บท 1: Prologue: Child From Nowhere
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Deep within a cave that rests atop the peak of one of Skyrim's northeastern mountains sat an oddity. A beautifully constructed manor decorated with tapestries of scarlet hue that, despite its size, only housed two women.
Inside the master bedroom, one woman whose hair was as dark as the night they dominated and whose eyes were a piercing amber that enraptured any who looked at them sat on the large bed. In her hands was a history book that covered one of the many events of the Third Era, an era she had skipped in its entirety and was reading about out of curiosity.
Off to her right sitting in front of a warm hearth was the other resident, with hair as red as the ichor that claims their diet and eyes a calm and icy blue that relaxed those caught in her presence. She was cleaning her regal rapier with autonomous familiarity. Not a spot of the edge wasn't sharpened and the protective yet ornate rose-gold hilt shined like it was still hot from the forge.
"Linnea, you know you've never told me much about your past, right?"
The red-haired woman stopped her motions, lifting the oil-covered cloth from the blade and placing it on the table next to her.
"I haven't?" Her voice echoed curiosity. She was sure that she had told Serana everything she had done since before their meeting.
"Mhm. You said you're from Cyrodiil, right? What did you do before you came to Skyrim?"
"Ah, that! That feels like ages ago, now," She said as she stood up and sat beside the other woman. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and kissed her on the head, eliciting a smile from them both. "So, what part do you want to know first?"
"Well, how about you tell me about your life," as she spoke, her fingers lifted off the book and caressed the other's face and drifted to the woman's smile before landing on the sharp canines that grew from her mouth, "before you got these?"
At that, the younger Nord briefly lost her smile before she stood up, grabbed a goblet full of crimson ichor and leaned on the terrace that overlooked the bedroom's entrance. As she took a sip of the harvested blood she woke from her temporary stupor.
"That was... nearly three centuries ago, now. Almost forgot about it myself, if I'm being honest." As she drank the rest of the liquid in one gulp, Linnea turned around to address the woman on her bed, "But if the princess wants, she will receive!"
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Year 352 of the Third Era:
On the edge of the Colovian Highlands of Cyrodiil, in between Bruma and Chorrol sat a village that held no more than 150 people. It was such a small hamlet that it was accurate to say anybody knew everybody and be accurate.
Inside this little town was a couple who were reasonably praised by the townsfolk for their healing capabilities. With their help, the townsfolk didn't have to worry much when someone got sick or the food stock got infected. But much to everyone's dismay, the doctor's wife died during childbirth when he was temporarily conscripted by the Imperial Army.
He, along with the town, grieved the loss of the kindhearted woman. But to pay homage to the woman's memory, he taught her the ways of restoration magic and alchemy and the townsfolk helped raise the girl.
When the girl grew up she captivated them all with an appearance that resembled her mother's and even surpassed it in terms of beauty. But thankfully her father was rather protective of her, shooing away any suitors that sought her hand. The girl didn't fight back against this, however, as most of the boys her age were gap tooth farmhands with neither charm nor brain.
The red headed girl didn't take this kindness from everyone in vain, though. She contributed to the village and helped her household financially by helping take care of and training the horses from a young age.
However one of her seeking suitors just so happened to be a coworker for her at the stables. Only a year older than her, he was a short pleasant-featured Imperial named Luthor. A year prior to the girl being cursed, the boy's father approached her father with a proposition of a fruitful marriage.
The girl's father swiftly declined and the girl was thankful for it. That didn't stop him from stealing hopeful glances her way, stares she would feel often but had learned to ignore.
Working the village was an arduous task for the duo already, yet it became even more so at the beginning of spring when a festival was always held to celebrate the winter passing and to coax good fortune from the gods for the agricultural year ahead.
It was tradition for the horses to be used during the festivities in various equestrian events, but the dancing filled the blonde woman with anxiety. All it has ever been for the past nineteen years was another evening of playing hide and seek with the same annoying suitors. But still, that didn't keep her from attending. And luckily so because other than having to respectfully decline the same five men she does every year the evening was beautiful.
The winter blanket of the month of Sun's Dawn had vanished, and the Spring was welcomed by a clear sky with glistening stars and a moon that cast a radiant silver glow over the village. She spent the evening on the outskirts of the revelry and watching the festivities from afar, never willing to fully commit to any of the ongoing events.
Upon the night reaching its end, her eyes were caught by a mysterious stranger she had never seen before. His eyes were marvellous and perfectly encapsulated the radiance of the sun, and his gaze was directed right at her.
It was the first time in her life that a man's gaze had stirred anything but discomfort in her. And she was swooning. He approached whilst she was trying to calm her raging mind and the next thing she knew they were dancing.
As the night came to an end, the man guided her away with a firm and gentle grasp and took her to the secluded stables at the end of the village. She followed willingly, and as she leaned against the wall of the stable with her head full of romantic thoughts, his eyes turned hostile, starving, and then he attacked her.
She made to scream, but the shock of his fangs biting into her neck took the wind out of her cry.
That was the last thing she remembered as she fell on the hay-strewn ground, blood seeping out of the fang marks just to feed the dry grass beneath her.
She woke up the next day at dawn, only vaguely remembering what had happened but feeling the wounds on her neck filled her with a moment of panic, just enough to shoot adrenaline through her veins. Thankfully she was still alone.
