Freshly bathed, equipment maintained as best we could and well fed on rabbit and hardtack we slept through the night. Viconia and I recommenced taking our turns and letting Martin sleep as best he could through the whole night to make up for his inexperience of such journeys. Carrying far less than us and not used to travel he still made good time as the three of us continued ever further north. I knew that despite the depths and size of the forest that it would be very hard to miss our destination. The City of Chorrol may be little more than a speck in comparison to the green depths where the entire might of every Imperial Legion could be swallowed up without a trace. It was far easier to come across the various roads and highways connecting the city and the surrounding hamlets and logging camps scattered about in the county. Even if we missed the minor settlements or the medium sized ones such as Hackdirt, there was no way that we could miss the primary highway and trade route running from the Imperial City into Hammerfell that went through and around Chorral. The cobblestoned road was wide enough for two wagons to pass each other without the threat of breaking a wheel or axle on the edges and it was well patrolled by legionaries and militia no matter where on the road you found yourself.
For a further two nights we travelled through the forest, making good time despite Martin growing ever more fatigued and weary at the kilometres. We ate well however, managing to find collections of berries and other such foods within the forest as we travelled and between the small collection of mushrooms and other edibles Viconia was slowly learning more and more how to survive in the wild. On the third night we ate a hearty stew of Summer Botlet, venison and other herbs that left us all extremely satisfied. My own satisfaction was less from the meal and the taste and more from the fact that the deer had very little blood left in it once I had brought it back. The disgust I felt for myself could only overpower the thirst after I had sated myself on the coppery fluids, as beforehand there was no way that I could restrain my animalist urges.
Away from the eyes of Viconia and Martin I tested myself and the changes that the curse had brought upon my body. I was stronger and faster now, noticeably so when I chose to utilise it. Where my new bow should have been an effort to pull back on with its 100 pound draw weight, my arms barely seemed to feel it. When hunting the deer, I had held the bow at full draw without even the slightest tremor as I counted the seconds under my breath. After reaching five hundred I had loosed and drew a second arrow back until its fletching tickled my right ear, feeling shocked at the sheer speed of my movements as the first arrow had barely managed to fly ten metres before I was ready to shoot again.
The fact that I had felt other changes go through me as I tested myself with the hunt and with my bow was not lost on me. Pulling and drawing back on the bow so quickly had brought the beast to the surface, the skin of my face tightening and my incisors tingling as they prepared to slide out of my gums and bones. I could see better, hear more keenly and strike with all the force of a charging warhorse. I soon discovered that I had to be careful lest my new power was noticed, as for more or less the sake of it I had drawn my new sword and struck at a redwood sapling to see how much power I could put behind a blow. The sapling was as thick as my waist but didn’t stop the entire tree toppling over in an explosion of splinters and shards of wood as my sword connected and was driven through the trunk and out the other side.
Viconia’s gaze was always upon both Martin and I, but it was obvious that she was watching me like an eagle. I even noticed on the odd occasion that we found ourselves close together that her body language would change, and it wasn’t unusual to find her doing certain things that would make me react in certain ways. From flicking a rock near my head while I wasn’t looking, to releasing a branch as she walked in front so it would flick back into my face I realised that she wasn’t acting out of spite but was testing me and what I could do. With the same impassionate gaze on her face she would try different things, all the while watching incredibly closely and mentally recording my every action with increasing interest.
By the fourth evening we were well within the depths of the Great Forest and in the heart of county Chorrol. Making our way along a minor road which was little more than a dirt track heavily rutted with water runoff we made camp for the last evening before expecting to reach our destination. We were all tired and increasingly filthy from sweat and dirt that plastered itself and our clothes but now almost within sight of our destination our spirits were noticeably rising. Eating another hearty meal, drinking some of our dwindling water supplies we made camp on the tracks edge and slept through the nice undisturbed.
Viconia and my routines were almost streamlined to perfection after over a week’s travel, taking our shifts and rising in the morning after half a dozen hours of sleep before dressing ourselves and continuing on. After four days of solid travel Martin too was falling into a routine and trudged through the kilometres without complaint and we made good time all things considered. Five days from the destruction of Kvatch we found ourselves within sight of the towering stone walls of Chorral and the tiny priory within the city’s shadow.
Both Viconia and I travelled fully dressed now, no longer carrying the pieces of our armour and chainmail on our backs but instead dressed ourselves fully in its protection. After Kvatch we were no longer content with leaving ourselves in just our cloth and leather clothing but made our way through the forest jingling and clanking slightly. My new nature ensured that I barely even felt the difference in weight, in fact other than the few spots where the chainmail forced the layers of cloth and leather underneath to rub and pinch there was no discomfort at all. At that point I believed I could’ve wandered around in full legion plate and not notice the difference between it and wearing travelling clothes of the finest silk.
