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

[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

[Lena Wolf]

7 Midyear, 4E203 - Ohtesse's favour

Ohtesse was looking over her shoulder as she pushed the door of the Chapel of Arkay in Cheydinhal. It wasn't forbidden for the disciples of Arkay to leave the Chapel, of course, but Ohtesse wasn't on very good terms with the Primate. "We serve Arkay here, not Dibella" and "You are a healer now, not a Priestess" were the Primate's two favourite phrases, and frankly Ohtesse had had enough. She was an ageing Altmer, and so much older than Primate Garrana who was an Imperial... which is why Ohtesse usually just ignored these comments. She used to be a Priestess of Dibella, she used to train novices, teach them the ways of beauty and pleasure... But she got old and felt that she was no longer doing Dibella a service in that capacity. A healer's position with the Chapel of Arkay in Cheydinhal became available, and Ohtesse took it believing that she could now do more good with her healing than with her devotions to Dibella. And Arkay was waiting for her at the end of the line anyway, so why not make his acquaintance a little earlier.

What Ohtesse didn't count on was the animosity of the Primate towards Dibella and Dibellans. "Aren't we subjects of the Nine though? All of them?" Ohtesse asked once.

"You are naive if you think that," was the Primate's haughty response. "Arkay is miles above Dibella." And that put Ohtesse in her place right at the bottom of the clerical hierarchy, at least in the Primate's eyes.

This was some forty years ago - a long time in a life of an Imperial, but a short stretch for an Altmer. Yet much had happened in that time. The Great War had brought a lot of work for the servants of Arkay, both attending to the dead and to the living - Ohtesse treated more wounds than diseases in those years. Yet despite her best efforts, many soldiers didn't make it - they were brought in too late, their wounds were too severe. She treated so many elves... including the Aldmeri. Arkay took them all in, and it was not befitting for the Chapel to turn away the enemy.

Primate Garrana never liked Ohtesse. First, Ohtesse was an elf - an Altmer, not of the Aldmeri Dominion but of the Empire of Tamriel, but many people saw no difference. But even more than her elven origin, the Primate resented Ohtesse's prior devotion to Dibella - devotion that she never gave up. "We serve the Nine," she would object. It was true, and the Primate could not dismiss Ohtesse, not that she didn't try.

Then one day an Aldmeri agent was brought in with deep wounds, and Ohtesse saw immediately that he would not survive. She lifted his pain as she normally did in such situations - she did not believe in unnecessary suffering. He stayed with them for a few days, his last remaining days on Nirn.

"You are different from the others," he said to Ohtesse after one of the healing sessions. "You do not resent me."

"No," she smiled at him. "We treat all that need treatment. We do not turn away the Aldmeri, for we are all children of the Nine."

"Of the Eight, but yes," he corrected her with a smile. "Talos is like Vivec - not an Aedra."

"No..." Ohtesse paused, watching him and noting that he didn't say "a false god". "You've given it some thought, haven't you... Well, I do not normally pray to Talos, so I don't mind one way or the other."

"This is a Chapel of Arkay, is it not?" The Aldmeri looked at her intently. "But you are a Priestess of Dibella."

"I was," Ohtesse corrected him. "I am a healer here now."

"You don't stop being her Priestess any more than you can stop being an elf," the Aldmeri smirked. "Who do you pray to in your time of need, Healer?"

Their eyes met and they sat there in silence for a while, for they both knew the answer.

...

The Abandoned House across the street was boarded up, but that was only cosmetic. Ohtesse had discovered it a long time ago - she would sometimes go there to cool off after yet another stingy remark from the Primate. The house wasn't lived in, but it wasn't all that abandoned either - Ohtesse would often notice traces of someone having been there. There was even a bed and a few other bits of furniture, and the drawers kept unusual leather armour, daggers and soul gems. And of course there was the Black Door in the basement.

The Chapel of Arkay was overflowing with wounded after yet another big battle, and beds were in short supply. "Come with me," Ohtesse offered her shoulder to the Aldmeri agent who was now too weak to walk on his own. "I'll take you to a quieter place."

"I don't have long," he nodded. "Thank you."

She took him to the Abandoned House across the street, and no one paid any attention to them - this was just another wounded being helped by a healer. Which way were they going? No one noticed in the tumult. No one except the Primate.

The next few days were very busy, but even in the busiest of times the healers had to rest, or they would have no magicka for healing - everyone knew that. And with the Chapel overflowing, the healers would normally retire to the Mages Guild or to a friend's house, so again no one noticed that Ohtesse was spending time in the Abandoned House.

