Madrar
The Shadow in the Dark.
4E 211 Riften, The Bee and Barb
The Nord sits alone at a table in the far corner of the room. His long, black hair hangs around his scarred features, obscuring them from view. The others in the tavern him avoid him like a plague, and the barmaid only approaches him to bring another round. The other patrons don't want him there, and they certainly don't need him there, but as long as he keeps paying, he is....tolerated. He notices a woman, possibly a Breton, although it's been nearly two years since he's seen someone that's not a Nord. He wonders if maybe he should send her an ale... or two. It had to be hard existing in a place where nearly everyone else treated you like filth.
He understands. You see, he is a minority in the Nordic population. He actually sympathizes with the other races. This attitude is not understood by the others of his race. And so he is a pariah, outcast in society, spoken to only when absolutely necessary. He sighs in a melancholy way, wondering what had happened to the once great city. Sure, corruption had run rampant, but life had still been flowing in the city. Several months ago, the Thieves Guild had been dragged screaming from their holes and executed. Along with the married Argonian couple, and the other Argonian, Madesi along with the Dunmer, Brand-Shei. They had been his friends once upon a time. Back when he'd had friends, and a purpose, and his honor.
He bitterly remembered the day he'd lost all that, four years ago, in the Vampire War. In his drunken haze, he allowed himself to sink back into the painful memories.
4E 207, Falkreath
Valdomir surveys the battleground with a critical eye. The undead have been assaulting the town for the past several hours, setting houses alight with spells, and battering the gates with arrows and war hammers. He is a commander in the allied forces, and in the Stormcloaks, although he isn't the commander of this force...some twenty year old kid is..and worse, the boy has little to no experience with commanding armed forces. Valdomir has attempted to correct the boys mistakes to the best of his ability, and so far the allies are holding the line.
Then, just when things seem to be going right for the allied forces, the gates are sundered by some mighty spell. The wood and metal doors are blown clear of their hinges, crushing and injuring soldiers and townsfolk alike. Then he arrives. A tall figure, clad in hooded Thalmor robes, but it was clearly no normal elf that rode through those gates on his skeletal mount. The aura of fear that came off of him was enough to overwhelm some of the weaker hearted soldiers, as their knees gave way, and weapons tumbled from nerveless hands.
The boy-general runs over to Valdomir, his face a mask of terror. " Commander, we have to fall back!" He literally screams. The commander simply stares at him as if he's gone completely insane. "Are you mad? We still have the upper hand, we can-" the general cuts him off, "There's no winning against him!" He howls, pointing at the menacing figure, who is now casually cutting down any soldier foolish enough to charge him. Townspeople were also under attack by the relentless tide of undead, screaming and crying as their loved ones were cut down.
Valdomir tries one more time, " there's no place in Sovngarde for cowards!" The generals' hand strays to his still sheathed sword "You will order your men back, or I'll send you there myself!" Although he wants nothing more than to kill this fool that's been placed in command, he gives the order. He doesn't look back as the undead fall upon the townspeople with blades, axes, and spells.
Valdomir blinks away tears from the memory of the massacre. Deciding he's probably had enough for one night, he straightens up, and sends two bottles of ale to the young Breton woman. When he salutes her with his own tankard, she meets his eyes and smiles. Though he can't place it, something seems strange about the womans' eyes...almost eerily bright. Shrugging it off as the affects of too much ale on the body, he makes his way to the door (only stumbling once) and begins his walk home. It is starting to rain, only a drizzle, but Valdomir knows that the storm isn't far off.
He arrives at his house literally seconds before it hits, and listens to the rain as it marches across the roof of his small dwelling. A fire is already roaring in the pit, and he can't remember starting it before he left. Shrugging, he unties the strings of his damp tunic when voice speaks up from the shadows. "Well, well, Valdomir Iceclaw...I was starting to think you'd stay at the inn all night long" the Nord freezes, then asks the universal question "Who's there?" The man in the shadows laughs, not a sinister laugh ,although it seems that way to the drunken Nord. Then the speaker steps out of the darkness, revealing an elven face,clearly Altmer, and yet too pale, while he is clad in Thalmor robes.
