Skiam's Account

The following characters I'll mention are a creation of the game Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion: Dagon, Ugak, Count Hassildor, King Hellseth, and Martin Septim. The rest are mine.

Book One

         I was still a bit groggy from that night’s brandy shots when Captain Brania called me to attention outside of Skingrad’s large wooden gate. There were others there, but only Brania, Aunry, and I had the sharp eyes and calm demeanor of experienced soldiers. Skingrad’s garrison had taken a hit in the Oblivion Battles, as had all cities – the Legion included – but not like Skingrad. Hassildor’s men were used up defending his city in Dagon’s darkness, aiding Bruma against a great Gate, and fighting the more recent threat of Horvid’s bandit raids.
         The city guards lined up in ranks of five rows of twelve before the Captain were a bit young, and much too nervous. I knew from the start they’d have trouble.
          “Your emperor sent us to lead the attack at dawn,” she told them. They stiffened their necks like wooden dolls. If their rigid stance at attention impressed Brania, she didn’t show it. “Sixteen refugees from Kvatch hoping to work the vineyards were waylaid just west of here. One of them made it here alive. Martin Septim would have demanded justice, especially in his own backyard. It is your count’s responsibility to mete that justice, and it is his and your responsibility to keep the citizens of Skingrad safe from the likes of the spineless marauders encamped a four hour walk southwest from here. What will happen to your city if no one can travel safely to Kvatch or the port city of Anvil? Will you tolerate the wicked preying on the hapless and the citizens of your fellow trading towns?”
         The shouts of “No, ma’am!” that ensued were a little bolder than their expressions. They still looked to each other like they didn’t know quite what to do with the long swords belted to their hips.
          “Good,” said Brania. “We leave immediately. Forward three rows make a column four men wide. The rest of you will be on horseback, courtesy of Ugak.” Aunry and I stood next to our captain, and she spoke to us so the others wouldn’t hear. “I could use your life-seeking spells, Aunry. Skiam, you’ll ride next to me until we get close. Then you can circle around and do what you do best.”
         What I did best. The three of us were Imperial Legion soldiers, but I was the only one who didn’t wear the standard issue armor that goes with the job. I wore light leather and no cumbersome helmet. Captain Brania knew just how to use my talents, just like she knew how to use every soldier ever to have the privilege of being under her command. They listened to her, the men, and obeyed without question. Most people thought it was because she was too beautiful to ignore, but I recognized the leadership she must have learned from her father, once a captain of the Palace guard. And she recognized my ability to stay hidden in shadow before even I really knew I was good at it.
         So we marched along the road in the middle of the night, under bright stars, with both moons shining vividly upon our blades. I suppose it was appropriate how brisk the air was. Aunry kept her mage’s cowl forward, and the rest of us breathed on our hands to keep them nimble. It wouldn’t do to lose grip on your sword in the middle of a fight.
         Our procession, despite our green soldiers, was quite a sight. Red and black crescent shields, matching armor, gleaming weapons, and the muscled flanks of our horses almost made me forget the legions of Imperial soldiers I’d witnessed. The men calmed considerably under the heavens, as is often their mysterious effect on mortals.
         Brania halted the march and signaled for quiet. We’d arrived at a vista of the valley descending into Cyrodill’s southern boarder. Just ahead, the road began to dip as it meandered among tree and rock covered crags and hills. Anticipating someone nearby, we all instinctively looked at Aunry. She scanned the countryside carefully, shaking her head when she’d gone full circle. “They must have gone into the caves or fled,” I heard Brania whisper. She nodded her head forward, and I picked out a dead campfire with dirt kicked onto it at the side of the road about fifteen meters ahead.
          “Wait,” Aunry called in the same hastened whisper, “I can see several of them behind the door to the cave ahead now.”
