Chapter Text
Morthal lay on the southern edge of the Drajkmyr marsh: a foreboding area with a tiny town that had clearly been bypassed by the civil war. There were very few things to attract visitors, much less be a tactical advantage for soldiers; there was nothing in the way of a market, no blacksmiths, stables, or shrines. The place sported an alchemy shop, a guardhouse, and an inn. The rest of the buildings were simple homes, with gardens that were tiny and individual to the houses.
Dry ground was hard to come by, and I had the choice of slogging through the murky, stagnant pools of water or keeping my boots high and dry on the elevated wooden walkways. I preferred the latter. Everywhere else in Skyrim, it was a beautiful, sunny day. But here, a thick fog crawled out of the marsh and undulated around my legs, and ominous, twisted trees could be seen occasionally through the constantly shifting mist that enshrouded the surrounding marsh, giving it a foreboding appearance. The torches of the town were muted to hovering yellow wisps at a distance.
I could see why many would choose to steer clear of the place altogether, but an Argonian had been one of the very few travelers to have visited this place and had brought a dark and disturbing rumor out of the small town. I hadn’t needed the prodding of my patron Aedra or Daedra to bring me to this tiny backwater town, though Stendarr and Meridia both had agreed with me that something sinister was going on.
As I came over the low rise, the source of the scandal was clear; the remains of a house sat on the edge of town, burned timbers reaching above the mist like shattered bones. The destruction was fresh enough for the char to still give off the reek of the fire that had gutted it, even at a distance.
I approached the house cautiously, eyeballing it before waving down a guard. No time like the present to start gathering clues and gossip.
“Pardon me, Guardswoman,” I said politely, “but what’s the deal with the burned-down house?”
“That is not a question many will answer,” the guard said plainly. “It's bad luck to talk about that place. People are seeing a pale light drifting about near that building since it burned.” She hurried away, gesturing to herself in a way that made me think she was asking a Divine for protection.
I frowned briefly, then headed for the inn; usually, that was the place to catch rumors. The sign at the door proclaimed it to be the Moorside Inn. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, however, I realized that my pickings were going to be slim; there were only two people inside. One was a fellow Redguard, who had to be the innkeeper, and the other was an Orc, plucking at a lute in a way that indicated he had no idea what the various notes even were, much less how to string them into a song. I winced as the clumsy fellow plucked an out-of-tune string so roughly that it slapped the soundboard, giving a sour metallic note along with the sound of abused wood.
The Redguard woman glowered at the Orc in a way that indicated that this was not the first time he had mistreated his instrument in such a manner. Her mouth opened, probably to make a scathing remark, when the light from the doorway caught her eyes, and her expression turned to one of desperate hope as I finished crossing the threshold.
She jumped to her feet eagerly; “Welcome to the Moorside Inn! Kick off your boots, and stay awhile. Let me know if there's anything I can help you with.”
I looked around and asked, a little uncertainly, “Um, I take it business is slow, miss… uh...?”
She scoffed a little, “Name’s Jonna. And business, slow? No. It just ain’t there at all. Few enough reasons to pass through Morthal before the war started. Now... Well, let's just say the front door doesn't get much use.”
“Whoa, ouch. My sympathies. Well, I think I’m going to be here for a little while, so I’d like to rent a room and take my meals if I can.”
Jonna perked up as though I’d invited her on a shopping trip to the city of Solitude, “I won’t lie; I take what little business I can git. I'm grateful for anyone willin’ to spend money here.”
I paid for at least a few days' stay, plus meals, and the woman set about preparing a room for me. She changed the bedding, brought out fresh furs from storage to make the bed warm, and soon had a simple but delicious-smelling meal started in a pot.
I got the feeling that my handful of coins meant she was going to pull out all the stops to make me a happy customer. I took a seat at the bar so I could be sociable, adjusting Dawnbreaker in its sheath so it wouldn’t tangle with the stool.
“What inspired you to run an inn here?” I asked, just to start a conversation.
“Runnin’ an inn weren't my plan,” she confessed with a wry grimace, “But Falion decided to move here, so I joined him.”
“Falion?”
“My brother. We’ve been together since we were young’uns. We move together, see. Keep an eye on each other. That’s the way we’ve always been. Falion has his conjuration work to keep him busy, and I needed somethin’ to do. So, here I am.”