"You are no longer a Priestess of Dibella!" The Primate spat at her one morning as she entered the Chapel ready to start healing. "And we do not provide those services! You are a disgrace for sleeping with him!"

Ohtesse turned pale but bit her lip and didn't answer. It was her private affair, none of the Primate's business.

...

The Aldmeri agent died a few days later. He received the rites of Arkay together with the other soldiers who also died on that day. He was interred in the Undercroft in a "communal grave". Ohtesse stopped leaving the Chapel.

...

"You are a disgrace, you must get rid of that!" The Primate spat at her again, pointing at her pregnant belly. "That spawn of the enemy!"

...

A year later the War was over, and Ohtesse returned to the Chapel of Arkay to resume her services as a healer. The Legion no longer needed field healers, and the Council insisted that the Primate should accept Ohtesse back at the Chapel. "She is a gifted healer, a devote of the Divines, and you have no reason to refuse," she was told. Fuming, the Primate had to submit. "Oh, and no more talk about Dibella versus Arkay kind of nonsense!" The Councillor looked at the Primate sternly. "We serve the Nine... err... the Eight... regardless, we serve both Arkay and Dibella. Get over it!"

...

Ohtesse's child was an Aldmeri. The boy's colouration gave him away even at an early age, and Ohtesse had to admit that he would not be safe in Cyrodiil for a long time to come. He was born in a tent by a battlefield, surrounded by moans of the wounded and prayers for the dead.

"He is a child of Arkay," the Priest told her, having assisted with the birth. "The God of Life and Death will watch over your child. What do you wish to call him?"

"Sauron," she smiled at the Priest holding her baby. "Sauron Ohtaari Arawe Aldmeri."

"Of Shimmerene?" The Priest raised an eyebrow, an Altmer himself. He passed the baby to Ohtesse and took out a scroll writing a birth certificate.

"No, that was his father," Ohtesse smiled, cradling the child, recognising his father's features in him. It wasn't true that all babies looked the same. "Sauron was born here... So what shall we say? Of Applewatch?" She winked, casting around for the nearest landmark.

"Of Rielle," the Priest offered.

...

Back in the Summer of 4E203 Ohtesse had had enough of the Primate's remarks regarding her past Priesthood of Dibella and "other sins", so she was now once again pushing the door of the Abandoned House in Cheydinhal - abandoned no longer, but known as the Wolf Sanctuary, or more recently the Lachances' House.

"Hello!" She cried out in the entrance hall, barely recognising it. She never came here after Lena took over the house and fixed it up. "Anybody home?"

"Up here!" She heard Lucien reply, then saw his face appearing at the top of the stairs. "Ohtesse. Welcome." He gestured her in, offering refreshments. "I am at your service."

"I..." Ohtesse blushed, not sure where to begin. "It's about my son. I want to find him... It isn't exactly in your line of work, I know..."

"And you are not performing the Sacrament either," Lucien nodded. "This has nothing to do with the Brotherhood, does it?"

"Not that I know of," Ohtesse agreed. "But he's a grown man now. Young for an elf of course, but adult."

"Where should I begin?" Lucien was taking it in, making mental notes.

"Falkreath. But he's not there - I already spoke to Runil, their Priest of Arkay. He thought Sauron was taken North... It wouldn't have been an orphanage - he would have stayed with the Chapels, at least while he was still a child." She paused, looking around uneasily. "He looks Aldmeri," she added.

"I see," Lucien nodded. "What should I say to him when I find him?"

"You seem certain..." Ohtesse looked at him with doubt in her eyes. "I don't even know if he lives!"

"Assume that he does. What shall I say to him?" Lucien insisted.

"Tell him of his father - Sarulian Arawe Aldmeri of Shimmerene. He fell in the Great War and is buried here. Our time in this world was short... And I could not keep the child... not then," she sighed. "But this is why I returned here, this is why I choose to ignore the Primate and her remarks. Sarulian is here, and so am I."

"It will take time," Lucien looked at her, having made up his mind how to proceed. "It will not go through the Brotherhood. And Skyrim is big. How much of a secret is it?"

"It isn't really a secret," Ohtesse smiled at him. "People know I had a son with an Aldmeri agent - the Primate made sure to spread the news!" The contempt in her voice was unmistakable. "But I don't want you to do anything about that - not yet, anyway."

