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ervona · 9 months

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Day 4: Mortal / Sanctuary for @tes-summer-fest

The king was dead. He was not the first Nordic tyrant to burn, though he was one of the few living–or unliving–men to receive such a simplified Dunmeri funeral. His killer wasn’t quite living either, but one was ash scattered over the sea, and the other was just floating face-down among the ice floes; a twist on the usual Morndas.

Fingers frozen around something of great value, hands buried in the pockets he’d sewn into his robe, he washed ashore like driftwood. He trawled for a place to crawl into before the fiendish court fluttered out in the guise of bats and carried him up, up and away. Back to the castle, where sneers had dissolved in their overflowing toasts to him. One who had crept out of their king’s shadow only for a moment necessary to assert himself for the first time. Why, he was a master of subterfuge, who’d had them all fooled. That and having taken it by force earned him the seat at the head of the blood-soaked table.

Thus he ran away.

Not straight away–he had some decorum left in him–but after the excessive celebration of new leadership that he was already set on shirking. He’d been unnoticeable for years and was fortunate he still had that in him too, for he could slink out of the hall and pack necessities for travel, which he checked three times. With that slung over his shoulder he snuck out quiet as a mouse, taking care not to look back, and made for one of the rowboats beached on the rocks.

In another story, the old king’s daughter and heir would have chased him far and wide beyond the water’s edge, torn him apart and marked her coronation with his entrails. Fortunately, she held her father in scorn moreso than anyone at that court had. A far better leader she would make. She had no love for him either, nor hate, nothing but the tepid exasperation any princess would feel towards her father’s sycophant.

He’d packed all he would ever need including enough blood potions to last him until he could attempt to brew his own, but most important of all a darksome gem now holding the soul of an ancient. Plucked from its master and thrown into the garden of a vengeful wife, its purpose lay in a ritual detailed in one of the dusty tomes that filled much of the boat. The castle faded from the horizon, leaving only the sea and a frightfully giddy vampire rowing southward.

Well, soon to be former vampire. “If I know anything at all, it’s how to strike up a deal. Isn’t that so, lord?” he called out to the sea-bird that had perched on him. Holding the oars down for but a moment, he palmed at his pocket, then the other one, then at each board of the accursed boat until bottles were cracking and papers were flying, landing on the surface of the water with unseen grace. At his back, the myriad lights of Jehanna’s dockside glimmered within reach.

“Where is it? Where…” He tried to detect traces of magic, peeled off his robes, lifted each and every piece of trash that encircled him, cried and howled and shrieked in the manner that had spurred sailors in the night to spin tales of sea beasts beyond comprehension.

For all those plans he’d devised over many sleepless days, his great caper of souls, to swindle the Lord of Coldharbour with his own servant’s soul withheld, unable to reach its destination before another soul was freed. What was left, a fool on a piece of driftwood who ought to have been claimed by frostbite. Who couldn’t go back now, nay, nor forward nor back. But he enjoyed the idea of life far too much, and was the world not full of souls who deserved it less?

“That’s it!” He leapt up, almost capsizing for the third or so time. Imagining himself at fulmost charm that only existed in his mind’s eye, by his soon to be outworn aptness for glamour he spake and made it truly so. “This life I shall reclaim in one way or another.”

Jehanna lay in a bay encircled by snowy mountains, in appearance not unlike cities to the east, colorful amidst the cold with sharp and steep roofs slicing the air. Its port enveloped the whole bay, by its secluded nature a sanctuary for all sorts of ne'er-do-wells. Nothing like him, though, the folk here would only bleed the valuables and trinkets alike out of one’s pockets.

Freshly glamoured, he stopped to admire the finest scion of Morrowind nobility for long enough that the seller of scavenged tableware yelled at him to buy or leave. Her arrogance would cost her a customer–not him, as he was rather low on coin anyway. Down by where larger vessels docked, a group of sailors were merrymaking like it was Saturalia. He understood them well enough, having been on the sea for but a day, and such a sordid day.

“Tredayn?”

It was rare enough that someone called his name, and rarer that it wasn’t tinged with bloodthirst. He turned around, twice around in fact, until a tall, well-dressed mer appeared to be speeding towards him. Momentary confusion gave way to disbelief, some kind of joy. In that very moment, both of them recognized their mother’s features.

“Azura, Mephala, and Boethia… Mavus?”

“You got it on fourth guess,” he guffawed, one hand pressed to his forehead as if running a fever. Then his brow creased, and a needle-sharp unease came upon Tredayn. “I don’t know where to start, but I suggest we head to my ship if you value whatever’s in your pockets.”

Tredayn followed, admiring each decorated prow, wondering which one belonged to his brother–well, half–and whatever it is that he did these days, more hoary than he remembered. Piracy seemed to be in fashion, but he couldn’t imagine his brother, stickler for rules as he was, doing that. The ship Mavus presented with pride as if he’d hewn it with his own hands–and perhaps he had–bore a terribly dull dragon head that Tredayn had seen more times than the sun in recent years.

“Lovely barge you have here. What do you do with it, still running supplies?”

“Oh, we’re pirates.” Mavus' thin mouth cracked into a smile just as thin, and far behind him dawn had started to break. “Joking, joking, you should have seen the look on your face!”

“I’ve not slept in so long, apologies... may I take a rest somewhere on board?” That gaze could cut the ropes on its own, but Mavus still showed him below deck. Captain’s quarters–his quarters!

For what they lacked in extravagance they made up for in comfort, which he supposed was the right way to go about things. Tredayn hadn't lied, he was too tired to think. But when he’d finished looking around the place, he spied a silver glint from the corner of his eye, and in a moment he was up on the ceiling, in the corner like a spider.

“What in the-” That was a silver blade, clear as day and utterly terrifying, moreso with how calm his brother’s face was.

“Tredayn, come down from there. I’m only checking.”

“Checking what? I hear you thinking now, surely I must have flinched at silver, rather than you pulling a knife at me!” He'd sharpened his own stake with that. Mavus shuffled through expressions, stunned.

“Well, if you hear me thinking, thank you for speaking in my stead.”

Vampires could not simply read minds in and of itself, but as with many of the myths around them, a grain of truth lay in it. Had he actually possessed the ability, this could have gone much better.

“Figure of speech. What is this about?”

“You tell me, with the way you went up, I suppose you’re a trained acrobat.” At least he had put away the knife, though the suspicion was going to be a harder bargain, no thanks to his own conduct.

“I am an ordinary mortal, so springy for I was born in springtime.”

“Morning Star the fi-”

“Oh, now you recall my birthday!”

“Enough.” Mavus covered his face with his hands, one eye peeking out ever still. “Come down, I’m not trying to hurt my brother, no matter what you’ve gotten yourself into now.”

Tredayn dropped with a cracking sound that ought to have marked the end of him but just left him sitting down somewhat askew. He collected himself and dusted off the robes that had been through so much, only to be pulled into a tight hug. Mavus sniffed, and he surely hadn’t been down with a cold. His brother’s embrace was safe, or he so wanted it to be, parched for care and all that was good in life.

The last person he’d hugged had allowed so only by hubris, perhaps confused before going up in flames. His searing flesh and unearthly shrieks lingered in the back of Tredayn’s mind. At the time, a part of him had been ready to burn as well, and the fear finally struck him in retrospect. If only for a moment, he felt not the burning wrath of his kin, but their protection, and held on to that as firmly as he could.

#tesfest23 #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #morrowind #tredayn dren #mavus ules #harkon and friends mentioned #not oc tag #i'm late sorry but minor npcs and my specific made up ideas for them yay #scrawling tag

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