"Yes," Lucien nodded. "The healer. But that's not why I came to see you." The seriousness in his voice stopped Hauk in his tracks. "King Helseth is trying to trigger a war of assassins," Lucien said without a preamble. "You tell Eno that. He's got an army of so-called 'Dark Brotherhood' assassins in the ruins under his palace in Mournhold. They may not be Dark Brotherhood, but they are well armed, well armoured and well trained. This would be very bloody. Tell Eno not to fall for the provocation."

"So this has nothing to do with Rayenna, then?" Hauk wanted to be sure.

"Nothing," Lucien nodded. "There is a woman in Ald Sotha that calls herself the Night Mother of Morrowind, and it was apparently she who entered into a contract with the King. I don't know what her role really is, but she sounds like a recruitment agent. Eno may want to take care of her."

"Very well." Hauk was making mental notes. Then, realising that Lucien was finished with his message, he delivered one of his own. "Your father sends his regards."

Lucien froze for a moment, then relaxed, looking puzzled, if anything. He did not need to pretend with Hauk. "I am glad he is well," he finally said. "Anything else?"

"The Salvel ancestral tomb is inside the Ghost Fence," Hauk said matter-of-factly. "He didn't think it was time yet, but he did ask me to tell you about it. That would be the place to meet." He watched Lucien's face, then added: "Some day."

Lucien nodded. They sat in silence for a while.

"What's next with Rayenna though?" Hauk got up and started putting food and drink on the table. The topic of Rayenna was less of a strain for both of them.

"Well, she's still a danger, and you never know what Mephala has in store for her," Lucien shrugged. "We still need to find her, but it is more of a personal issue now."

"Can I kill her now?" Hauk asked impatiently. "Since she has nothing to do with the threat of the war of assassins?"

"Please do," Lucien smiled.

...

"Where are you staying?" Hauk was watching Lucien wince again and again. "That wound has reopened."

"The Eight Plates I suppose," Lucien shrugged.

Hauk shook his head. "Wait here."

He got up and left the house.

...

"Optio," a Dunmer greeted Hauk in a spacious hall dimly lit with red oil lamps. Hauk could have sworn that the Dunmer paled.

"I need to see your Master," Hauk smiled.

...

"Optio," Ethasi Rilvayn repeated the greeting when Hauk walked into her room. "We have received instructions from the Grandmaster. What assistance may I offer you?"

"A friend of mine requires secure accommodation while he is recovering from a wound with internal bleeding," he beamed at Ethasi. "His father is a Brother with your order."

"But?" Ethasi sensed trouble.

"He is a Dark Brotherhood Speaker."

"And you believe that accommodation at a Morag Tong Guildhall would qualify as 'secure' for one like himself?" Her laughter was viciously sharp. "Pray, bring him in."

"I am serious," Hauk insisted. "He is in Morrowind on a mission vital to both your organisations. Should he be harmed, you will have more than the wrath of your Grandmaster to contend with. I have to travel to Vivec as soon as possible, and I have to be sure of his safety."

The seriousness of Hauk's tone, his reputation and track record of the last 30 years, and the orders from the Grandmaster to offer him every assistance, all weighed on Ethasi. As uncomfortable as she was with allowing a member of the Dark Brotherhood to set foot in their Guildhall, she felt she could not refuse.

"Very well, on your head be it," she hissed through her teeth. "But only for as long as absolutely necessary!" She glared at Hauk. "He leaves as soon as he can ride! We'll even get him a horse!" She glared again, as if she was offering to procure a tame daedroth. "And he'll need to clear the room he'll be staying in!" She added with an afterthought. "It's a very secure room, and we will even remove the corpse for his convenience afterwards," she smiled. "What is his name?"

"Lucien Lachance," Hauk beamed at her. "And thank you." He turned to leave.

"What?!" Ethasi paled, her rage nearly boiling over. "He!! Never!!"

"Is there a problem?" Hauk turned around to face her again. "Or do I need to ask Eno to post a bodyguard for Azarath's son?"

Ethasi was torn. She did not want to disobey the orders of their Grandmaster Eno Hlaalu, for that would not only mean her removal from the post of Master but possibly removal from Nirn as well. She also did not want to cross Azarath Salvel, a Morag Tong Brother with a long standing reputation... But to allow Lucien Lachance into her Guildhall... Lucien Lachance, the very assassin who cost her many a member and several targets... a man she considered her archenemy... a son of Azarath Salvel? No! Impossible! But what if it was true nonetheless? And his mission... She'd heard rumours of another war of assassins being stirred up, she knew that both Morag Tong and the Dark Brotherhood would try to avoid it... Then, what if... What if this wretched Imperial Speaker was in fact involved in that very mission and got wounded in the process? In which case it would be her duty to offer him every assistance... By the ancestors! How was she to know what to do?!

Hauk was watching Ethasi's face waiting for her to make the right decision.

"He won't abuse your hospitality," he said softly. "His wife in Cyrodiil is in the final month of pregnancy, he will be eager to leave as soon as he possibly can." Ethasi's face softened at this but she was still hesitating. "And of course Eno will hear of your incredible gesture of good will."

"Oh all right," she finally gave in. "Have him come in. I guarantee his safety," she sighed.

A Dunmer outside the door took his ear from the keyhole and sighed a sigh of relief.

...

Of course Lucien could not believe his ears when Hauk told him that he'd arranged lodgings for him at the Morag Tong Guildhall.

"I don't think that nixhound meat and kwama eggs agree with your constitution," he looked at Hauk in bewilderment. "Have you gone mad? They'll slit my throat at the first opportunity!"

"They won't, but you will need to slit a few throats to clear the room you'll be staying in," Hauk was serious. "They will protect you, assist with healing and even get you a horse to take you home. Alive," he added, just to be sure. "Your father's name carries weight in this organisation," he grinned.

Lucien shook his head but agreed after some consideration. If Hauk thought it would be safe, he had nothing to worry about.

...

Lucien's stay with Morag Tong in Balmora was indeed safe and largely uneventful. The fact that he had to kill another Morag Tong member locked in the room they reserved for him was a bit peculiar, but Lucien chose not to worry about it. The infusions that they gave him were effective, if also mildly sedative, and it didn't take long before Lucien was ready to leave.

"Ride to the Shadow Pass," a Dunmer handed the reins of a Bay horse to Lucien. "You'll need to cross the mountains into Cyrodiil through a cavernous passage, you can't take a horse through there anyway," he continued his instructions. "Let the horse go, she'll make her way home," he patted her. "You'll come out not far from Malada. There you're on your own." He watched Lucien mount the horse and check his map. "Good luck, brother," he added softly.

