Chương 30: Test of Patience #30
The black drapery covering Scadu's skeletal frame fluttered slightly in the cool autumn breeze as the steed trotted steadily along the cobblestone road. Erik sat atop the undead horse, his dark cloak blending with the shadows cast by the jagged rocks and towering trees lining the path.
Geri padded along at his side, his bright blue eyes wide with curiosity as he darted ahead to sniff at the occasional leaf or stone. The vibrant yellow of the trees, caught in the golden grip of fall, contrasted sharply with the desolate crags of Forelhost Mountain looming over them to the west.
Once a barren, snow-covered peak, Forelhost had now become a bustling hub of activity. Builders, miners, and prospectors swarmed its slopes, eager to reopen the old mines beneath the mountain. The sounds of pickaxes striking stone echoed faintly in the distance, and Erik couldn't help but let a rare smile tug at the corner of his lips.
He had brought this change with his own hands—turning the abandoned ruins into a beacon of wealth and opportunity. Sure enough, people flocked to gold wherever and whenever it appeared. Wealth had a way of making the impossible possible, drawing even the most stubborn from their holes.
He tore his gaze away from the busy mountain, focusing once more on the road ahead. It had been three days since Maven Black-Briar had waited for him like a specter in the Bee and Barb, her ever-calculating gaze watching his every move.
They had discussed the terms of his investment in Forelhost's mines, agreeing on a fair price for the shares. True to his word, Erik had provided the gold immediately, not one to let opportunities slip through his fingers. The prospect of owning a piece of those lucrative veins of ore had been too tempting to pass up.
But now, that was behind him. Today, he had a different task at hand—meeting his newly appointed housecarl.
Erik shifted slightly in the saddle, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his back as he recalled his meeting with the Jarl's pick. Laila Law-Giver had seen fit to appoint a Nordic woman named Iola to serve him.
She was loud, boisterous, and had a tendency to shout everything she said, as if speaking normally wasn't quite enough for her. Erik had found it irritating at first, but there was no denying her competence.
After some exchanges with Erik, she had proven capable and clever enough for him to entrust her with managing his properties in Riften, including Honeyside and his shares in the Forelhost mines.
Though Erik had little interest in playing the role of a traditional Thane or some businessman, he recognized the value of proper management. Wealth needed to be tended, like a fire that must be fed to burn bright.
Their meeting had been brief but direct, much to Erik's relief. After explaining how he wanted her to handle the properties and respond to the various challenges that would undoubtedly arise, he had handed her a substantial amount of gold. Enough to refurbish Honeyside and ensure her living expenses were covered for a few years.
Iola had taken the assignment with a determined nod, her loud voice booming across the room as she assured him everything would be handled to perfection.
The memory of that encounter brought a faint chuckle to Erik's lips. It had reminded him of his first housecarl, Valdimar, a man who had faded into obscurity in his memory. The man seemed eager to serve, but unfortunately, Erik had no need of his services at the time.
Maybe, in time, when he's finally ready to start working on Snowhawk Fortress and turn it into the hub of commerce he envisioned, he'll call on Valdimar and appoint him as a steward, but for now, the housecarl would have to settle for managing his land in the marshes and fending off the local mud crabs and horkers.
Erik turned to Geri and spoke. "Come on, boy. We'll be picking up the pace... Stendarr's beacon should be right ahead..."
With that, he spurred Scadu to start galloping, and Geri followed along, his short stubby legs moving at a deceptively fast pace.
...
The cold wind whipped around Erik as he approached Stendarr's Beacon, its worn stones jutting out from the snow-covered peak like the skeletal remains of a once-great beast. The tower stood defiant against the elements, a lonely sentinel in the unforgiving mountains southeast of Riften.
Though time had weathered its stones, the beacon still served as a stronghold for the Vigilants of Stendarr, a place where they held their grim watch against the evils that threatened Tamriel. Erik couldn't help but admire the resilience of the structure, though he suspected the Vigilants within might not share the same grit as he recalled their fate from the game.
He Stendarr's Beacon as one of the last remaining holdouts for the vigilant after the sudden emergence of the vampires who made their presence known by decimating a great number of the order's branches, but that won't happen for at least a few years.
Scadu, his skeletal steed, had been dismissed long before the ascent, and Geri padded quietly at his side, the enchanted collar around his neck masking the daedric aura that would otherwise set the Vigilants on edge.
As Erik drew nearer, two Vigilants, clad in the dull steel of their order, stood at the entrance. Their eyes were cold, their postures rigid, as if the weight of their duty had stripped them of anything resembling warmth or empathy. Vigilants were known for their strict adherence to Stendarr's teachings, hunting down daedra worshippers and creatures of dark magic with fervent zeal.
Erik approached with measured steps, his cloak billowing slightly in the wind, a document held firmly in hand. When he was close enough, he raised it in greeting.