          Captain Brania gave me that look she gave when telling me to go about my business. She turned to the nearest of Skingrad’s men, the guard captain who’d gladly given up command in deference to the Imperial captain. “I can see a cave entrance farther along the road, but that path up there to the right could lead to another entrance. We have to cover it. Pass the word along to the rest of the men to dismount and divide ranks. I’ll lead the first half to the main entrance. Aunry will lead the rest, along with you, up the pathway to the second entrance. If it’s a dead end, turn and reinforce my position.”
         She said something more, but I’d already gotten off my horse and slipped off the road, slinking in the silver-limned shadows to scout the surroundings. Noticing the setting of the moons and the tell-tale purple glow on the eastern horizon, I hurried.
         Brania was right. There were campfire ruins by both entrances, and some of the same kinds of things, random stolen things, in the surrounding area. Someone had been living above ground, and the number of tracks by the doors indicated the caves were used often as well. Oddly, there were few tracks that led directly from one entrance to the other; I assumed this was because they were connected below ground.
         I could have tried slipping into one of the cave doors before the troops arrived, but I suspected there were others outside. I’m still not sure how I knew; maybe the forest was quiet like the hush of a raptor bird diving toward the earth before striking its clueless prey. When the attack began, and Brania and her soldiers tore the door open, I knew just how right I was.
         Metal clashed and flesh gave up its blood to the onslaught of armed troops. Men and women of every race fought to defend the cave entrance. They appeared to a sensible person as frightened and hesitant. But the soldiers cutting them down were not sensible. They saw the swords and axes raised their way and fell into that careless state of rampage necessary for survival on the chaos of a battlefield. But this wasn’t a battlefield; this was a death-filled hole, a bloody tunnel where it took several seconds for the screams of the dying to stop echoing back to you vengefully.
         I could hear shouts of victory on both sides of the road. Apparently, Aunry’s group had it just as easy.
         But, seeing what was coming, the cleverness of it all, I wanted to shout at the top of my lunges for Brania to hear. I wanted to tell her that the reason Aunry could only see the people in the tunnel was because the unliving vampires stalking their position were waiting en masse to snap their talons and raptors’ beaks down on their helpless prey.
         Brania, Aunry, and the Skingrad captain of the watch were caught in the tunnel as frightening figures with wicked blades descended on their men, slashing and crushing bones with devilish strength. Shouts of resolution became terrified shrieks.
         I couldn’t bear it, but I couldn’t save any of them. Peering over a rock, a tall man in fine black clothes stood and oversaw the carnage. He was probably altmer once, but the softness of his golden features was darkened by the brooding shadow of bloodlust as he smiled grimly to himself. Realizing this man was probably the leader of the vampire clan, maybe even the primogenitor, I drew my shortsword and crept slowly around the wind-worn rock.
         As dim as it was on that moonlit night, there were no shadows between me and the vampire, nothing to hide behind or cover the movement of my shadow. With a dive, a desperate thrust, and a noiseless grunt, and lunged toward him. The blur of motion the man became upon noticing me wasn’t enough to stop the blade from piercing his heart. He stood there for a moment, his countenance one of absolute confusion, and fell into me. I yanked my silver-fashioned sword out of his chest unceremoniously and ran toward the ambush.
         What I remember of that moment is a little hazy, like my memory could only recount discontinuous flashes of what happened, and my mind filled in the rest with the frightening images of the nightmares I was to have from that night on for the rest of my life. I was running to the cave, and someone clawed me on the side of my face. I saw leering faces beset with fangs as I stumbled to the grassy ground. Red eyes burned in my direction, and cold hands clasped my arms and throat. A sudden pain in the back of my head ended my memory of that moment completely.