[Lena Wolf]

21 First Seed, 4E203 - Concessions and bonds

Lucien was riding hard, even his Shadowmere was getting tired. His mission in Morrowind completed, he was eager to return home. He hoped he wasn't too late - Lena's term was quickly approaching. "Another week or two may be, but then she's really due," he was thinking. He had been the first to notice when Lena conceived, even before she realised it herself - his training with the Temple of Dibella in his youth had taught him to read the signs. He loathed having to leave her on her own in her final month of pregnancy, but if a war of assassins had broken out, it would have been far worse. "She'd gone to the Shivering Isles," he was thinking and shaking his head. "That was supposed to be a safe place away from Mephala... Instead she walked right into the second Greymarch... Let's hope her friends there kept her away from the worst of the fighting." He smirked to that thought - he didn't believe it himself.

Finally the towers of Cheydinhal appeared in the distance. By force of habit, Lucien directed Shadowmere to take the path to the East of the city - to Fort Farragut, but then changed his mind, there would be time for that later. Shadowmere was just a horse, after all, so... "And why not," he thought and rode to the stables. "You like carrots, don't you," he patted the horse as he dismounted. "I think they've got carrots. You'll like it here, you'll see." Shadowmere snorted, looked around at the other horses in the paddock and firmly turned her backside to them.

"Do not worry about a thing, Muthsera," the stable hand smiled at Lucien. "It is an honour." Yes, people knew who he was. He entered the city and the guards at the gate straightened up, if not actually saluted him.

"Good to see you," Garrus greeted him jovially when they passed each other in the street. "No, not yet," he shook his head at Lucien's questioning glance. "She's got a friend with her - a very old friend, by the looks of things. They just got here a few days ago, I haven't met him yet."

"Him?" Lucien frowned slightly.

"Well... You know she doesn't trust women," Garrus shrugged. Lucien knew that of course, and the affair with Rayenna was still raw on his mind, so there was another proof why women were not to be trusted, at least from Lena's point of view. He would just have to come to terms with the fact that in the two hundred years that passed between the night in Bravil and the night in the Dawnstar Sanctuary, Lena had formed a few other bonds... as did he. "Or rather," he thought, "my bonds were formed before we met, but she was still so young... And I wasn't with her, I chose my freedom then. Well, and now she's got bonds that I must honour." He sighed and resolved not to jump to conclusions until he met Lena's friend.

...

"It's happening!" Lena was crying out in pain as her belly started to cramp. "Arrgghh! I don't think I can walk!"

She and Scorpio were having lunch in Lena's house in Cheydinhal. Scorpio had insisted on accompanying Lena when she finally left the Shivering Isles - the road was long and he wasn't letting her travel alone. He could protect her from wolves, bandits and zombies alike, but he had no clue what to do if her baby was really coming.

"Err... Come lie on the bed!" That was the one thing he could think of. "What is supposed to happen now?"

"I don't know!" Lena cried. "It's my first child! Arrgghh!!"

"You need help," he decided. "But not healing... this isn't a wound... err..." He was frantically trying to think what he could do, but didn't dare to use any magic in case it harmed to baby somehow. By Arkay, he wasn't a healer!

"That's it - chapel!" Lena managed to say between cramps. "They've got healers... get one."

The Chapel of Arkay was just across the street from Lena's house, so Scorpio didn't feel too bad about leaving Lena alone - it wouldn't be for long.

...

Lucien pushed the door finding it unlocked. This was Lena's house to start with, and now it was their family home.

"Wolf?" He cried running up the stairs, fearing the worst. But instead he found his wife on the bed clutching her belly in cramps. "Already?!" He ran up to her, checking her over. "I am not a healer, but I think it's a false alarm," he tried to soothe her. "I'll fetch one..."

"Where is she?" Worried voices coming from downstairs broke off his sentence. "Upstairs? Did you prepare hot water? Towels? No? Men! You've got to learn if you're going to be a father!"

"I'm not the..."

"Oh." A Khajiit stopped dead at the top of the stairs as soon as she saw Lucien bending over Lena. "That's... We are too late." Her voice fell.

"No, that's her husband, I think," Scorpio stood right behind the Khajiit on the stairs and now gently pushed her up. "Didn't you know? Well, no matter. She's pregnant and needs your help!"

The Khajiit caught herself, nodded and firmly walked over to Lena's bed, although her ears being flat against her head, were betraying fear and confusion. Lucien got up, smiled and took a step back. "False alarm, I think," he said in a quiet voice. "Just the first cramps."

After a short examination and a mild healing spell, the Khajiit confirmed his conclusion.

"Not yet," she nodded. "This will pass, dear," she was stroking Lena's belly and the cramps were calming down. "You'll have many more cramps like that before the kit is ready to be born. But it isn't far off! A week, may be two..."

Lucien accompanied the healer downstairs.

"Can we count on you when the time comes?" He asked in a low voice. "You have nothing to fear, of course. And our gold is as good as anyone else's, I trust?"

"Of course," the Khajiit was much more relaxed now. "I'm new here, don't know that many people yet, but I've heard of you... well... I recognised your robe," she sighed. "The Primate objects when your wife comes to offer her prayers to Arkay... But I've seen Arkay bestow his blessing, and the Primate can do nothing but stare. We'll help, of course. Do you want me to have a look at that wound? Seems serious, you're still bleeding." She pointed at a wet spot on Lucien's robes, it was slowly spreading.

"Damn, it opened again," Lucien pressed his hand against it, blood coloured his fingers red. "No, thanks, I'll handle it. I've had a lot of practice," he smiled.

The healer left. Lena was coming down the stairs, her cramps calmed, Scorpio was some distance behind her. She hugged Lucien, and after a few moments' greeting, she pulled away.

"Bath, now," she pushed the basement door where they had the tub. "You are bleeding."

"I've got to go see Ocheeva first," Lucien shook his head. "This is just a..."

"This is not just a flesh wound," Lena interrupted him. "You're pale, you lost a lot of blood. Tell me what to say to Ocheeva, give me what needs to be delivered, I'll go."

They stood in the basement and Lena opened the tap to fill the bath. The door to the Sanctuary passage was behind her, and she fumbled for a key. Lucien smiled and pulled some scrolls from his robe, edges brown with dried blood.

"Who is your friend?" He asked softly. "We didn't have time for introductions."

"Scorpio," Lena smiled. "Did I tell you about him? I must have done. He is my..." She stopped herself, 'pawn' would have sounded meaningless and quite rude. "My companion from Gransys. From a long time ago... Before Albion even. Scorpio is the one man besides you, with whom I have a bond. Those marriages in Albion that the priests had dug up, they meant nothing. The bond to Scorpio..." She lowered her eyes and blushed. What a mess! And how to explain it?

"So, he is the one to watch, then," Lucien spoke in a low voice too. "Nothing like your other friends."

"And yet if it weren't for him, I would not have been here, in Cyrodiil," Lena looked in Lucien's eyes. "He insisted I shouldn't give up my first bond, as he put it. And it was before we got together, my Speaker, this was before I ever dared... except that one night in Bravil... My Speaker would ever just be my Brother, I told myself, I was ready to stay in Gransys with him, but no, if it weren't for him..." She lowered her eyes again, this was confusing and she wasn't doing such a good job of explaining... Would she have to choose now? She knew whom she would choose, but losing Scorpio again would be so painful.