“Here you are,” I agreed.
I had nothing against the school of conjuration on its own. However, it was very dangerous work, and there were things that could be conjured that certainly shouldn’t be. I paused, then let the subject go. It wasn’t my business, and I had more pressing concerns.
Switching topics, I asked, “What’s the story behind that burned-out house?”
“Hroggar's house?” She paused and leaned against the counter thoughtfully, folding her arms, “Well, it burned down not too long ago. It's a real pity about his wife and kid. The screams woke half the town. Most folk won't go near it now for fear it's cursed.”
Divines. I thought in horror. “How did the fire start?”
“Hroggar claims it was a hearth fire.” Her doubtful expression said about how much faith she put in that explanation, and she followed it up with a straightforward, “Some folks say Hroggar started it himself.”
“With his own wife and child inside?” I felt a chill trickle down my spine.
“That's what they say.” Her expression turned bitter, and when she continued, things settled into place in my mind. “See, he's living with Alva now. That started the day after the fire. It ain't right, movin' in with a new love the day after your kin die like that.”
“Let me guess, the guards can’t prove Hroggar did it, and he and Alva deny it when questioned.”
“Aye, you have the right of it. Our Jarl would sure like to know if he did, though. Might even pay to find out.”
I bit my lip. Many people who were touched by Sheogorath and became crazy through and through, but were largely harmless. One of the more famous stories was about an Argonian who proceeded to dedicate his life to hunting down forks, seeking some sort of legendary artifact hidden among them. But some people touched by Sheogorath went down a much darker path; murder was to them what making horseshoes was for a blacksmith. But my own experience with these sorts of things said that this was something vastly different and much, much worse.
I needed to be alert, and I needed to be thorough.
I glanced out the high windows and noted that the sun had set, and the already fog-enshrouded town was now almost pitch black. I decided that I would visit the Jarl once the sun came up. Guards would patrol the town at night because they had to; I knew better than to wander around in the dark.
Jonna placed a tankard of mead in front of me, with promises of stew as soon as it was ready. I had just managed a ‘thank you’ when we both heard the inn’s door open over the sound of the Orc’s still tone-deaf plunking.
To my surprise, a Nord woman came in. She was tall and fair-skinned. She was also wearing clothing that befit a tavern wench; thin straps of fabric held her dress upon her shoulders, and the neckline was essentially nonexistent. She was completely bare in front from her neck to about mid-breast. It was amazing that her mams didn't pop out of their bare-minimum, semi-transparent coverings to say hello. The corset was laced just enough to provide a bit of support, but clearly had no use other than to enhance her assets. Her hair was shoulder length, straight, and dark… and her eyes were a deep brown-amber that glowed of their own accord.
I choked down my gasp of horror, and it took everything in me not to react. The fact that she walked around without hiding her eyes meant that no one in this backwater town recognized one of the most telling signs of a vampire.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, taking her in more carefully. Her skin was definitely somewhat pale, but she had also clearly fed, and recently. This had mitigated the withered look that vampires tended to garner; unless they fed very well, they tended to look like a wrinkly old apple about the mouth and eyes, as well as gaunt about the cheeks.
Clearly unused to witnesses in this quiet inn, the vampire didn't so much as glance in my direction as she sashayed her way right up to the counter and leaned on it with a close-mouthed smile.
Definitely a new vampire. She knows to hide her fangs, but she’s not canny enough or perceptive enough to be aware of her surroundings or to notice differences, like new patrons. The older ones would have noticed me almost immediately. She’s stupid. Dangerous, but still stupid. I narrowed my eyes marginally and tracked her with my gaze, taking care not to move too much; I didn’t want to catch her attention just yet.
“Why, good evening Jonna!” the new vampire all but purred, leaning forward so that her melons bulged against the fabric that just barely held them in check.
What the…? I did a tiny double take, my eyes darting from one woman to the other. Is this woman, this vampire, for real?
Jonna seemed to know her well enough, but kept her eyes firmly on Alva’s face, and smiled cheerfully, “What can I getcha, Alva?”
Alva’s smile was less friendly and more predatory. Her voice was almost seductive, and her gaze roved over Jonna’s body as though she was a dessert that Alva very much wanted to gobble up before dinner. “What can't you get me, sweetie?”