"The Night Mother will hear your prayer if that time comes," Lucien smiled. "We don't do 'jobs on the side' despite people believing otherwise. Do not worry. But still, I think we should step lightly regarding your son - we do not know who he is or what he does."

They talked a while longer, with Ohtesse telling Lucien of the past events and everything she could think of that could be helpful. Finally, she rose to leave.

"Thank you, Luce," she smiled at him, stroking his cheek like that of a child. "You haven't changed a bit."

He kissed her hand, seeing a Priestess of Dibella before him and feeling sixteen again...

[Renee]

It is neat she summons Dessos the Dremora to watch over her sleeping. That'd be so much better than a guard dog which barks every time a delivery man shows up, or a raccoon scrambles through the trash.

She also uses that shout against the locked safe, nice. What is inside? -- Ooh, sounds disappointing. Her father feels bad for "failing" his children. Well, at least she knows the truth, now.

Wow, Lucien now has Poryporic Hemophilia. Hey, he made it this far without contracting that disease! Some characters don't make it through one dungeon without getting sick. -- Yeah, I don't think he can just "go to chapeL" to get cured. Seems the man's Infamy must be through the sky by now.

Sounds like Lachance cannot be helped. Maybe he can try asking one of the Daedra, but they might want something vile in return.

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338224

This post has been edited by Renee: Jul 25 2023, 02:21 AM

[Lena Wolf]

Wow, Lucien now has Poryporic Hemophilia. Hey, he made it this far without contracting that disease! Some characters don't make it through one dungeon without getting sick. -- Yeah, I don't think he can just "go to chapeL" to get cured. Seems the man's Infamy must be through the sky by now.

Sounds like Lachance cannot be helped. Maybe he can try asking one of the Daedra, but they might want something vile in return.

Yeah, he cannot just get a standard blessing, that's for sure. But you can always pray to one of the gods individually, and they don't all judge mortals in the same way. He got help from an unexpected corner after all, leaving Lena wondering.

[Renee]

She kills Corvus Umbranox, and then rammages through his contracts. Wow, I'm surprised that guy was still around after 200+ years! Cool, she's going to Sundercliff Watch. macole was just there with his Field Hippies. That's a fun place to explore, for those of us who love to delve DEEP.

"There's been a report of an assault at the abandoned house - someone heard the screams. You're just coming out of it, and am I going to find a dead body inside?" - he asked rather politely.

That's the most polite psychic guard! Apparently Lena's not immediately branded as CRIMINAL SCUM!!

-- Anvil Bay Expansion looks really lovely.

Next she goes to Kvatch, and you've got something called Kvatch Finished. Never heard of that one. I seem to be the only one of us who hasn't used Kvatch Rebuilt (I've got Kvatch Rising). Anyway, I love the part when you describe her flashbacks. Even after all she's seen and done, that particular burning town still gives her the chills.

"Because you are our hero, and you belong here, Wolf."

"I am no hero!" - Lena protested. "I got lucky! It's Matius and his men who are heroes!"

Nice. And despite her protest, they've given her The Wolf Residence, not even knowing if she'd ever return. Sigh. Why can't real-life be so rewarding?

Yah, that is bizarre, about the Dragon Armor being in this mod-added home. Okay, one more chapter. She's exploring the town, speaking to residents, and so on.

Really enjoy how you've just written up a couple chapters with nothing much going on. No bloodshed, etc. I think this is important for any RPG to not just be about pwn4g3 and buffing stats. It's so relaxing! 🤓

This post has been edited by Renee: Aug 20 2023, 03:26 PM

[Lena Wolf]

Kvatch Finished: it's a mod I found, someone took Kvatch Rebuilt and tried to fill in Kvatch as it was before the invasion. It isn't finished at all despite the name, but gives you another look at things, I guess.

Yah, that is bizarre, about the Dragon Armor being in this mod-added home.

Well, that's because I put it there. Because I built the house. And the mod that I was actually playing. It is partly based on Kvatch Finished and partly on Kvatch Roses of Success - another unfinished Kvatch mod. My version is also unfinished (there seems to be a pattern there). It was my very first serious mod and I botched it up so badly, it will take a long time to fix it up, now that I know a bit better what I'm doing. One day I'll return to it, it did have a neat story.

Glad you're enjoying peace as well as war.