~ ~ ~

         To the reader: before I explain to you what happened after I awoke, I must tell you the nature of my relationship with Captain Brania. What ensued is closely tied to how I felt about her, and I will recount why I did what I did for personal reasons alone. I am ashamed of what I’ve become, and the only thing I feel that can release me from this impossible burden is shedding this story onto paper like the cathartic release of bad blood. Hate me if you will, but know that there is no one of you who could hate the dunmer known as Skiam Ashwelias as much as do I.
         Brania Feltare was the best of her outfit when she served in the Mournhold royal garrison before we met. By the time she was nineteen years of age, she was considered the best strategist, swordsman, and all-around leader in the city. I was cutting purses and breaking into houses during that time. Wicked and merciful fate brought us together. You see, she received word of her father’s death in the Imperial City; her inheritance of a house in the Elven Gardens District, and some of her father’s other sentimental belongings, convinced her to come to Cyrodill and make a name for herself here.
         As it happened, I learned of a temporarily empty house in the Elven Gardens District once owned by a Palace guard captain. One cloudy, foggy night I picked the lock of that house and entered. I quickly sliced open the pillows on the upstairs bed, emptied them of feathers, and began dumping in them anything I thought that looked valuable.
         It would have been a profitable little foray had I not been caught, but it hardly matters now. As I turned to the door leading back downstairs, a beautiful woman outfitted in burgundy red plate armor stood in my exit, her helmet tucked under one hand and the other hand resting on her hip, conveniently near a sheathed scimitar. Her fair skin, lithe form, and pointed ears made it clear she was bosmer. Her warrior’s stance, hardened blue eyes, and stern expression made it clear to me that I had to give myself in or die. I was handy with a blade, but she was a damned royal guard of King Hellseth’s court!
         Instead of dragging me to the Imperial prison and personally throwing me into a dark cell for the next five years, she sat down and questioned me. In the end, I realized she wasn’t really interested in doling out justice. She wanted to talk to someone after a long, despondent trip from the Morrowind province. This was my way out, I thought, so I was happy to speak to her. I even told the truth, if you can imagine that.
         It was surprising enough when she let me go that night, but when she found me in the market district and offered me a job, I had to accept. She had joined the Imperial Legion, and she wanted an escort on her road to Chorrol for her first patrol mission. More than that, she didn’t want to ride the whole way with no one to talk to. I thought it was strange then, but not when I look back. There was no one else in the city she liked to talk to; it seemed that she had taken her father’s death hard, and was not very sociable in those times.
         We found a small farmhouse overridden by ogres on the northern edge of the Imperial Reserve and killed them all. We had camped just off the road one night on the journey, and she told me she heard noises. I went off to check, moving from the shadow of one tree to the next, until I found the place. It was in poor repair, and no one was likely to have lived there for years, but I figured it would be safer for travelers if we cleared the ogres so close to the main road. She agreed when I came back and reported everything. It was a rough fight, but she managed to kill three of them during the time I had slain one. Of course, she was using a long sword and I had only a short silvery blade she had purchased for me before the trip. But I knew I was professionally outdone the moment she began her attack.
         To make a long, happy story short, we became close. By the time we got back to the Imperial City, I was a new man. I decided to join the Legion with her, and she soon became captain over me. I might have loved her, but we were never really in love. It was a fleeting hope, nothing more. She loved me the way she loved those she commanded, by treating them well and listening to their needs. I loved her the way one loves his dearest friend, the person who turned his life around and gave it promise. There were a couple nights of the kind reveling soldiers know well that things became romantic, but we both knew our limits and bounds.
         If there was anything I truly felt for her, it was that I owed her part of my life. I sought to repay her by making her life all the better, by easing the passing of her father’s memory, by paying attention to her personal life when the chaos of a soldier’s life swirled around her.
         When I woke up in that dark cave, I was grieving the loss of a life I was only just getting to know. Mostly, however, I was angry. I was angry when I saw the face of Captain Brania lean over my prone body and curl her lips into a mournful smile. Sharp little points of white glistened on each side of that smile. I had to have been out for a couple days for her to have turned, and I shivered as the thought struck me. I was not cold. In fact, the cold stone of the cave floor didn’t even make me chilly. Even before I realized I was painfully thirsty, I knew I too was a vampire.
         Brania brushed my cheek with the tips of her fingers. “I’m sorry, Skiam. It was the only way to let you live. They would have killed you first, because you killed their master,” she said to me. I thought I heard sadness in her voice, but her predacious visage masked her true emotions. She looked cruel; the sharpness in her once crystal blue eyes had turned to smoldering gems of contained rage. Looking at her, I was hungry.
          “It would have been better,” I whispered, wary of other vampires in the cave.
          “Listen to me!” she rasped. “They are weak without their master, now. We can control them. I can become their mistress, and you can be at my side.”
         I pleaded with her to come to her senses, but there was little conviction in my own voice. The more I talked, the hungrier I became, the more I thirsted. I wanted brandy, or – lacking that – water. I wanted anything, but I knew what my body craved. I needed blood. While I tried to convince her of her error, she grinned at me, seeing me become desperate for blood. I scratched my arms and shoulders, and soon I was fawning at her feet.
          “I will give you your first taste of blood,” she said in superiority. “But you must come with me. The others were going to torture you after you’d awoken, but I convinced them of your loyalty to me. They let me make you what I am to save your life. Otherwise the wound to your head would have been fatal. I gave you strength and immortality. Please come with me.”
         She didn’t have to say any more. I curled into a ball on the ground and whimpered, “I’ve already agreed to go wherever you go. I will do what I must.” I was broken, and the promise I had seen in my life with the Legion was gone. I was a demon, but I still had Brania. I had only Brania.
         Cry in outrage, world. Cringe. Mistress Brania led me to the only survivors of the Skingrad garrison. Some of them had been turned, the rest had been thrown in a damp corner to await their grisly deaths. I was to be the instrument, the wielded blade. Brania handed me my silver weapon, but first I sated my monstrous thirst before I put them to the sword.
         Blood gushed to the beat of a horrified heart as I sank my fangs into someone’s neck – only later did I remember it was poor Aunry, drained of her magika by poisons. It tasted like warm wine to my palate, a soporific to the terrible hunger that lurked just under my thoughts, ready to send me into a frenzied rampage. I was wild with their deaths. I slashed and stabbed until they were no longer moving. Rivulets of sanguine liquid ran into the cracks in the ground, seeping into the deep parts of Nirn. Pools of the sweet stuff stained my boots.
         All the while Brania stood to the side, pained and excited at the same time. We had gone to that place to avenge the deaths of innocent people, and we ended up killing them as they were used for bait. Our purpose was to uphold the law, but we were now creatures of ravenous lust and terror. Together we fed on the remaining soldiers greedily.
         Mistress Brania was wrong about the other vampires. They saw her trying to wrest hold of the clan, and they drove her out.
         I followed her, destined to serve until a good adventurer ends my life at the end of a silver blade not unlike the one I still carry. Condemn me, hunt me, or tell your children stories about my haunts with my Brania. But know this: I will always be too thirsty for my conscience to restrain me.