Lucien was watching her and remembering those few occasions when he saw the same confusion in Lena, the same struggle between her respect for him as her Speaker and her passion for him as a man. "I let the respect win on most occasions, allowed myself to pull away," he thought. "Yet I should have known... That night in Bravil... I took what she offered, but didn't follow up until so much later... Yes, I was busy... What a stupid excuse!" Ocheeva's face rose before his eyes. "That girl loves you," she said when he hinted at what had happened. "She'll disappear because she's afraid of what she's done, she'll deny to herself it ever happened. But she did it on purpose, and you accepted her gift. If you lose sight of her now, it will be a long time before she comes back." Ocheeva was right, a "long time" turned out to be two hundred years. Lucien chose to wait, he wasn't ready for her then, perhaps. Well, then he had to accept her now, accept the other bond that she made while he was staying away.

He took her in an embrace and kissed her.

"I have no say in that," he said in her ear. "It is your bond to keep. It's not one just for fun, either. My bond to you still holds."

They must have stood there for a long time, holding each other in an embrace, memories rushing through their minds. Then Lucien's hand slipped off Lena's shoulder, she caught him and pulled him up to a chair. His wound made him black out.

...

Lucien opened his eyes. The room around him seemed familiar. He was cold. Slowly things came into focus. He was lying in a bath tub filled with ice in their house in Cheydinhal. He heard voices.

"Stubborn, as usual," a female Argonian was trying to whisper but it kept coming out as a hiss. "I hear he rode his horse nearly to death as well," she shook her head. "That wound should have been treated days ago."

"I didn't want to stay there an extra week with Wolf in her condition," he said. "I'll recover." He tried to get out of the bath but slid back into it, his strength failing him.

"You will let us handle it, Speaker," Ocheeva came into view. "Your burial chamber isn't ready yet. You have a child on the way. Do as you're told, and you might live to see it being born." She gave him a look sharper than her Sufferthorn and bared her many pointed teeth. "You are to stay in that bath until all your wounds close, and I for one still see pink oozing from somewhere." She pointed at a few droplets of fresh blood slowly dissolving in cold water.

"Yes, Sister," Lucien smiled and closed his eyes. Everyone except Ocheeva left the basement. Ocheeva pulled up a chair, moved a few bits of ice around trying to see which wound was still bleeding, then shuddered from the cold. Lucien opened his eyes again, watching her worried face. "I won't die just yet," he said. "But you were so right back then... let her slip away and she won't be back for a long time... Why did I allow that? We could have found her if we tried."

"You weren't ready, Lucien," she shook her head. "The time has to be right. She wasn't ready either. Too young. A vampire. She had to find her feet, first."

"Vicente is a vampire, so what?"

"Vicente is three hundred years old, not barely seventeen as she was then."

To an outsider, it may have sounded as an argument that didn't make much sense, but for Lucien and Ocheeva it was a conversation that touched upon many memories and evoked many visions, as is the way with very old friends.

[Lena Wolf]

11 Rain's Hand, 4E203 - Derric Lachance

Derric Lachance was born under The Lord on 29 First Seed, 4E203. He had his mother's blond hair and his father's dark brown eyes.

"What race do you want to register?" asked an Imperial Archives clerk when they were filing the documents. "You can choose either of your races, or any of your parents'. So that would be..." He went through a thick ledger on his desk. "Breton or Imperial. Neither of you have a father registered, but I can add their race to your records if you know it." He looked at them with a question.

"Nord," said Lena.

"Dunmer," said Lucien.

The clerk scribbled in the ledger. "And for your son?" He looked at them with a blank expression. They figured he'd seen it all.

"Nord," said Lucien, taking Lena's hand. She turned to him in surprise. "Derric takes after your father, it's plain to see," he smiled. "He casts his Woad when he's frightened."

"He can change his registered race before his 16th birthday," the clerk looked up at them. "If he wants to, or in case he grows up to be more like a Khajiit or something." The clerk smirked at his own joke, but Lucien's cold gaze made him choke on it instead. "It's not always easy to tell the race in a newborn," he said apologetically.

...

"A Nord..." Lena thought on their way back to Cheydinhal. "Geralt will be pleased," she pictured her brother teaching young Derric to fight monsters. He was going to grow up a fighter, a battlemage perhaps, or a spellsword - what else could he be with his lineage and with the people that surrounded him. She wondered if he was Dragonborn... she hoped not.

[Lena Wolf]

10 Second Seed, 4E203 - The Volkihar

After Derric was born, Lena became restless. Her pregnancy became difficult towards the end, her labour was long and draining. Her vampirism flared up from all the blood that she'd lost, and she couldn't even hold her newborn son until vampirism was brought back under control. Vicente had to empty his blood chest for her, and Borba delivered all she had, and they regretted not having a thrall in the vicinity. Bottled blood alone wasn't as effective. But the worst of all was Molag Bal.

"As a pure-blood, you can have all the children you want and not suffer the discomforts a pregnancy brings," he spoke in her head. "Bottled blood is a perversion!"

"Get out," Lena kept repeating, trying to stay calm, but it was weighing on her. She needed a better solution.

With Derric safely delivered into the care of a wet nurse, and with Lucien changing his schedule to stay in Cheydinhal for the foreseeable future, Lena had the opportunity to deal with Molag Bal.

"Go on, we'll be fine, I won't leave town," he stroked her cheek. "Molag Bal has been getting on your nerves more than usual, I can tell. But Derric doesn't have vampirism, so it isn't as transmittable as he would have you believe. You have a plan, I take it?" His gaze was probing.

"I'll go to Skyrim," Lena nodded. "The Volkihar are an ancient clan, yet they don't answer to him. I need to know how they did it."

"But the Volkihar are pure-bloods!" exclaimed Lucien. "They aren't going to help you."

"They are, for a price," Lena smiled. "They are rumoured to be ruthless. They are not all pure-bloods, just the head of their House and his wife, I think. He's a Lord to himself and they do what they please - these are no common vampires. I even heard they owned an Elder Scroll."

"If that's the case, then this is how they did it," Lucien nodded. "But there isn't an Elder Scroll for every vampire who wants to overthrow Molag Bal," he winked. "Even though you know your way into the Imperial Library."

Lena smiled, running her tongue over her teeth - her fangs had finally retracted, her vampirism was in remission and under control. But if she were to go see the Volkihar, she would have to trigger it again. She frowned, but her mouth was set in resolve.

"I'll take Fenris with me," she made up her mind, and Lucien knew that it was pointless to argue. "He could use an outing."

"Well... all right," Lucien sighed. "I suppose it's for the best. I'll... never mind," his face darkened.

"Don't" Lena hugged him. "Fenris will just have to keep it to himself. I've had enough Dark Elves to last me to Sithis and back."