No one had returned to the stables by that point. Lucky for her the workers were all hungover to hear the morning call. As she passed through the field to her house, sunlight struck her in the eyes and forced a sharp pain to penetrate her head. Her only option was to get to bed, and she had made it through her village to her room without being seen by anyone.
She spent the next few days in bed, convincing her father to leave her be. Her excuse that she had simply drunk too much at the festival was becoming unconvincing, but were she to show herself her father would immediately recognise the symptoms.
With no other choice, she had gotten back to work the next day avoiding coming too close to anyone. The sunlight made her head throb more and more each day, and she knew what had happened.
She had even begun to feel an unquenchable thirst and water wasn't going to help. It resided deep in the back of her throat and was noticeably different. She knew the only way to quench it, and she knew this would calm her symptoms down.
Her thoughts were cut off by the arrival of Luthor. He had made some petty attempts at small talk and the blonde actually responded, giving him a sultry smile. He was so overcome with excitement and the survival instincts of a horny teenager that he was oblivious to the unnatural glow in her piercing crimson eyes and the supernatural edge to her canine teeth.
After convincing him to come with her she lured him away to one of the sheds near the stables and then fed on him, tasting the sweet crimson nectar for the first time. It gave her a high and made her feel powerful, but she could not face the townspeople again. The disappearance of one member of this town was everyone's concern, and this time she would be amongst the first suspects.
So the girl left with what of her father's gold she could fit into her purse, determined to hide amidst the caves and covens filled with more of her kind, hungry to feed upon more cattle.
Within this time she would master the teachings of her father and develop an understanding of illusion. But she wouldn't stop understanding the curse she took to embracing. While her red hair would grow into streaks of white and her sunkissed skin was permanently a pale white, when she fed her eyes returned to their vibrant blue, her hair its deep red, and her skin regained some of its colour.
When she was in the daylight she didn't feel the usual weakness to sunlight, instead feeling empowered in the night. She abused this trait to leave the caves and infiltrate the cities. She fed upon many over the decades in the biggest cities of Cyrodiil, however, she wasn't the only one to notice this quality.
The usual vampirism of Cyrodiil is caused by the more common Porphyric Hemophilia, But there are those who have contracted Sanguiniure Vampiris, which descended from Skyrim's Volkihar bloodline. In her case, she contracted Noxiphilic Sanguivoria, the disease of the blood of the first vampire who rejected her maker Molag Bal and the Aedra Arkay that refused her call for help.
As one of the children of Lamae Bal, those who shared her bloodline sought her out after she displayed skill and strength during the Oblivion Crisis to empower and indoctrinate their sister. They held earnest excitement when she was drained of her mortal blood and the Mother suffused her child with her own ichor, adding to the ranks of the Blood Scions, children of Lamae who have forsaken Arkay and Molag Bal along with his creations, the Vampire Lords.
The Mother set the child out on a new mission, to find more of her kin, to make more of her kin, and to feed happily on the mortal cattle they farm.
To this day, though, the girl doesn't know if that was a dream or not.
The Vampyrum Order took notice of the girl who fed in both day and night. Out of concern that her presence would scare the livestock and a desire to utilise her abilities, they established contact with her. They promised her teachings and wealth, and all she needed to do was engage in behaviour she already was planning on acting on.
She became an assassin, a saboteur, and unexpectedly an agent of the Empire during the war with the Aldmeri Dominion. The vampires of the Vampyrum Order feared that the carefully constructed organisation they had built over centuries would come crashing down if the high elves had one. The news of the treaty of the White-Gold Concordat enabled them to breathe as they began to infiltrate the now-occupying Thalmor.
Their peace was short-lived, however. News of the Skyrim Civil War reignited old stresses as they knew that the Thalmor would celebrate its existence and even encourage it, happily watching the Empire's resources dwindle as they prepared to fully take over the Imperial capital and the Empire itself.
To settle the matter as quickly as they could, they sent their own Nordic agent, Intercessor Katarina to watch over the execution of Ulfric Stormcloak the moment word had spread through Cyrodiil of his capture.
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"Intercessor?"
"It was my rank amidst the Order. Whenever someone wanted to talk to the higher echelons they had to communicate through me. I was the guardian of the Elders as well as their right hand. Chances are I killed more threats to their lives than they were aware of."
"Sounds important."
"Important enough to throw away," Katarina sighed as she slipped out of her shirt. "The Mother had no particular use for me, and my talent was killing and convincing prey to kill themselves or each other. Replaceable in the eyes of the Elders, but strong enough to more than stand on my own. They told me to never return, to blindly serve the purpose of the Order, and to keep the Thalmor in place. But I did end the Civil War, just not in a way they might agree with."
"And you did so much more in the process, didn't you?" Serana said as she reached for Linnea's hand.
"Well, we haven't really done much in the last eighty years, dear," Linnea said as she took a sip of the blood-filled gauntlet trading the fluid in between the woman's lips and her own.
Serana accepted the delicious ichor with relish, rubbing her fingers over the matching dark steel and blood ruby rings. When she pulled away she licked her lips with an amused smile.
"What is it with you and orcs?"
Linnea just shrugged her shoulders, drinking the rest of the goblet without care, "I like the brothy thickness of it."
Serana shook her head at her wife before resuming her reading, trying and failing to ignore the clingy woman burying her head into the crook of her neck.
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