During the travel I had also realised that not only my sight had improved by so did my other senses. My hearing was keener, supernaturally so and when I concentrated so did my sense of smell. As we made our way closer to the city I could smell the numerous bakeries’ goods as well as the acrid tang wafting from the several breweries scattered throughout the streets. Approaching the priory however soon left me with an increasingly all-too-familiar scent that my body could detect no matter how much I willed it not to.
Blood was on the air, hot and fresh and immediately I felt my mouth moisten. The deer the previous days of travel was enough to put the thirst at bay for some time but it didn’t go far towards stopping the desires entirely. Someone was either dead or soon to be by the sheer force of the smell that left me yearning with a dark hunger. Without consciously noticing I had started moving quicker towards the priory and the sudden sprinting figure that burst through the creaking gate.
The Dark Elf stable hand scrabbled and nearly tripped on the uneven cobblestone road as it put his head down and ran as fast as his legs could take him. It was a run of blind panic that only through luck sent him in our general direction and the complete opposite direction of the priory. His dark-grey face was now ashen, sickly grey with fear and almost before he realised it he was within an easy javelin throw of Vicona, Martin and myself. His eyes alighting on us for the first time he almost collapsed at our feet insensibly.
“Help!” he spluttered, recognising Viconia and myself and gesturing wildly back at the priory. “You must help! They’re killing everyone at the Priory!”
Instinctively my bow found itself in my hands, the leather travelling case suddenly empty as I pulled the string over the horn nocks without even looking at it.
The sound of metal rasping on leather echoed through the air and Viconia drew her sword, her eyes suddenly bright and glowing with magical energies. For a second the Dunmer before us looked as though he expected us to cut him down where he stood. Before he could react I had moved closer to him, feeling with my right hand the handful of arrows in the quiver and plucking a bodkin from its resting place.
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“Tell us what’s going on. Who’s attacking?”
There was a shrug. “I don’t know who they are, I was in the stable when they attacked. I heard talking and when I looked around the corner to see who it was I saw a group of them talking to Prior Maborel. They looked like travellers, just ordinary people.”
“And then?” Viconia’s voice was as cold as the wind off the Sea of Ghosts.
The Dunmer gulped, shying away from the witch-light emanating from Viconia’s eyes and the coldness of her expression. “Suddenly weapons appeared in their hands and the cut the Prior down before he could move! They… they saw me watching and I just ran!”
As a single group we all looked up at the priory, seeing nothing out of the ordinary but the smell of blood and the stink of magicka was wafting on the breeze. For a heartbeat I felt as though we were standing before the walls of Kvatch engulfed in its inferno of death, but other than the stench there was no sign that anything was wrong.
“Where’s Jauffre?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know, in the Chapel praying I think. You must help us!”
I pushed past him, arrow gripped tight in my fingers and bow ready to be drawn back at a moment’s notice. Viconia strode beside me, power erupting from her body as she prepared herself for the potential fight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Martin start forward to follow us and I turned with a snarl.
“Stay here and get out of sight you fool!” I hissed, and for a second he wavered before his gaze hardened in an all-too familiar expression. In an instant any doubt that he was not of the Emperor’s blood faded at the similarity.
“I’m coming with you. I think I’m safer closer to you than trying to hide from any potential ambush!”
For a second I went to argue but the sudden movement within the priory stopped the words before they reached my throat. Darting figures in black swarmed between the buildings, obviously hunting for something or someone. Within seconds they spotted us, and seeing the weapons in our hands and our armoured bodies, they recognised the threat and rushed us as a group.
There were nearly a dozen of them, black-clad in horrific daedric plate that I was now all too familiar with. In pale mockeries of the Dremora that Viconia and I had faced they scuttled forward, brandishing weapons of black obsidian and serrated wickedly. Flowing blood red cloth clung between the black plates, fluttering slightly as they ran howling at us with little thought of their own personal safety. There was no mistaking their allegiance with the daedra responsible for the destruction of Kvatch but also those few that had murdered the Emperor and most of his bodyguard.
I loosed the first arrow without hesitation, the bodkin making a complete mockery of the daedric plate they wore and dropping the first hard to the ground. The armour dissolved in seconds, the wicked point of the arrow jutting from the back of the cultist’s skull from the power I had leant into the bow and the solid impact of the corpse smashing face first into the cobblestones.
Even before the first collapsed my second arrow was already in flight, snapping out and crossing the space between us and the baying maniacs almost faster than the eye could see. It hammered into the chest of a second armoured form, a female from the sudden sucking cries of pain as she clutched at the feathered shaft where it had punched into the pectorals of the daedric breastplate. The third dropped to his knees convulsing as my third arrow, a deep tanged broad head ripped into his stomach with enough force to cut through the armour but not enough to continue deep enough to cause crippling damage. Even as the others rushed forward he struggled to his feet after the power of the impact had sent him sprawling, crying inarticulate howls of rage and pain as the movements twisted the arrow in his belly.