"That's my only hope," he smiled. "Tell him - next time the punishment will be real."

...

"Mistress!" Fenris kneeled before Lena as she entered the Leyawiin Sanctuary. "I did not expect you to be back."

"Hello, Fenris. How have you been?" She looked him over, lifting him up by the shoulders. "Lucien wasn't too harsh, was he?"

"He was too lenient," Fenris blushed. "I have no lasting damage. I expected to be dead."

"Well, you will be, or worse, if he has to do it again," Lena looked stern. "So don't let it come to that."

"But it was you who..." Fenris started, then cut himself off and kneeled before her again. "Yes, Mistress."

"Oh Fenris..." Lena lifted him up again. "I meant, don't make me dominate you because I won't. And then what choice will I have?"

Fenris looked her in the eye, quite unusual for a slave.

"Why have you come for me?"

"We are going to Skyrim," she touched his arm.

"Skyrim? What's in Skyrim?"

"The Volkihar."

"The..?" The look of awe on Fenris' face was mixed with fear. "Why?" He gasped.

"They freed themselves from Molag Bal, I need to know how they did it. I need them to do it for me, if that's what it takes. Molag Bal has got to go." She looked resolved.

"They will want a sacrifice, a contribution, something," Fenris' face fell. "I am ready."

"No!" She cut him off. "Not you. We'll find another. I expect they'll want several anyway."

Should a slave believe his master's assurances that he wouldn't be used as a bargaining chip? Generally, no, and Fenris kept his doubts, especially since some of the recent events turned out rather awkward. But he wasn't going to refuse a trip with his Mistress, whatever the consequences.

"When are we leaving and will you be wanting..?" He turned to practical matters.

"Your blood?" Lena smiled. "I will, but not right away. It's a long trip, better pack light. We'll get what we need along the way. We'll be travelling during the day, so..."

"Understood," Fenris nodded.

...

The trip to the shores of the Ghost sea in Skyrim was long and tedious. They travelled during the day, with Lena doing all the talking and Fenris pulling down his hood, since he could not feed every day. Skyrim didn't have enough places where one could feed safely, which drove a lot of local vampires out into the open. They attacked alone and in groups, even along main thoroughfares - Skyrim was too big for the Legion to patrol every road sufficiently to keep it safe. Wild beasts, vampires and werewolves were in abundance.

"Another vampire slain," Fenris turned over a corpse with his boot. "That's an ancient one, too. She will rise again, of course."

"You should have used a silver weapon," Lena pointed out. "Daedric is all well and good, but it doesn't have quite the same effect."

"I am not a vampire hunter," Fenris seemed to take offence at that. "I only want to get them out of the way, not burn them to ashes."

Lena smiled at that. "Yes, I know. And I wasn't using a silver sword either. Come on, the Nightgate Inn is up ahead, you'll be able to feed there, I'm sure."

"You want me to... feed at the inn?" Fenris sounded very surprised. "That'd be a bit too obvious, won't it?"

"Normally, yes," Lena agreed. "But I know the innkeeper. You'll see."

...

"Welcome to the Nightgate Inn! Come on in - the fire is hot, we've got rooms and food, what will it be?" The innkeeper greeted two new visitors entering the inn. The man stayed back, but the woman approached the counter, removing her hood.

"Hello," she smiled, and the innkeeper's face lit up with recognition. "We'd like a room, please, and some dinner. And my companion will need a fortifying beverage later on."

The innkeeper peered to look at Lena's companion, who was not removing his hood.

"Do I know him?" He squinted at Lena.

"No, he's never been to these parts before. And he won't be staying, we are on our way North."

"Well, only because it's you who's asking," the innkeeper looked at her with some doubt. "Don't make it into a habit, we don't want that kind of reputation."

"Don't worry," Lena tried to sound reassuring. "We are discreet. And I won't say anything up North either."

"Oh," his face fell and he pushed a key towards Lena. "The last door in the basement. Keep it to yourselves."

...

"The innkeeper knows you," Fenris stated the obvious, ladling himself another helping of the excellent stew. "He did want to see my face, though."

"He never forgets a face, and he likes to know his clientele," Lena smiled. "We'll wait until everyone has gone to bed, then go to the basement."

...

"The last door, he said," Lena was trying to make out which door could be called "last" in a maze that was the basement of the Nightgate Inn. Most doors were barricaded by crates and barrels and didn't seem to be in use. "Oh, must be this one," she said at the end of a corridor. "I don't know what we'll find inside, be ready." Fenris readied his blade.

The lock clicked. They stepped into the darkness. The heavy door slammed shut behind them.

A multitude of burning red eyes accompanied by angry growl quickly surrounded them from all sides. Wolves. Vampire wolves. The sound of sniffing followed, and by the time Lena cast a night eye spell, the wolves split up into two groups, one around Fenris, another around herself. Fenris didn't need to cast any spells, vampires could see in the dark naturally.

"Who is it?" A voice came from further in.

"Wolf and Fenris," Lena replied. "Fenris needs feeding, but I'm the one with the key."

The wolves surrounding Fenris relaxed, sitting down at his feet. The wolves around Lena kept on alert, but didn't show aggression.

"Fenris can come through," the voice replied. "But you, mortal..." A woman stepped out of the shadows into Lena's field of vision. "A bit scrawny, but beggars cannot be choosers." She ran her fingers along Lena's neck.

"Oh, you are mistaken," Lena smiled. "Been feeding regularly, have you?" Here was another vampire whose overfeeding resulted in a loss of her senses. One of the wolves gathered around Lena, turned to the woman and growled.

"Shut it!" She scowled at it. The wolf bared his fangs even more, with another wolf joining him. "What the..!"

"I told you not to feed twice a day, it makes you blind," another voice was approaching. "Watch the wolves at least, if you've lost your own senses!" A white-haired Dunmer came forward. "That isn't a common mortal."

"Don't talk rubbish!" The woman lit up a torch and held it to Lena's face. "Her eyes are amber, her teeth are human, her skin has a pink tone - a juicy young Breton, if I ever saw one!"

Lena smiled and the Dunmer laughed derisively. "It's in remission! Her vampirism! And I wager she's older than you! Drink her blood, and we'll have a pile of ash to clean up."

The woman shuddered, thrust the torch at the Dunmer and walked off briskly.

"She's an idiot," the Dunmer jerked his head at the vanishing sound of the woman's footsteps. "Wolf, did you say? Lena Wolf? Welcome."

...

"Going North, are you?" The white-haired Dunmer gave Lena a weary look when they were all sitting comfortably by the fire. "The Volkihar are not exactly welcoming. What do you want of them?"

Lena was going to say that it was none of his business, but it would have been a rude response to the coven's hospitality. She decided to be direct, since they obviously heard of her - not many people ever managed to get things together for the Witch's Potion, and every one of them was known to the vampires throughout Cyrodiil and Skyrim, and possibly beyond.