Oh, ew. Have a little class there, darlin’. Whether she was uthevi ari [opposite love], tatami ari [same love] or a qo ari [two love], really didn't matter to me. I was tatami ari myself, but most people preferred less… blatant and inappropriate overtures to the partners they were attracted to. Furthermore, the way my skin crawled, I didn’t think Alva was thinking of anything as innocent as sex.
Jonna was definitely taken aback by the overture and uncomfortably offered, “Umm... Did you want somethin’ to eat?”
“Eat? No, I don't think I'm... hungry. Not now, at least.” Her gaze said very much otherwise, and Joanna began to look a wee bit trapped.
I chose that moment to clear my throat and pick up the tankard of ale that Jonna had set before me to take a sip.
Alva twitched and turned her head quickly to eye me; first warily, then more avidly. Ee-yup. This is a vampiric recruiting-through-seduction scheme, and a rather poorly executed one at that. The thought was scornful and disgusted.
Jonna looked quite relieved that Alva’s attention was elsewhere, because she spoke rather quickly. “Right. Okay, tell me if you change yer mind,” she hustled to the other side of the bar and proceeded to polish a perfectly clean tankard with a white cloth.
Alva, however, now only had eyes for me, “Well, well… aren't you the pretty one. I bet all the men chase after you.” She started to ease toward me.
“Hmm. One or two do, but I don’t chase after them,” I kept my tone light.
Alva’s gaze lit up a wee bit more, and she sidled a slightly larger step toward me, “Oh?” She drew the word out, slipping a light lilt into it. “Do you, perhaps, favor the... hmm… fairer sex?”
I pitched my voice to sound sorrowful and a bit wistful, staring down into my tankard as though my thoughts were clouded by grief. “I do. Unfortunately, I’m in mourning.”
“Oh,” much shorter this time, and a drizzle of sympathy entered her voice, “Did you lose someone close to you?”
“My intended.” I allowed my genuine grief to fill my voice, and Alva paused and seemed to take stock as I continued, “She was recently;” fifteen years ago; “murdered by a brood of vampires on our wedding night.”
The vampire hastily checked herself and turned a little away from me, bowing her head as if in shared grief, “I’m… so sorry to hear that. My condolences for your loss. Please forgive my intrusion. I will not disturb you further.”
The vampire knew when to make a strategic retreat, and the door closed behind her mere seconds later. I scowled at the last swishing hemline of her dress. That certainly shut her up, but she’s also going to be wary of me, now.
I shook it off and rubbed my hand over my eyes. It was no surprise that my patrons had pushed me here. Hroggar’s house burned down with his wife and child inside, and not a day later, he shacks up with a vampire. There was only one explanation for that: Vampire Seduction. Hroggar had been enthralled, and probably forced to do the unthinkable at the vampire’s command. It needed to be cast once every twenty-four hours; easy enough with poor Hroggar living with the damn bloodsucker. Gods… I bet I know how she feeds, too… I shuddered and stared down at my tightly clasped hands. A quiet little town, right in the middle of nowhere, with almost no one visiting or doing commerce. Small. Easily missed. No one is likely to even notice that it’s been taken by the undead for months, maybe even years. Just like my village...
There was a soft clunk in front of me, and I looked up to see a bowl of stew and Jonna’s deeply sorrowful face. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I gave her a slightly sad smile in return, “Thank you. On the plus side, Stendarr granted me the means to bring his justice upon them.”
She gave my hand a gentle pat; “Easy to say, less easy to feel. M’glad they got what was coming to them, but I know that some wounds just don’t ever fully heal.”
I blew out a breath and nodded, “At least it’s down to an ache, rather than a stab.”
“Well, you tell me if you need to drown your sorrows in a sweetroll or an apple pie, y’hear?” Her expression was just a smidge motherly, which warmed me toward her a little more, and she gave me a knowing wink, “I recommend either of those over alcohol. They bite less in the morning.”
I gave a small chuckle, nodded, and ate. The stew was good; seasoned, hot, and filling. As I burrowed under the furs for a good night’s rest, I promised my patrons that I would cleanse this town of the vampire’s presence. Their trickle of satisfaction followed me into the dark comfort of sleep.