"Thane Erik of Hjalmarch," he said, his voice cutting through the wind. "I come with urgent business."
The Vigilants exchanged glances, but their expressions barely changed. Erik handed them the rolled parchment—a letter bearing the official seal of Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. One of them took it with a slow, deliberate motion, unraveling the scroll and reading through the contents with an air of disinterest.
The other crossed his arms, his gaze locked onto Erik with the same intensity one might reserve for a suspicious beggar.
"I've been tracking an ancient clan of vampires," Erik continued, his tone steady. "I could use the help of the vigilants. The Jarl herself has endorsed my mission."
The first Vigilant scanned the document for a few more moments, then passed it to his companion with an exasperated sigh. "Vampires, you say," he muttered, his voice laced with disdain. "We have no time for mere bloodsuckers lurking in some cave or the other. We're occupied with far more pressing matters—keeping Skyrim free of Daedric influence."
Erik's eyes flickered with irritation. His mind drifted briefly to the numerous Daedric cults scattered across Skyrim—the insidious influence they had over the people and the land—and he couldn't help but scoff inwardly.
'And what a good job you're doing of it,' he mused sarcastically, biting back the words before they could escape his lips.
Before Erik could respond, the second Vigilant chimed in, his voice mocking. "Go waste someone else's time with this nonsense, thane. We've got real threats to deal with."
A vein bulged on Erik's forehead as his hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of his sword. What little patience he had was wearing thin, and the blatant dismissal of these vigilantes was more than enough to grate his nerves.
But, with a great deal of restraint, he refrained from drawing his weapon. He hadn't come here for a fight, though if these fools continued their mockery, he couldn't promise that his temper would hold.
Taking a deep breath, Erik steadied his voice. "This is an official request from the Jarl of Morthal," he said, emphasizing the title. "Are you telling me it's acceptable to dismiss such a request so casually?"
The first Vigilant snorted, rolling his eyes. "Even if it was from the Jarl herself, we're an independent order. We don't take orders from a Jarl, a Thane, or even the High King himself. We follow Stendarr's teachings. Nothing more, nothing less. Stop wasting our time, thane."
Erik could feel the thin knot that held his tempter slowly unraveling. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to lash out with a fireball. He had expected resistance, but not this level of disrespect. Even Geri seemed to be annoyed, growling at the two vigilantes.
Still, Erik decided to hold it in and give them one more chance to reconsider.
"Stendarr's teachings are all well and good," Erik said, his voice sharp now, "but you're blind if you can't see that the vampire threat is as real as any Daedric influence. They will decimate villages, slaughter innocents—does that not fall under your sacred duty?"
The second Vigilant stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, as if ready to escalate the situation at the slightest provocation. "Again, our duty," he spat, "is to keep Skyrim safe from the Daedra. Vampires are beneath our concern. I strongly suggest you stop wasting our time or else!"
The Vigilant's threat lingered in the cold mountain air, a thinly veiled provocation that pushed Erik to the brink. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the leather wrapping creaking beneath the pressure of his hand. In his other palm, magicka coiled like a serpent ready to strike, the air around him vibrating with its unseen force.
Geri, ever attuned to Erik's mood, growled lowly at his side, his wide blue eyes glowing with a cold, dim light that betrayed his Daedric nature. The enchanted collar around his neck strained under the pressure of his dark energy, on the verge of snapping.
Erik was seconds away from unleashing his fury. The Vigilants, ignorant as they were, had pushed him too far. But before either he or Geri could act, something shifted in the air between them.
One of the Vigilants, his stern expression faltering for a moment, leaned over and whispered into his comrade's ear. Whatever he said brought a sneer to the other's face, his lips curling with amusement.
"Now that I think about it," the second Vigilant drawled mockingly, "we did have a new transfer here recently. Some fool who seemed just as concerned about these so-called vampire threats as you are."
The two Vigilants exchanged smug glances, clearly enjoying the power they wielded over the situation. The first Vigilant's smirk deepened as he gestured lazily toward the tower behind them.
"You'll find him atop the watchtower, staring off into the horizon like he's expecting a horde of vampires to suddenly appear," he continued, his voice dripping with condescension. "Perhaps he's the kind of 'help' you're looking for."
Erik's muscles tensed, the urge to wipe the smug looks off their faces gnawing at him. It would be so easy—just a flick of his wrist, a swift draw of his sword, or a burst of magic—and these fools would be put in their place. But he stopped himself, taking a deep breath, forcing the surge of rage to subside.
Slowly, his hand slipped from the hilt of his sword, the magicka in his other hand dispersing into the cold mountain air. Geri, sensing his master's restraint, stopped growling but continued to glare at the Vigilants, the faint glow of his eyes still visible.