"I want them to help me free myself from Molag Bal," she replied.

"Molag Bal bothers you?" The Dunmer squinted. The Prince didn't follow every vampire, contrary to what mortals believed.

"Yes," Lena nodded. "And I need him out of my head and out of my life. The Volkihar know how to do it."

"That they do," the Dunmer said slowly. "They will want payment. What are you prepared to sacrifice?"

"It depends what they ask for," Lena gave him a direct look. "I won't do it for just any price. There is always another way."

They sat in silence for a while, the Dunmer running his eyes up and down Lena's figure.

"It's true then what they say about you - that you would stand up even to Sithis," he smirked. "Are you that strong?"

"No, I am not," Lena shook her head. "But I've been around the block a few times."

"Of that I have no doubt," the Dunmer murmured mostly to himself.

[Lena Wolf]

20 Second Seed, 4E203 - An audience with a Vampire Lord

"You asked for an audience," Lord Volkihar sat before Lena. "We've heard of you. Why have you come?"

"Your clan freed itself from Molag Bal," Lena started respectfully. "I humbly request assistance with the same task for myself." She bowed her head.

"Is that all?" Lord Volkihar laughed out loud, and several members of his court seconded his laugh. "Just a small matter then." He looked Lena over. She had drunk Fenris' blood two days previously, and now her vampirism was at full force. Fenris knelt two steps behind her. "What are you offering in return?" Lord Volkihar looked at Fenris, and Fenris cringed.

"You know what I have to offer," Lena looked straight at Lord Volkihar now. "What is your price?"

"Your slave."

"No."

"No?" Lord Volkihar raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "But he's just a slave... A common vampire, from what I can see. You can get another anywhere in Morrowind."

"So can you," Lena pointed out. "What is your real price?"

Lord Volkihar smiled, and murmurs ran through the hall, with the thralls peering to look at Fenris, still kneeling two steps behind Lena.

"Your reputation precedes you, daughter of the Wolf," Lord Volkihar was serious now. "Hircine's blood, Akatosh's blood - or is it Alduin's? Who knows. And vampirism... that one was an accident, as I understand it." Lena nodded. "Quite." He walked around her. "Do you transform at will?" He looked Lena in the eye with his sharp penetrating gaze.

"Not at will," Lena admitted. "I need undead blood to transform."

"Ah," Lord Volkihar nodded, shooting a glance at Fenris. "Your slave. Of course." He walked back to his throne, sitting down again. "You can keep your slave, we have plenty of our own." He snapped his fingers, and people started bringing food and drink to the long tables in the hall. "Stay with us a while, your slave will be safe here, worry not. We have matters to discuss." He gestured Lena to take a seat at the table. A thrall came up to Fenris, and after a nod from Lena, Fenris went with him. Lena joined the Volkihar at dinner.

...

"But since your vampirism is recessive," Lena's neighbour at the table was looking at her with curiosity. "What happens when you feed?"

"It depends how long I've been hungry for," Lena smiled at him. "But usually it goes into remission, and I become mortal again."

"Oh Gods!" The neighbour exclaimed in terror. "And lose everything?"

"Well, I lose vampiric powers, yes," Lena smiled again. "Until the next time it's triggered."

"You never really become mortal though," another courtier joined in. "I mean, we couldn't drink your blood, we'd burn to a crisp."

"Indeed, I would not recommend it," Lena turned to him. "But you would sense me and avoid such a mistake."

"That's unless you overfeed," the first courtier turned to the second. "How many times do we have to tell you - there are ex-vampires among the cattle, and they are not as rare as you might think, drink their blood and you're gone! And we have ashes to clean up."

The conversation turned to the different ways of curing vampirism, from the Witch's Potion, to Purifying Salts, Black Gem rituals, and even praying to Molag Bal - but the mention of the Prince's name quickly hushed the voices.

"Do not speak his name in this House!" Lord Volkihar's booming voice carried over the hall. "Not unless you have business with him, which you don't!" He looked at the guilty courtier who seemed to burn up under his gaze. The evening continued.

...

After dinner Lena was shown to the guest quarters which were just as lavishly furnished as the rest of the castle.

"Where is Fenris?" She asked the servant, but seeing a look of incomprehension, she added: "Where is my slave?"

"Oh, he is down below, with the other slaves, Mistress," the servant bowed. "Do you wish him by your side?" She grinned, revealing her fangs.

"Yes, I prefer him to stay with me," Lena answered, watching a glimpse of a mischievous smile cross the servant's face.

"Of course, Mistress, he will be brought up." She turned to go, but Lena stopped her with another question.

"Tell me," the servant spun around to face Lena again. "What are the house rules? Fenris will need food and feeding."

"No worries there, we have plenty of thralls," the servant smiled. "Lord Volkihar ordered to keep your slave well fed on both accounts, so he just needs to come down to the basement whenever he needs it. We want for nothing here," she added proudly, and after Lena nodded, she left.

Lord Volkihar did not specify how long he wanted Lena to stay among them. It could be a while. She would have to feed, putting her vampirism in remission, but being among so many vampires was bound to trigger it again, keeping her switching from one state to another. No, that won't do.

"Mistress, you sent for him," a thrall pushed Fenris into the room. Fenris' hands were cuffed.

"Excuse me, what were your orders exactly?" The ice in Lena's voice made the thrall go pale.

"My apologies, Mistress, won't happen again," he murmured, quickly removing Fenris' cuffs and disappearing into the depth of the castle.

"Mistress," Fenris knelt before her.

Lena looked up and down the corridor, then closed the door.

"They promised not to harm you," she said, lifting Fenris up by the shoulders. "I thought it would be better if you stayed here with me." Fenris shot her a glance of gratitude. "I don't know how long we'll be staying here, it could be a while. I should bring my vampirism out again, then we'll stop by Morthal on the way back."

"I am at your disposal." He lay down on the bed, exposing his neck.

...

"You have a vampiric thrall," one of the courtiers looked at Lena with envy at breakfast. "I saw fresh bite marks on his neck."

"Yes, is it so unusual?" Lena smiled at him, knowing full well just how unusual it was. A murmur went around the table in the hall as Lord Volkihar entered the room.

"Excellent," he commented, looking at Lena. "We can begin after breakfast."

"Begin what?" Lena looked up.

"Your contribution," he smiled. "If you agree to my terms, that is."

...

"What we really want from you, is blood," Lord Volkihar took Lena to a room that looked like a laboratory. "Your bloodlines will add to our own, but we don't want to go through the tedious business of a nine months pregnancy," he cringed. "We have better ways."

An array of large glass cylinders filled with clear liquid was suddenly lit up by magical light. Flesh sacks were suspended in the liquid.

"My future children," Lord Volkihar gestured at the cylinders. "Since we are immortal, we do not wish for a lot of new additions, and none of my wives are willing to go through pregnancy anyway," he smiled. "You've endured it," Lena nodded. "So you know how tedious it is. We let the glass do the work instead." He snapped his fingers and another array of magical lights was ignited. "You will need to fill these viles with your blood," he gestured at the table. "Then we will help you."