While reducing the numbers there were still easily three each against us, including the extremely hesitant Martin as he drew a dagger from his robes and held it in front of himself as though it was a ward to the onrushing violence. I cursed him both mentally and verbally, ripping my new sword from its sheath and stepping between the cultists and the last heir to the throne.
Viconia exploded into savage action just as the first reached our tiny group, suddenly bursting with energy both physical and magical and leaving a pair of the plated attackers as corpses with the armour melting into nothingness. One dropped with a shriek, the bolt of lightning hitting him square in the chest and leaving the man to twitch and convulse as every nerve burnt out in an instant. Another appeared to run headfirst into a wall of solid air, bouncing away with a sickening crack of broken bone and splintered teeth. The ward of energy she threw in front of the charging cultist only lasted for a split second but left him as a corpse on the ground, his neck twisted at an obscene angle from the force of the impact. Within seconds the odds had been reduced dramatically but it still left us both with our fair share of attackers.
I too burst into activity, twisting aside as one of them slashed out with a dagger that gleamed wetly with blood that stained it and its wielder’s arm to the elbow. While never what I’d considered to be an expert swordsman I found myself thankful that the Legion put so much effort into training it’s recruits as thoroughly as it did. Legionaries were taught the art of fighting behind shield and heavy armour, to stab and thrust in economical movements that allowed them to grind foes that outnumbered them innumerable times over into the ground. Foresters however were taught to fight single handed, relying on speed and dexterity to dodge, duck, weave and parry attacks as it was impossible to wield a bow and a shield at the same time.
Against these foes I quickly realised that there wasn’t a trained swordsman or soldier in the lot. Each attached wildly, screaming and rushing blindly forward and almost announcing their attacks with as much effectiveness as requesting to do so in writing. The first attack missed by a considerable margin, hitting nothing but air as I twisted to one side and stepped back slightly even as my attacker tried to follow through with a gut-tearing strike that would’ve done damage if it had hit an unarmoured man. This attack missed as well and I stepped forward inside his guard, feeling the third and final strike bounce off my chainmail and padded gambeson underneath as he tried to cut through the tiny loops of steel. If he had the experience or knowledge to stab instead or trying to slash it may have done some damage but instead I saw the glints of fear behind the snarling daedric mask, right before I punched the tip of my sword into his armpit where there was no armour to protect him.
Contemptuously I flicked the corpse off my sword, seeing the cultists becoming wary now that they had lost five of their number without inflicting as much as a scratch. Taking the initiative, I stepped forward swinging at the three facing me and forcing them to step away from Martin at my back. A pair of maces and a sword were held in the inexperienced hands of the attackers and instead of rushing me and taking advantage of their numbers they got in each other’s way and made it easier for me to kill.
A mace clattered to the cobblestones even as it began to disappear into nothing with its owner’s armour along with it. An enormous smile had opened on the cultist’s throat as I sliced my blade through the soft part of the gorget, cutting right back to the spine and leaving the female Dunmer to attempt to staunch the flow of blood with her hands. The swordsman jumped forward lightly on his feet, putting all of his weight into a single lunge that would’ve skewered me even if I wore full plate armour. Instead I turned to my left, grabbing him by the wrist and hacking down with the full enhanced strength of a vampire just above his elbow. The blow sheared through daedric armour, flesh and bone and left me holding the twitching forearm as the cultist screamed in pain, falling away with blood spurting horribly from the wound.
The remaining cultist facing me stopped, hesitated and turned to flee but didn’t get more than two paces away before feeling a grip of iron latch onto his shoulder. Yanked off his feet, three feet of sharpened steel suddenly materialised from the centre of his chest, cutting his heart in half and killing him before the realisation of what had happened managed to set in.
In the space of seconds, a dozen of the armoured attackers were dead and their blood staining the ground and our swords. The last of the pitiful amateurs; the leathery skinned bosmer who I had struck in the stomach with an arrow had attempted to lunge at Viconia as he tried to rise from a kneeling position. With a hand still grasping the shaft lodged in his belly he roared and struck out at her with his gleaming sword, putting the last of his strength into the single blow. Viconia instead contemptuously knocked the sword strike away with a negligent flick of a wrist, twisting the blade in her hand and dragging the edge across his throat that left him vomiting and coughing blood.
A dozen daedric plated cultists were left as a dozen corpses, their bodily fluids leaking out between the cobblestones and armour and weapons dissolving into the breeze. The last of them, a tall Nord gasped her last as Viconia strode over to her and stabbed once without even a glance at her downed adversary.