With a final look of disdain, Erik bent down and scooped Geri up, the corgi's small form trembling with barely suppressed aggression. Erik held him firmly, his own patience tested to its limits. Without another word, he walked past the two Vigilants, not bothering to grace them with a glance or acknowledgment.
Their mocking laughter followed him as he made his way toward the watchtower, echoing through the mountain pass like the call of carrion birds. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he climbed the worn stone steps, the bitter wind biting at his face. The tower loomed above him, a solitary beacon in a desolate land.
Despite its purpose, the place felt abandoned. The only thing that seemed to receive any type of maintenance was the shrine to Stendarr, resting on a table near the stairwell leading upward. Erik didn't linger for long and quickly proceeded to make his way up.
Erik ascended the final steps of the tower, his breath steady despite the cold air biting at his lungs. As he reached the top, he halted, his eyes locking onto the figure standing before him.
A tall Redguard, broad-shouldered and imposing, stood at the edge of the tower, his posture unyielding. His hands rested firmly on the shaft of a heavy warhammer, its head embedded in the snow-covered stone. He wasn't holding it in a threatening manner, but there was a weight to the way his fingers curled around it, as if he was always ready to use it.
The man's bald head gleamed under the weak sun, while his long, grizzled beard hung thick and untamed down to the base of his neck. His sharp blue eyes, colder than the winds swirling around the peak, bored into Erik, studying him with an intensity that was hard to ignore. It felt as though the man was trying to see straight through him, to uncover every hidden intention, every unspoken thought.
Erik's brow twisted slightly in recognition. Of all the people in Skyrim, he had to be here. He forced himself not to grimace. Isran. The man who would one day lead the Dawnguard, Skyrim's fiercest vampire hunters.
This was the very last person Erik had wanted to run into on this quiet, half-abandoned watchtower. Someone out there was having a laugh at his expense, for sure.
Erik exhaled slowly, the mist of his breath disappearing into the cold air. He had made so many plans before leaving Snowhawk Fortress. Detailed, meticulous plans. Yet it seemed like every step along the way, fate had thrown him a new twist to deal with.
First, the revelation that the summoning stones were actually conduits to a powerful spell, one that concealed Serana's presence from the Volkihar clan—something Fallion had barely managed to explain in time. Then came the incident with the fragment of Wuuthrad, which he had found after inadvertently killing a Silverhand member he'd mistaken for a common bandit.
The whole Forelhost incident that came after had nearly derailed his efforts, not to mention the tangled mess of his mine shares and newfound status as a Thane of Riften. None of this had been in the plan.
And now this.
He'd come to Stendarr's Beacon hoping to recruit a handful of Vigilants into his service. Just some nameless zealots, pawns he could send to harass the Volkihar vampires once he stirred their nest. Instead, here stood Isran.
Isran had no tolerance for anything less than absolute commitment to his cause, and while that hatred could be useful alongside his commitment and knowledge of vampires, it also meant the man was dangerously sharp and cautious. Not someone who would be easily manipulated or deceived.
Erik barely held back a bitter chuckle, not sure if this was a blessing or a curse.
Chương 31: Granting Wishes #31
Auhtor's note: for whatever reason, the last chapter was an unsightly mess if you read it on a browser rather than the app with zero spacing. I've already fixed, so go ahead and give it another look if you couldn't read it proberly.
...
Erik shook away the stray thoughts clouding his mind and focused on the task at hand. He cleared his throat, preparing to speak. "I'm—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the man cut him off, his deep voice rumbling through the cold air like a distant thunder. "You are Thane Erik, here on vampire-related business... I overheard the conversation."
Erik blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness, but said nothing.
The Redguard continued, shaking his head as if weary of the entire exchange. "Normally, I'd apologize on behalf of my brothers in the order. But there's no need for that." His lips curled slightly, though it wasn't a smile. "They're as much a part of the Vigilants as you are."
Erik's brow furrowed. "As I am?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the strange turn of phrase.
Isran tilted his head, the cold blue of his eyes flashing with a hint of dark humor. "You see, this place is where the Vigilants send their exiles. A place to forget about those they deem... inconvenient. Undesirables."
Undesirables? Erik's curiosity piqued. He glanced back down the stairs toward where the two Vigilants had been stationed, their arrogance still fresh in his mind. "And yet you ended up here?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
A low chuckle escaped Isran's throat, a bitter sound that seemed to carry the weight of long years of frustration.
"There are two kinds of people who end up at Stendarr's Beacon," he said, his tone cynical, his hand gesturing lazily as if waving away the absurdity of it all. "Incompetent, arrogant fools like the two down there. And then there's people like me—people who don't get along with others for... various reasons."
Erik studied him carefully, noting the faint edge of contempt in his voice. Isran wasn't just some embittered soldier cast aside—he was someone who had seen the rot within his own ranks. Someone who had clashed with it. Erik had to admit, the man was becoming more interesting by the second.