"This will drain me completely," said Lena looking at the size of the viles. "I won't survive it. Death is not the solution I had in mind."

"No, and I don't propose that," Lord Volkihar smiled at her. "We shall give you replacement blood - some of our own."

They were standing in the middle of the laboratory looking at each other. Both their glances were hard and unbending.

"What effect will it have on me long term?" Lena asked.

"You will gain some of our powers," Lord Volkihar answered, without taking his eyes off her, watching her reaction. "You will be able to transform at will. You will glide through the ice. You will freeze the blood of others with your sheer presence - although I think you can do this already," he chuckled. "You will be a pure-blood vampire."

"If I wanted that, I could have just taken up Molag Bal on his offer," Lena smirked. "No deal."

"Oh, he offered you that, did he?" Lord Volkihar raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise, here was something he hadn't anticipated. "And this is why you want to free yourself from him?" Lena nodded. "Forgive me, I misjudged you." He went around the table taking a seat behind it and gesturing Lena to a chair. "This changes everything. You are also Molag Bal's chosen. Well, well."

He looked through some scrolls before him, consulted some books, then spoke again.

"We will still want some of your blood, but not quite as much. We will give you some of our own, and you will retain your personality and not become a pure-blood, but I cannot promise that your vampirism will remain recessive. If you wanted any of our powers, you will have to learn them while you are here. Or come back later and give us more blood. We cannot free you from Molag Bal if you are his chosen, only you yourself can do it, but we can help you with that. Do you accept?" He looked at Lena across the table. This was his final offer.

"I do," she said and bowed.

...

The following few weeks were draining, quite literally. The Volkihar wanted a lot of blood, although not quite so much as to cause Lena permanent harm. She would not receive any of their blood to substitute her losses until they were quite finished - the bloodlines had to be kept clean. Fenris was eating and feeding for two, and Lena fed on him. Finally, the debt was paid.

"Take a few days to rest, then we'll start the training," Lord Volkihar told Lena, looking over the filled viles in the laboratory. "Your contribution is invaluable to us, make no mistake. You are now one of us," he smiled. "You will always be welcome here, but remember that additional training will require additional payment."

"Indeed," Lena smiled. "Let's not allow family to get in the way of business."

...

With the blood from the Volkihar Lena could finally block out Molag Bal. It was as simple as that - she had to say no. But now Molag Bal had to listen, because she carried some of his blood. She wasn't a pure-blood vampire, but she was no common vampire either. She could transform at will.

"You learn very quickly," her instructor was impressed. "It takes months to master this even for the best of us, and we start as children. How do you do that?"

"I don't know," Lena shrugged her shoulders. "I just do."

"Hircine's blood," an older woman walked in. "That's why the Lord wanted her blood. She's a werewolf."

"I don't think I am..." Lena started, but the younger woman put a finger to her lips. It was best not to argue. Werewolf. Wonderful. Geralt's orange eyes rose up in her memories. "The Hunt is on," he had said. Indeed.

[Renee]

Whoa, Lena's after skooma???? Nooo!!!!

Okay phew. Not for her. For someone in the SI. Is Wolf Sanctuary just the Cheydinhal Sancturary, renamed?

Wow, Skyrim Observatory. Cool-looking mod. Ah, she's going to Pale Pass. 🏔

"I don't really want to fight them" - thought Lena, her curiosity preventing her from just turning around and leaving. She cloaked in chameleon, gaining full invisibility with rings, spells and a potion

Ha ha I know the feeling! Sometimes it gets tedious, right? Some fights are invigorating... energizing, the adrenaline rush is what I crave! Other fights... it's like "meh". C'mon, you really want to go for me NOW? Totally get it. Going invisible is sometimes the best solution.

Whoa, she's paralyzed! Cripes. Molag Bal is speaking to her. She seems to be viewing some scene from the past between a past Speaker and this Lillian Delacour.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338088

[Lena Wolf]

1 Midyear, 4E203 - Morthal

Midyear 203 of the 4th Era greeted Lena with warm weather as soon as she and Fenris left Castle Volkihar and crossed the water to Dawnstar. Oh, the ground still had a light dusting of snow, but the air felt warm and the sun was shining with all its Northern might. Yet Lena was cold. Not only had she been a vampire for a month or so, she had also given much of her blood, and Volkihar's replacement blood wasn't exactly hot. But all these sacrifices were worth it: she could finally block out Molag Bal from her mind.

By the time she and Fenris reached the shore, the sun indeed rose and started burning them relentlessly. They needed shelter immediately, and to Lena's surprise, the local inn had no objections to a couple of vampires renting a room.

"Keep to yourselves and we'll have no problems," the innkeeper looked sternly at them. "We judge people by their behaviour, not by the colour of their eyes," she added proudly, serving them food as well. Their gold was evidently as good as anyone else's.

"Do you know if Felion still lives in Morthal?" Lena decided to ask.

"The mage?" The innkeeper squinted. "Aye, that he does," she nodded. "Not a bad sort he is, mind you, tries to help folks, never harms anyone, and I don't care what other people might say!" She added with a challenge. Then, realising that no one was challenging her, she softened her tone again. "He's been having a bit of a problem there though. Not just him, mind, there's been a bit of a problem going on there recently. Some of it got solved, I hear - a new fellow, white hair, good with swords, from far away, strange accent, but a Nord by the looks of him," she recited the rumour. "Not that I've seen him... but people talk. Gerrit or Geralt or Gert or something's his name. You'll run into him, I wager." She put down a pot of stew she was holding and brought some more bread.

"Oh?" Lena raised an eyebrow, wanting to hear more. Last time she saw Geralt, he mentioned that he was looking to buy a house on the moors. Well, it seemed he made his way to Morthal after all. "What else do people say about this new fellow?" She smiled encouragingly.

"Well..." The innkeeper looked over her shoulder for some reason, but as the inn was otherwise empty, she sat down at the table with Lena and Fenris, lowering her voice. "They say he's a werewolf," she said and her eyes widened. "He's got eyes like an Orc or an Argonian - orange, with a vertical pupil," she looked from Lena to Fenris and back to Lena. "Weird, like."

"Do werewolves have eyes with a vertical pupil, then?" Lena looked pensive. "Hmm... not the ones I've ever met..."

"You..! What..?" The innkeeper was taken aback.

"I wasn't always a vampire," Lena smiled. "Done a fair amount of adventuring myself. Vampirism is just a disease, nothing more. Which is why I need Felion to get it under control again."