[Lena Wolf]

A note to the readers. I have not given up on this story, in fact I still have so many adventures in my head! But I've been very busy building release 3 of TWMP Skyrim Alive, and besides the lovely creative side it also came to possess a rather boring technical side. Separating Northern provinces from one another, swapping out creatures that might be in breach of copyright, extending Tamriel Resource Pack - these are all very necessary tasks but alas! - they do not stimulate story writing.

As a consequence this story is taking a break. It will continue with Geralt going to Solstheim, just like he told Lena. He feels the call of Hircine and has to join the Great Hunt of the 4th Era - this will be based on the Bloodmoon DLC of Morrowind, played in Morroblivion. This is Geralt's story - he came to Tamriel looking for his roots, and so far he and Lena only found one letter from their father addressed to them, and no further traces. Yet it seems various people know more... And now, with his blood boiling, he has no choice but to heed Hircine's call and see where it leads him.

Stay tuned. It may take a few weeks, but Geralt is due to take central stage next.

[Renee]

Well, that's because I put it there.

Sure, but who put it there in imagination? Somebody in the gameworld must've known Lena would show up to claim this house after all.

Glad you're enjoying peace as well as war.

Yes, and now it's time for more. Whoops, where's my bookmark?

That is really bizarre, the whole doubles thing going on in Kvatch. You mention something about an unfinished worldspace, while macole mentions Valenwood. I tried to explore Valenwood myself, was really psyched to do so. It's a mess to explore, though. CTD after CTD (while my mainland Cyrodiil rarely crashes) rips and tears in the terrain, and so on. I began trying to fix some of this, but as you've noted it's a lot of work. How far did you get with Kvatch "Finished"?

Whoa, the chapel full of ghosts is really cool. This is crazy. Martin is mad at Lena for starting the Oblivion Crisis! Come on, now! Don't be so daft, fellow.

Mehrunes Maze: never heard of that one, but it's made by David Brasher, one of my favorite authors/world-builders. Have you explored any of his work? Be forewarned: he's got a habit of making UBER enemies sometimes. Ridiculously overpowered with hitpoints! I would actually go through his mods beforehand in the CS, just to nerf some of those enemies. Because it's just not fun after a while, if every enemy is a boss.

But he's very good sometimes with making unique and fun dungeons to explore.

Are there twin ghosts, or just that one instance?

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?s=&...st&p=338435

This post has been edited by Renee: Sep 12 2023, 07:45 PM

[Lena Wolf]

That is really bizarre, the whole doubles thing going on in Kvatch. You mention something about an unfinished worldspace, while macole mentions Valenwood. I tried to explore Valenwood myself, was really psyched to do so. It's a mess to explore, though. CTD after CTD (while my mainland Cyrodiil rarely crashes) rips and tears in the terrain, and so on. I began trying to fix some of this, but as you've noted it's a lot of work. How far did you get with Kvatch "Finished"?

I had no issues at all with Valenwood. But of course that's because I explored TWMP Valenwood Improved rather that the original. It seems that Haldar fixed a lot of issues with it when he converted it for TWMP. It's exactly the same mod... minus the bugs.

"Kvatch Finished" is not my mod. It is an actual mod - here. My mod (code name "Kvatch Duplicated") is not finished. It is a combination of "Kvatch Finished" and "Kvatch Roses of Success". It was my first serious mod and I made every mistake you could imagine, so that in the end my game was crashing every 30 seconds or so. And I gave up! But by now I understand what I've done wrong, I intend to go back to it, fix it and finish it up. Because, yeah, the story is kinda cool...

Whoa, the chapel full of ghosts is really cool. This is crazy. Martin is mad at Lena for starting the Oblivion Crisis! Come on, now! Don't be so daft, fellow.

I could not stand him when I played the Main Quest. Now he's getting it!

Mehrunes Maze: never heard of that one, but it's made by David Brasher, one of my favorite authors/world-builders. Have you explored any of his work?

I like his stuff as well! I have explored some of it in game, and quite a bit of it in the CS. I used a lot of it in Skyrim and also in some other mods, like here in Kvatch.

Are there twin ghosts, or just that one instance?

Ghosts were not duplicated, only people. The cathedral is quite ordinary in the other Kvatch.

[Lena Wolf]

Chapter 6

The White Wolf

7 Sun's Dawn, 4E195 - The Butcher of Blaviken

The Butcher of Blaviken opened one eye and looked at the man holding the heavy tapestry of his tent open.

