433, The Last Year of the Third era. Volume 1, part 1.
Deadlands. New Palace of Destruction.
Prince of Energy and Revolution bursted into the meltening halls of not-so-solid fire. Changeability fluxed from the two of his hands and two more were too busy tearing apart an unfortunate clanfear - routine activity in the lands of mighty Razor. And yet, something was off. There was no signs of him regaining his temper (for that was his temper), when a thread was spun under the massive cupola of the palace.
-What happened, O mighty Prince? What brought such foul curses on 5 and 8 and 15 corners?
Prince glanced up to see the the source of the voice.
-U wanna know? Then come down, spider, and I'll tell you.
Mehrunes placed himself on the throne with head reclined upon his hand while woman was descending. She wrapped his spear of hate in her hands as black as the eyes of Nocturnal and began to weave the pleasure-yarn. Silk threads of joy were interconnecting into the patterns of delight, sex-web known only to the children of Mephala.
-Will my Master tell me who dared to insult him?
At the next moment Dagon has grabbed her throat and said through teeth:
-Watch your words. Noone. Insults. Me!
He tried to see the fear in her eyes but there was none. This kin doesn't know fear. Wasn't it the reason he agreed to their services at the first place? He loosened his grip and answered weary.
-The sands are running out, plans are failing, I may actually lose. And I has visited Molag Bal, my brother in fire. He plumed himself upon his plots, said he could enslave the entire Arena in two years, said he is better than me. So we made another wager: one of us should conquer Nirn in one year. To Void with such a bids! How am I supposed to do this?
Spider ended her spinning and poured the sweet ichor in the Prince's ear:
-Don't worry, Master. My mother-father from whose egg I emerged has a gift. Chain of elegant murders for you to win. Will you accept it?
On the opposite side of Throne Hall there were two daedra guards - faydroth and dremoroth - whispering one to another.
-You know, maybe seducers wasn't really the bad choice?
Cyrodiil. Kvatch. Panoxius manor. 1-st of Morning star
-And we were tripping balls for six hours...
-Did you see old Benirus? They say that looser has actually crashed here together with his apprentice...
-No, you WILL help us! It is yours duty! Leyawin fell and anyone here can become the next target! Don't you see it?!
New Life night-party was in full spate. Cultists of Sanguine were filling and re-filling goblets with the drinks, necromancers got rocks off after the never budging in their magic chambers and bloodsuckers were as always busy making the petty politics.
-Of course Cheydinhal will help you, - leered Indarys Sulen, enmity between those two domains was the open secret.
-Yes, we are ready to dispatch the Fighters guild whenever you want, - caught up the speech his companion and Sulen returned to peering into the window. Sounds from the Kvatch Colisseum - it seemed Jiub was showing his battle prowess - could meet the ear even in this suburban manor. Dunmer hated such an arrangements as this party, but his presence here was the direct order from Matriarch. Supposedly he had to control the magic activity of the rival bloodlines and try to hear their hidden thoughts, but it was clearly impossible, far too highly placed persons were attending the ball for anyone to violence the propriety, and Matriarch knew this. Her intentions remained unknown; though some say she has prophetical abilities...
-Silence and Attention! Alatavilte shall speak!
-Thank you, my friend.
Eight hooded figures entered the main hall, accompanied with the Panoxius, pudgy Imperial, with another Imperial man (bearing too heavy similarity with Kvatch count) wrapped in the corpse-lovers robes and the woman ghost. One of the figures stepped further.
-On this auspicious day we are happy to declare that Cyrodiil Vampyrum Order from now is the eternal friend of the Black Worm Order and its master - divine Mannimarco.
-On behalf of every Worm Supreme I'm eager to confirm the announcement of the Firstborn and to bring the glorious news: King of Worms soon will condescent and bring with him the new era! Rejoice!
-Now I demand the represantives of the Arani to make their vows.
Assembly has sank into silence. Only the commotion of the blood-fountain was breaching the quietness. Speachless Sulen stared at the Firstborn and he wasn't the only one in such a state. Then necromancers bursted with sreamings of joy, but with the movement of hand the vampire muted them.
-Also Black Worms will help us defend ourself from the foreign invaders, - now it was the necromancers' turn to be astonished...
Sulen and Kaeso were walking down the city streets. Party was still on-going but few people except of sanguinites actually remained. Panoxius was ready to give the shelter for everyone who was in need, but Cheydinhal's spokesmen preferred to depart to their hired house. They walked amongst the celebrates. In the distance fireworks entertained the public, bards were singing vulgar songs on the corners, the image of Akatosh stared blankly from the top of the church and half-concious priest drank something beneath it. Kvatch. City of decadence. Suddenly Dunmer stopped and started to look about.
-Flee from me Sheogorath, may your madness never take me,- said he and blessed himself with the triangle sign.