"Oh," the innkeeper relaxed and smiled too. "I thought you looked a decent sort," she nodded to her own sound judgement of Lena's character. "Well, I don't know about that new fellow, really. Like I said, never met him myself. And people do talk..." She blushed, embarrassed for having repeated the rumours. "So werewolves have round pupils, you say?" She squinted at Lena. "And red eyes? No? Orange eyes? Blue? Don't matter... So he ain't a werewolf then. Good," she was muttering to herself, having slipped into the local colloquial tongue. "We're used to vampires, you see," she looked up at Lena, shifting back to correct Cyrodilic again, "what with the Volkihar castle just there and plenty of vampires on the moors. We have an understanding. But werewolves are not the same, not native to these parts, like."

"Have there been a lot of sightings of werewolves, then?" Lena asked with a slight worry. Could Hircine's Great Hunt be already on?

"There've been some," the innkeeper nodded. "Not at full moons either, which is odd," she mused. "But no one really knows..." She looked into the distance, thinking of something. "My cousin lives down South, she says there are packs of them roaming the Jeralls," she shot Lena a glance. "The Legion keeps them out of Cyrodiil, but there ain't enough Legion soldies to cover all of Skyrim..." She sighed. "Something's up, I can feel it." She added with certainty and got up. "Anyway, stay a few days, you look pale," she brought some more wine and cheese to the table. "We've heard what you've been through." Lena raised her eyes in genuine surprise, and the innkeeper smiled. "People do talk, didn't I say?"

...

A few days later, just after sunset, Lena and Fenris set off towards Morthal. It was a fair distance away and they wanted to avoid getting sunburn. Lena wasn't sufficiently familiar with the area to know of any suitable caves to spend the day in. They decided to travel along the shore to avoid meeting anyone, friend or foe, and they were certain they could handle any spiders or chaurusses inhabiting the moors.

Lena thought they must have passed Morthal already, as it wasn't right on the shore, when she saw lights ahead, then a tower - a house was overlooking the sea.

"Better come inside, the moors are not safe this time of night," a voice said in her ear, making her jump. "I heard you approach for a mile at least," Geralt grinned. They hugged in a greeting, then he pulled away to have a good look at her face. "So, it was you then. Folk were talking about someone having gone to Castle Volkihar and staying there a long time. You look famished," he shook his head.

"We haven't fed for five days," Lena nodded. "Didn't want to bother the folk in Dawnstar, and bottled blood only goes a short way. And I am more than a full vampire now," she sighed.

Geralt shot a glance at Fenris, nodding to him.

"Is that your... umm... companion from the Leyawiin place?" He asked, looking him over more thoroughly.

"Yes, Fenris," Lena turned, gesturing Fenris to come close. "Fenris, this is Geralt, my brother. He is a witcher."

Fenris approached with caution.

"I've never met a witcher before, but I heard you undergo mutations as children," he spoke gingerly. "You have a most unusual scent... if you forgive my impertinence."

"I most likely do," Geralt smiled. "And zombie dung will be the bulk of it - I haven't had a chance to bathe properly after... well, I'll tell you later," he looked at Lena with some urgency. "There will be plenty of time for talk and bathing, but you two need to get inside because the dawn is upon us."

He started walking towards the house motioning them to follow. The sun was rising.

Once inside, Geralt put some food on the table and Lena and Fenris gratefully sat down, tired after their long trek.

"There is a place where you can feed as much as you want," Geralt was looking at them as they ate - at this stage, food only offered a marginal sustenance. "But it comes with some fighting."

"And when does it not," Lena smirked. "You're not suggesting we go to Morthal, I hope?"

"No, I am not," Geralt shook his head. "There are a lot of vampires on these moors, but you knew that, I guess. They keep their own cattle. But recently also some necromancers moved in. I beat them back already a while ago - which is how I got this house - and the moors are a lot safer now, but those damnable zombies are still appearing regularly, and so I know the necromancers are not completely gone. Just had to clear out a horde of their walking corpses again, hence the smell. So as far as I am concerned, the necromancers are cattle. Feed as much as you like. But to get to one of their lairs, we'll have to beat back some zombies."

"Whenever you are ready," Fenris checked his dagger.

"After sunset," Geralt nodded. "And you'll want a better weapon, a silver sword is best, just don't cut yourself. Pick one," he jerked his head towards a weapon rack. "Well, there are steel swords there too," he added, noticing Fenris' hesitation.

...

Their expedition to the nearest necromancer layer the following night was successful. Lena also made it a point to demonstrate to the necromancers that she and Fenris were not with the local vampires - she wanted to do everything she could to avoid another large conflict of the undead on the moors. To prove her point, she dropped her clothes, causing everyone to momentarily freeze, then she let them watch her skin transform from pale pink to leathery grey. She didn't quite have bat wings like Lord Volkihar, but her whole appearance was unmistakable, and didn't fail to impress.

"W-we want no t-trouble with Clan V-volkihar," one of the necromancers stuttered. "W-we l-leave you to it," he turned and decidedly ran into the depth of the lair. The others pushed two lower ranking members of their group towards Lena and Fenris and took off after their leader. Dinner was served.

...

The following evening, after a long bath in Geralt's bathhouse and a good rest, Lena, Geralt and Fenris went to Morthal to see Felion about putting Lena's vampirism into remission. Drinking mortal blood no longer worked since she drank Fenris' undead blood when they first approached the Volkihar. She now required a "proper" cure, and although nothing would really cure her vampirism, she hoped a remission could still be achieved. And so they knocked on Felion's door.

"Geralt!" He opened the door with a smile, seeing his friend. "And... friends?"

"My sister and her companion," Geralt nodded. "We need a favour."

Felion was very accommodating. Curing vampirism was something he'd done many times, and in fact he chose Morthal as his place of residence because he could help so many people in those parts - vampirism was rampant on the moors. He didn't know if his rituals always had a life-long effect, but he knew that they worked no worse than the infamous Witch's Potion.

"My method is much easier, cheaper and altogether more accessible to anyone who wants it," he was saying with some pride. "And the results are just as good. I am confident we should be able to put your vampirism into remission." He nodded to himself, but somehow his sentence didn't sound complete.

"But?" Lena prompted him. "I feel a 'but' coming."

"But..." Felion coughed. "There is a problem. The grotto where I perform the ritual... it's got a healing spring, so it's got to be there... well... but it's got an infestation of some kind and needs to be cleared before it can be used." He looked apologetic. "I am sorry. The problem is fairly recent, and I suspect it was caused by that zombie plague you've cleared," he turned to Geralt. "But these pests are quite different, although also probably undead... never seen anything like it."

"Well, why didn't you say so earlier!" Geralt sighed with relief. "I am a witcher, you know. Clearing monsters is what I do!" He laughed.

"Glad you take it in good spirits," Felion smiled. "They do seem quite dangerous, and numerous. I bet there's a broodmother of some sort there, and..."

"...and I'll need to get her in order to truly exterminate them," Geralt nodded. "Yeah, I know the drill. Where is this grotto?"

...

