By: The Orange Mask
I sat in the light of the Khajiit caravan’s campfire alone, looking at the mass of ruins which was once Labyrinthian. The rest of the party had already turned in for the night, but I couldn’t. Pain still writhed in my shoulder, and I was restless. I started this journey merely looking to learn something from these ruins; who knows what mysteries of magic and history still lay in this place, so long abandoned? It looks now as if I’m supposed to try and save them.
Vodahmin was travelling with us inside of a small dwemer device I found, one capable of holding immense magical power. I hadn’t bothered much with him, and he appeared to be keeping to himself. He seemed to be dormant, completely ignoring any effort I made to contact him. Bjorn and Kharjo were asleep in their tents, as were the rest of the caravan. They planned to move on in the morning, leaving Bjorn, Kharjo and I to venture into Labyrinthian by ourselves.
The sun crested over the mountains to the east, and I rose from the fire, holding my shoulder with my left hand. The Khajiit were surprisingly good medics; once we’d gotten out of Mzinchaleft, they created a healing salve to put on the wound, and created a makeshift sling out of some leftover cloth. Between their medical expertise and Bjorn’s efforts to heal me, my shoulder was well enough to be able to hold something or move on its own, but not both; I’d be crippled in battle. I prayed to the gods (something I didn’t do very often) that this conflict could be solved without bloodshed.
No matter how much I thought about my adventure, I kept coming to the same conclusion: I wasn’t doing this for knowledge, or magic, or even Tamriel; I was doing it for Tolfdir, and Bjorn, and everyone I had befriended along the way. I was doing it so that they may keep the lives they have. Most of all, though, I was doing it for Claudia. No matter where she was, what she thought of me, I still cared for her, and I wasn’t about to let some idiot mage ruin her life.
The others arose shortly after the sun came up, and began to pack up camp. Soon, Bjorn, Kharjo and I ventured up the steps to Labyrithian, carrying nothing but our bed rolls and some food. We travelled in a close group to avoid getting caught completely off guard. We crested the final flight of stairs and took a moment’s pause to gather our surroundings. I looked over toward a massive collection of walls, Shalidor’s Maze, only to see a massive beam of magicka and light shoot toward the sky. Soon after, a muffled boom could be heard. Bjorn and Kharjo snapped their attention to the origin of the sound. I grunted.
“Looks like we might be too late…” I said, disheartened.
“We can make it if we run!” Bjorn charged towards the maze’s entrance, smashing a frost troll out of the way with his war hammer.
“Bjorn, wait!” I cried out, running after the seemingly suicidal Nord. Kharjo followed close behind. By the time I’d caught Bjorn, we were already in Shalidor’s Maze. I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was going, and couldn’t remember the way out from maps I had studied.
“The only way to go is forward now, mage.” Kharjo seemed quite displeased by the current situation, but he barely showed any hint of it, his tail flicking back and forth. I sighed and let Bjorn lead the group through the narrow passageways, not wanting to get involved in any direct conflict while not able to use a melee weapon. I was no good with my left hand when using weapons (once I cut myself while trying to do so), so I decided to stay back and use my spells to take out the few threats there were along the way.
“Someone’s been through here…” I said, noting light footprints in the snow, almost filled in by now.
“That would explain why it’s been so easy so far.” Bjorn smiled back at me, and pressed forward once again. We made our way to the center of the maze, following the beam of light shooting into the sky. After only an hour or so, we were at the last turn in the maze. I told Bjorn to stop and stay quiet, as I pressed my body into the wall just before the corner, trying to pick up on any threats. I could hear the humming coming from the beam of light and little snippets of conversation, as well.
“…You know that it can only be completed in the midday sun.”
“Yeah, but I can’t stand this weather. I wish it would cloud up a bit…”
“That’d ruin the ritual, you idiot! One of us has to keep this up, though…”
That was all I needed to hear. I looked around the corner, only to be grabbed by the neck with superhuman strength and thrown out of my hiding place into the snow, crying out in pain as my right shoulder slammed into the ground. Bjorn and Kharjo were thrown in with me, and we were soon surrounded by six black-robed men and women.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” a seventh man’s voice boomed from behind the wall of figures surrounding us. “Perhaps proper introductions are in order. My name is Tullius. I’m not the famed general…” A man and woman stepped out of the way, making room for a towering man to step through. “But I am to be feared, no less.”
Tullius was an imperial, though quite a tall one; he stood head and shoulders above the rest of the group. He was clothed in black robes, like the rest, and was wearing a circlet which appeared to be made of ebony, with moonstones embedded within atop his brown hair. He was quite muscular, but not to the point of looking bulky, and appeared to be in his early thirties. Not that it mattered, though; his yellowed skin and eyes told a different story.
“You’re a vampire, then?” I asked, almost certain of it due to his appearance.
“Quite a quick one, aren’t you? Yes, I’m a vampire, and this is my clan. You’ve probably never heard of us, though; not yet, anyway.” Tullius grinned, showing his fangs. Kharjo and Bjorn were silent, most likely stricken with fear. I have to admit, he looked intimidating; even I was having trouble keeping calm.
“Well, then, Tullius, what’s your plan? Why go through all this trouble, in the daytime no less, to siphon magicka from the leylines?” Tullius looked quite shocked at my knowledge of his plans, but quickly shrugged it off.
“Why do you think, mortal? To gain power. Always to gain power. For hundreds of years, the Volkihar vampires have ruled Skyrim’s night. Power is bound to shift in time, but I’m just… speeding up the process. Besides, I believe this will please Molag Bal; his creations using magic to dominate not only mortals, but others of their own species. You, however, are currently interfering with the ritual. Therefore, begone with you!”
I cried out in pain as my body felt like it was being ripped to shreds. Purple light flickered in and out of my view, and I could hear Bjorn and Kharjo crying out in the distance. Before I knew what was happening, it was over; I couldn’t feel anyone holding me anymore, but I didn’t dare open my eyes. I heard Bjorn and Kharjo fall over, most likely from pain, and I felt the need to rest…
To be continued…
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