-?
-I saw Emperor Uriel Septim right now, - was the answer. He was still trying to find the one, who caught his eye.
-Hm, - Kaeso too began to look around him, - maybe Emperor actually decided to spend the holydays here?
-No, another Septim. Fifth. I saw him once, when he hadn't yet been crowned.
-Ha-ha, that's really the joke of Madman. Let's go, - several minutes they walked in silence and then Kaeso asked, - say, why do you hate New Life festivities so much?
-What do you mean by this?
-I mean last year you have openly sweared to present Vicente to Dagon if he would once more congratulate you on it. Or is it a secret?
-Place him in the Corner of Dagon, - reflexively corrected him Sulen, - and stuff his mouth with the garlic... He just finally pissed me off. Don't you know him? That smile of his...
-So it is a secret?, - concluded Kaeso while looking at the frowned attendant.
-Not really. My wife returned to ash on this day.
-And you speak it so calm?!
-Why shouldn't I? She now sails through the Oblivion and look over me. I have talked to her after this many times.
-You Dunmers are weird.
-It's you, who is weird. How long ago has your own wife died? How many generations of your children you buried? Isn't it strange for undead to care about death? Let's stop this discussion. We almost arrived. Where will we head tomorrow?
-To Skingrad, with count's legate.
Valenwood. Floating leaves islands. Direnni summerhouse. 1-st of Morning Star
Bird's voice proclaimed:
-Serjo Telvanni Ralmiso Mora has arrived!
Dark elf... Spectre of dark elf... Lich? Something has slowly floated inside the richly decorated room and turned its head backward.
-Direnni are happy to greet sæla Ralmiso in our demesne! Let the light always shine on you. How was your journey?, - words belonged to the Altmer entering the room from the other side, - And yes, that was harpy. Imga have a lot of work on their legs.
One named Ralmiso Mora turned his attention to the host and answered with a creepy smile:
-Greetings, sera. Let no ash foul your garments but mine only...
-For when you stride through the ash, you become stronger, - laughed Direnni. He has lived for many centuries and still was amused with the Dunmeri proverbs. After pouring a beverage placed on the table into the silver goblet he lively continued, - I see you haven't yet restored teleportation spells?
-Same as you, - answered dark elf with a grin. His face was of a mummy, exiccated skin pulled on the skull. He flied - his legs (or what was there instead of legs?) weren't touching the floor - closer to the collocutor, who has sit down in the chair. They gazed fixedly one at another for some time.
-So you were able to restore the Shadow Leap, - high elf was trying to read emotions on the not-living face of his guest.
-Same as you, - answered the dark elf again and grinned even wider, baring his unusually white teeth. They dreadfully contrasted with his almost black skin.
-Gwinas Bocylye has arrived!, - Bird announcement has interrupted this "friendly" converstion and Altmer - his name was Thuvenathil Direnni - has rose up to greet the new guest.
-Direnni are happy to greet sæla Gwinas in our demesne! Let the light always shine on you. How was your journey?
Gwinas came out of wooden wall and totally ignored the ceremonial welcome. Prim Direnni hated this behavior from the beginning of their acquaintanceship. The Bosmers' ability of walking through the wood was so offensive, it was the same as saying, "look, I can assasinate you whenever I want".
Wood elf adjusted his silk raiments, his exquisite bone comb and looked on the party.
-So, everyone has gathered. Sera Ralmiso, how is our business? Are we ready?
-He-he. Yes, we are. Arranges have been made, - un-alive laugh, that came from the Dunmer's mouth, could scare away a flock of cliff racers. He then reached under his tattered brown clothes and pulled out the set of candles and the glass phial with the strange blood-like substance inside; his companions took out the same phials and also Gwinas picked up the flute and Thuvenathil placed the parchment on the table.
-In this case, let us start, - and Bosmer began to extract sounds from the instrument, the mesmerising melody of binding.
Dunmer has placed five candles on the corners of the parchment and started the incantation:
-With the dreugh wax cursed by Enslavement...
-With the parchment blessed by Inevitability, - continued Thuvenathil. They now were singing together.
-On the day of Oath with the music of Storyteller we mix our blood in the bittercup and drink it together, - they poured the content of all three phials down unto the parchment and it began to crawl, form sigils and fluctuate. Elfs were performing the rite until the candles have completely burned down. Then the parchment folded by itself many times, wrapped by the candle wax, and was sealed by the Gwynas' bone flute. Tired master of the house felt on the chair and began to drink the wine (or what can you find in the Valenwood instead?) right from the bottle and wood elf followed his example under the derisive gaze of the floating Telvanni.
-AE CLAVICUS VILE ALTADOON!, - finished Ralmiso. - Now, let me take my leaving. I have a long road to walk.