The "holiday in Morthal", as Lena was referring to these few weeks later, was relaxing after all. Geralt would not accept any help clearing the grotto, and he seemed no worse for wear when he came out, apart from the smell. "A bunch of drowners that the sirens dragged in," was his verdict. "Not a brood, more of a wild party," he smirked. "Closed down now."

The spring cleared up within a few days afterwards, and Lena delivered two black soul gems to Felion for the ritual - the necromancers were all too willing to share some of theirs. Finally Lena's vampirism receded and she stepped out into the Northern sunshine for the first time in several months.

"Time to go home," she suddenly longed for everyone back in Cyrodiil.

"Did you achieve what you wanted when you set off to see the Volkihar?" Geralt gave her a long look. "You paid dearly for that."

"I have," Lena nodded. "Molag Bal is no longer in my head," she smiled. "Or rather, he probably still is, but dares not to speak up unless I let him. It's good enough," she said firmly, also adding another "Stay out of my head!" thought directed at Molag Bal. "There was something Lord Volkihar said though," she looked into Geralt's orange eyes. "Hircine's blood. He said I had Hircine's blood. You have Hircine's blood. Was that from our father? But you are not a werewolf! I am not a werewolf! Are we?" Her voice faultered.

"Not a common werewolf, no," Geralt answered in a low voice. "We don't howl to the moons, the transformation is not being forced upon us. But Hircine's blood... yeah, it's rising in me now. The Hunt is on, and I am being summonned. I'll travel to Solstheim after you leave."

"But I don't feel it..." Lena was unsure. "Why you but not me?"

"Why are you Dragonborn but I am not?" Geralt answered with a question.

"Take care of yourself," Lena hugged him.

Felion was watching them from the doorstep of his house. He knew more than he let on, he knew all about Lena's visit to the Volkihar, but he chose to ask her to tell him what she would, not wishing to appear impolite. He knew of Geralt's condition as well, Geralt wasn't a common werewolf, but he wasn't quite human either. Felion did not believe for a moment that Hircine's blood caused his mutations. "Hircine's blood is probably why he survived the witcher trials," he reckoned. "He is a Prime, that's plain to see." He watched them say their goodbyes as Lena and Fenris headed South, to Cyrodiil. "What a remarkable family." Felion shook his head, wondering what other adventures life had in store for them, and feeling certain that boredom was not on the list.

[macole]

Felion mentions monsters both dangerous and numerous with a suspected brood-mother of some sort and Geralt is raring to go. Great stuff.

[Acadian]

"So as far as I am concerned, the necromancers are cattle. Feed as much as you like."
- - I like Geralt's way of thinking.

[Lena Wolf]

2 Midyear, 4E203 - Babysitting

Lucien was walking towards the Chapel in Cheydinhal holding little Derric in his arms. Most people stopped to watch, even though his trip was very short - their house was just across the street. He paused at the door getting a hand free to push it, when someone opened it for him.

"Thanks," Lucien nodded to the stranger, meeting his smiling and curious eyes.

Inside the chapel the scene repeated itself. Everyone stared. Lucien looked around for a priest - he came here with a purpose.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Primate Garrana looked down at Lucien sternly, making it a point not to add "my son".

"I am looking for a healer," Lucien answered pleasantly, pretending not to notice the hostility. "You have one, don't you?"

"Of course we do!" The Primate barked at him. "In the Chapel Hall, down the stairs, the door straight ahead. Not the doors behind you," she added, her brow furrowed.

"Why would I want to go to the Undercroft?" Lucien kept smiling, but his eyes were icy. The Primate backed off, and he went down the steps to the Chapel Hall.

Ohtesse was setting the table for dinner. She looked up when Lucien opened the door, and noticing the baby in his arms, ran up to him and pulled him into a side room.

"Is everything all right? We don't normally get visits from assassins... err... men with babies," she said with a worried look on her face.

"Well, it is probably not serious, but I wasn't sure," Lucien put Derric on the bed, and Derric immediately started crying. "He is hot, I think he might be ill. Lena is out of town, and I am not a healer."

"No, let me see," Ohtesse switched to her professional stance. "Oh, just a seasonal fever, nothing to worry about." She cast some healing magic at the child and he calmed down. "This will keep him calm for a bit, but you'll need these... twice a day." She set some vials in front of Lucien. "For a few days. And keep him warm."

"Thanks," Lucien took the vials replacing them with payment. "I trust you accept payment from assassins?" He smiled at her.

"Oh... forgive me," Ohtesse turned away but Lucien noticed her blushing. "We..." She sighed. "Your wife comes in often enough, and we know why... We know who she's praying for. The Primate is irate about it, but can't throw her out - Arkay accepts her prayers and grants her his blessing, we can see that. She... the Primate, I mean... she wants us to turn you people away, but she can't because Arkay accepts your wife... She even took it to the Council in the Imperial City! 'No, if Arkay accepts her, so do we,' she was told. But shhh... I didn't tell you this..." She looked over her shoulder to make sure they weren't overheard.

"That's amusing," Lucien smiled at her. "About your Primate. Perhaps I should have a word with her..." He stopped, noticing Ohtesse's worried expression. "As a former disciple of Dibella, I mean."

"Oh of course!" She gasped, realising the connection. "You are the..." She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. "Of Anvil! Of course!"

"Yes..." Lucien watched Ohtesse laugh which made her look a lot younger. Two hundred years younger, in fact. High Elves had such long lives... She was already a Priestess when he was just a youngster, a novice of Dibella... "You switched to healing, I see."

"I got old..." She sighed. "Not ready to die yet, but no longer fit for the services of Dibella. Arkay suits me better these days."

"I see you as beautiful as ever," Lucien objected and Ohtesse blushed again. "Why do you bury yourself here? I've never seen you around town."

"No... I don't venture out much any more, Luce..." She was lost in thought, then blushed deeply realising she just used his pet name.

"It's all right," he smiled, cradling Derric in his arms and preparing to leave. "Now that you remembered me... Call if you need help, I've learned a few tricks since then."

He bowed his head respectfully and left.

"Well, would you look at that..." Ohtesse stood transfixed looking at the door as it shut behind him. "Sweet Luce... Lucien Lachance, Master Assassin, one and the same..." She mused, lost in memories. "He's right, I should get out more... why have I never made the connection? The solution seems to have been right here all this time..."

"We serve Arkay here, not Dibella," a stern voice brought her out of her reverie. Primate Garrana entered the room. "What did he want?"

"Healing for his son," Ohtesse answered coldly.

"We don't want his sort here, you know that," the Primate continued. "Arkay does not approve of murder. Or of frivolous love making."

"What?!" Ohtesse turned to her, her cheeks red with anger.

"Oh please!" The Primate's voice was mocking. "Did you just find out who he was? A Dibellan turned assassin? Or did too much pleasure fog up your brain?"

There was a noise in the main room - someone was calling for a healer.

"I have work to do." Ohtesse brushed past the Primate, almost pushing her aside. Yes, she should get out more. She wasn't dead yet.

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: Jul 6 2023, 03:07 PM