"King Foltest requires your presence, Sire," the man said without much conviction on the word "Sire". He looked at the red-haired woman on the luxurious bed in this tent fit for royalty, then dropped the tapestry, turning to leave. "The witch got what she wanted," he smirked to himself.

Geralt sat up in bed, he was having one of those dreams again when the man woke him up. An uprisal of humans against non-humans, and he, a witcher that should have stayed out of politics, just couldn't see elves, dwarves and halflinks being slaughtered. Not that they didn't put up a fight - one dwarf can easily take on three humans, size notwithstanding. But there were far more than three humans for each non-human in that mob in Blaviken. And so, hearing shouts "Mutant!" once again, Geralt joined the fight. He later learned with  surprise that "the Butcher of Blaviken" was what people took to calling him after that. Everyone, human and non-human.

He couldn't remember how the fight ended. He didn't see piles of corpses sliced in two with his razor sharp meteoric steel sword. The screams faded. The lights dimmed. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, saw a long wooden handle protruding from it - a pitchfork? Then - nothing.

That was half a year ago. Not only could Geralt not remember the fight, he could not remember almost anything that happened before that day either. What he knew of himself today, was what his friends and enemies chose to tell him. He was having strange dreams like the one he just woke from, he guessed they were flashes from his memory, but they were too vague to make anything out.

The red-haired woman turned languidly on the bed, waking up too. Her perfect body was craving attention, and Geralt paused his glance on her for longer than he had wanted. She smiled, confident of her charm.

"The king has summoned us," Geralt ripped his gaze from Triss' body. "Well, me," he corrected himself. "You can go back to sleep."

"I'm awake now," Triss smirked, letting the covers completely slide off and stretching her hand to lightly caress Geralt's many scars. "Foltest can wait." Her voice was expectant.

"Not today." Geralt got up and started getting dressed.

Triss was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he ever met. Red-haired and green-eyed, with perfect feminine curves, there was nothing that Geralt didn't like. Except when the dreams came. The dream made it all feel wrong somehow, and Geralt's desire for the redhead in his bed suddenly dwindled. He couldn't put his finger on it. If only he could remember!

...

"This is the day of the big assault, and with you as my bodyguard, nothing can go wrong!" The king asserted confidently seeing Geralt approach.

"Witchers don't mix in politics," Geralt reminded him. "I should not be here at all."

King Foltest smirked at that. How could Geralt not be there! It was he who saved King Foltest from an attempted assassination, and from that moment on, Geralt became attached to King Foltest's court. What better bodyguard than a witcher! Especially one whose memory had been wiped and who, therefore, could be made to believe anything the King wanted.

"When this is over, I am leaving," Geralt said in no uncertain terms. "It is not my place to be at any king's court. I should be out there fighting monsters."

"Well, if you must," the king conceded with a sigh. He knew he could not hold Geralt forever. "And with you I'll loose my Court Sorceress as well."

"You think she'll come with me?" Geralt's eyes lit up as he thought of Triss.

"Of course she will!" The king laughed. "The woman is infatuated with you, can't you see?"

...

The battle that followed was bloody as battles go, with Geralt having to do most of the butchery. Why him? He was no soldier. But he was able, and that was enough. Strangely, a dragon appeared in the end, and there indeed Geralt's skills came into their own, even though a single witcher, no matter how skilled, is no match for a full-grown dragon. Witchers don't fight dragons, in fact. And dragons rarely bother with people either. But this one attacked, probably woken up by the noise of the battle, or something equally mundane. Geralt fought it, trying to annoy the giant creture and make it fly away, not having any illusions about killing it. He wedged his silver sword in the dragon's mouth. That did the trick! The dragon roared, spit fire and took off, all with the annoying silver toothpick in his mouth.

"Let's not wait for it to return!" Someone urged the king to seek shelter.

Again, Geralt had to do most of the work clearing a route - the king wanted to find his children, his illegitimate children that he fathered with the local baroness. The children were the reason for the assault, as the king wanted to legitimise them and take them away to live with him, while the baroness... well, let's just say she wasn't keen on either losing her children or becoming the official king's consort (marriage wasn't offered). Hence the stand-off and the battle.

They found the children in one of the towers of the baroness' castle that they had been trying to storm. They looked frightened, which wasn't surprising.

"You must wipe away your tears and look danger in the face," the king cuddled his young son. "You will be king one day."

"The children are safe with me," a voice came from a corner. A blind monk gently nudged the king's daughter towards her father.

"But you are blind!" The king protested, taking his daughter in his embrace as well.