Now Valdomir is scared. Not just by the supernatural aura of fear that the vampire gives off, but by what he knows to be impossible. Apparently even more amused by his silence, the vampire moves forward more into the light cast by the fire. " Come now, Valdomir, is it not common courtesy to offer your guest a seat and some refreshment?" The Nord finally finds his voice "How are you here? You died at the battle of Whiterun!" Salthar Vivarian smiles lightly
"Yes, I suppose I did... but then, I died quite some time ago" the Altmer looks surprised that his unwilling host has not joined him at the table. "Come, sit down,make yourself comfortable" he says, gesturing to the seat and taking the one across from it.
The former commander brings his hands down to either side of his belt, reaching for the twin steel war axes he has there at all times. They're gone. 'How? So stupid of me to lose the damned things when I need them most!' he laments to himself. Salthar has noticed the movement and his gaze turns hard and hostile. " Now you're just being rude" he states coldly.
Swallowing nervously, Valdomir sits across from the vampire, who smiles and nods. "As for refreshment, I-uh, don't think I have anything that would suit you" he stammers, glancing around for something that could be used as a weapon. "Of course you do!" Exclaims the Altmer vampire in jovial tones,"the bottle of Collovian Brandy in your cupboard will do quite nicely" another mood swing, or the vampire is an excellent actor. Valdomir suspects the latter.
When the former allied commander makes no move to get said brandy, Salthar flicks a finger at the cupboard, whose doors fly open, and release the bottle of brandy along with a pair of goblets. He then proceeds to pour out a measure of alcohol into each goblet, sliding one across the table to his host, who snags it in mid-slide. "To your long life" toasts the vampire, holding his own goblet up and chuckling, before taking an experimental sip. "I admit, it's been sometime since I've had any of this, but by my reckoning, it is of an excellent quality" Valdomir sips his own drink, but barely tastes it. Although, it does give him the courage to ask his question.
" Are you here to kill me?" He asks, and is proud to hear that his voice is steady and firm. Salthar sighs, and sets his goblet down " I see that we're doomed to speak of business" he says, as if they are two old friends, rather than a murderous vampire and a doomed Nord. " The answer to your question, put bluntly, is 'yes' " the Altmer paused, to see the Nords reaction, which, Valdomir surprises himself by showing very little fear. " That is, of course, the blunt answer" the vampire repeats, giving the old warrior cause to suspect something else. " Of course, usually when I want someone killed, I simply send one of my lesser brethren to get the job done. But I remember you" the vampire let that sink in before continuing " you were willing to hold your ground, sacrifice your life, to defend innocent people...nobility is an uncommon trait among you savages"
Valdomir knows he should defend his race, but he knows the Altmer vampire speaks the truth. Savages is exactly what the Nords have become, and so the ex-soldier nods, and asks, perhaps ill-advisedly " Are telling me this to taunt me, or have you lost your nerve?" The vampires' eyes flash, but he only stands and leans across the table towards him. He'd always assumed that vampires smelt like death, after all, they were creatures of undeath. Surprisingly, this vampire only smelt lightly of mint, like you might find in an herbal tea. " I offer you an escape...an escape from this prejudice and disgust that has become a day to day occurrence for you" whispered Salthar.
The Nord knew as soon as he heard Salthar's offer that he would accept. It was a chance to regain his honor be reborn...not as a lowly commander in an army of cowards and thugs, but a deadly and powerful warrior. "I accept" he says quietly. The vampire seems pleased with Valdomirs' acceptance, and circles to stand behind him. He feels the slight pinch as Salthar's fangs puncture the flesh of his throat, before he blacks out. He awakes what feels like several hours later, to see a set of beautiful ebony armour laid out on the table, along with a crossed pair of ebony war axes. A note lays on top of the armour.
My friend, I thank you for accepting my offer, consider the armour and weapons a gift. Once you have done what you must, meet me and join the coven at the Bloodlet Throne.
Valdomir smiles. He knows what he has to do, and more importantly, where to find the person that was responsible for the loss of his honour.