Geralt looked out of the window - the noise outside was getting stronger, the battle was far from over.

Then... swift movement out of the corner of his eye... He turned, leapt...

It was too late. King Foltest lay dead in a pool of blood with his throat slit, while the blind monk was leaping out of the window, having thrown off his monk's robes revealing well-fitting leather armour underneath. A witcher's armour. Only a witcher could have mastered a jump from such a height as well.

The next moment the guards ran in, attracted by the screams of the king's daughter, rightly horrified seeing her father being murdered right in front of her.

Geralt was arrested for murder.

...

"So, do you expect me to believe it?!" Vernon Roche slammed the table with his fist. He had been interrogating Geralt for a few hours already, examining and cross-examining every word. Geralt was tired, hungry and "well-seasoned" with many new scars and festering wounds. Temerian Special Forces did not joke.

"Believe what you like," Geralt shrugged. "I might be the first witcher to be executed rather than die battling a monster, but I've had enough."

Vernon snapped his fingers, the door opened and a very attractive female operative came in with food and drink. She put it on the table, smiled engagingly, caught Vernon's nod and left.

"I didn't know you had women in your outfit," Geralt smiled at his old friend. "I never met her."

"Ves is a jewel that we like to keep under wraps," Vernon smiled back. Whatever Geralt might or might not have done, an old friendship forged on the battlefield wasn't easily quashed, even if Geralt didn't remember it. Vernon did, and Geralt felt it. "Ves has been with us for a long time already," Vernon looked towards the door. "She is the only woman, and what a woman..." he sighed. "It's almost too easy, works every time. If you ever see her without her clothes, it will be while she's slitting your throat."

Both men stared at the door for a while.

"Anyway, duty calls - I've got paperwork to do, all your stories need writing up," Vernon grimaced. "Help yourself to the food and drink," he smirked as Geralt rattled the chains firmly cuffing his hands behind his back. "The road ahead is long and perilous, and you're on your own," Vernon added in a whisper, dropped a small key onto the table, got up and left.

...

"Geralt, this way!" Geralt heard Triss' voice from one of the boats on the river. Someone somehow had a boat ready and waiting. How long did it take him to unlock his cuffs, gulp down the food and drink, overcome the many guards in the castle dungeons, all armed with nothing but his bloody fists? It felt like hours, it probably was hours. Geralt was exhausted.

"This way, come on!" Triss' voice was urging him on. "We've got to cast off while it's still dark!"

Geralt shook his head to clear his vision somewhat, then picked his way among the crates and barrels littering the pier, trying not to fall.

"Finally! What took you so long? I was starting to wonder!" Triss helped him into the boat, someone whistled, the ropes where cut and the sails caught the wind.

"I was busy," Geralt retorted, feeling annoyed rather than grateful. "How did you know?" He looked at Triss with suspicion.

"She didn't," Vernon approached, handing Geralt a mug of beer. "You are still the kingslayer, make no mistake," he added grimly. "And your girlfriend here was about to be burned at the stake for treason for good measure."

"But..?" Geralt looked up at him, momentarily switching his attention from the sausages brought by Ves.

"But I believed you," Vernon sighed. "My trust in you is not enough to clear your name though, especially given our history," he shook his head. "You still don't remember, do you? Never mind, others do. But that's not why I believed you - I would have executed you myself if I thought you killed King Foltest. Instead, I and my Special Forces are on the run assisting a fugitive, all in the hope to find the real kingslayer." He smirked again and looked away.

They were sailing East, towards the pink horizon, but all Geralt could think of was sleep. He was spent and not ready for any new beginnings.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is the prologue of Witcher 2, seen through my eyes, the eyes of "my" Geralt. A fair warning: my Geralt is "all wrong". I haven't read the books, I haven't seen the movies, I only played the video games - Witcher 2 and 3. The games allow you to make choices which are not necessarily what the original author would have chosen. There are many among the hard core fans who say that the games "break" Geralt - make him "all wrong". Such as Geralt that you will meet in this story.

This post has been edited by Lena Wolf: May 13 2024, 05:24 PM

[Renee]

Nice, glad to see you are continuing IALW. I'll catch up to a back episode later this week.

[macole]

That was an engrossing suspenseful chapter. Thoroughly enjoyed it.

[Lena Wolf]

Thank you! I figured we needed a little background for Geralt before we get into his adventures in Tamriel. Also, I fancied another game of Witcher. So here it comes.