"But I suppose none of that matters," Isran continued, his dismissive gesture cutting off any further introspection about his past. His sharp eyes locked onto Erik's again. "I am Isran. And if you have business with vampires, you've come to the right place... no the right man..."
Erik met Isran's piercing gaze, his expression hardening as he made his decision. "Then I won't beat around the bush," he began, his voice steady, each word deliberate. "I'm hunting for a vampire clan—not just some feral bloodsuckers skulking in a cave, but a sizable, organized clan. And they're led by an ancient vampire lord, one who was bestowed Sanguinare Vampiris by Molag Bal himself."
For a moment, Isran's eyes widened in surprise, the mention of Molag Bal's direct involvement clearly rattling him. But just as quickly, the seasoned Redguard composed himself, his features hardening as his grip tightened on the warhammer in his hands. "I've heard of such clans," he said, his voice calm but laced with tension. "But unlike the usual rabble of vampires, these... they tend to mind their business, stay out of sight."
He paused, glancing toward the distant horizon as if weighing his next words carefully. "As much as I'd like to shed vampire blood," he added, his voice now quieter, almost begrudging, "there's no need to stir that kind of hornet's nest. The people will suffer if we provoke them without a plan.
Stirring them into action too soon could mean the deaths of thousands."
Erik sighed, his frustration creeping into his voice. He shook his head slowly, knowing that time was no longer on their side. "It's only a matter of time before they emerge from the shadows on their own," Erik warned, his tone growing darker. "And when they do, they'll begin terrorizing the people of Skyrim anyway. I know this for certain."
Isran's frown deepened, suspicion flickering in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his posture shifting into one of silent scrutiny. "And how do you know this?" he asked, his voice measured, though there was an unmistakable edge to the question.
Erik hesitated, purposefully letting the silence stretch just long enough to suggest reluctance.
He needed to sell this carefully, make Isran believe that this information was something dangerous, something few should know. After a moment, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "Have you ever heard of the Tyranny of the Sun?"
Isran's brow furrowed, confusion crossing his features. He shook his head. "No," he said, clearly intrigued but wary. "What is it?"
"It's an old prophecy," Erik continued, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "Written on an Elder Scroll, deciphered by a Moth Priest. It foretells of a day when, through a heinous ritual of defilement, vampires can sever Auriel's—or Akatosh's—connection to Mundus."
Isran's frown deepened, his knuckles whitening as his hands tightened around the shaft of his warhammer. Erik's words had struck a nerve. "Sever Akatosh's connection to Mundus?" Isran muttered, almost in disbelief. "What does that mean?"
Erik met Isran's eyes, his expression grim. "It means they can block out the sun. Permanently. The prophecy says that the sun will be blotted out for eternity, leaving Nirn in eternal darkness. Vampires would reign supreme—unchallenged by the light of day."
Isran's face darkened as the full weight of the prophecy sank in. His lips twisted into a grimace, his disdain for vampires palpable. "And the clan you're after... they know of this prophecy?"
Erik nodded. "They do. The only reason they remain in the shadows is because they lack the tools to complete the ritual. But make no mistake—they're searching for them. And if they find what they need, it won't just be Skyrim that suffers. The entire world will fall into darkness."
Isran was silent for a long moment, the only sound being the faint howl of wind as it swept across the mountaintop. When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with cold resolve and a hint of skepticism. "If what you're saying is true... then this is far worse than I thought. There is no time to waste, and yet I can't help but wonder... how did you learn of this prophecy?"
Erik kept his face carefully neutral, even as his mind raced for the right words. He couldn't tell Isran the truth, that he knew about this world because it had been a video game he once played before his consciousness was thrown into this body.
Not only would Isran think him mad, but the revelation could cause untold complications, perhaps even drive Isran to question the very fabric of his reality. Erik needed to be cautious, and above all, convincing.
He let out a quiet sigh, feigning weariness. "I learned about it from the journal of a long-dead vampire hunter," Erik said, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. "The hunter himself heard about the ritual from a vampire thrall he rescued. The Thrall's memory was hazy, but the vampires had been too careless, blabbering in front of him..."
Isran's sharp gaze lingered on Erik, scrutinizing every word, but Erik remained calm. He could sense the older man's curiosity and skepticism mingling behind those intense blue eyes.
"Apparently there was an inner conflict amongst the vampires, and one of them took off with an important item related to the ritual for some reason... " Erik reached into his cloak, producing a weathered, tattered book bound in cracked leather. "Take a look for yourself."
Isran raised an eyebrow as Erik handed him the journal, clearly intrigued but still wary. His large hands gripped the book with surprising care, flipping it open. As Isran began thumbing through the brittle pages, Erik continued.
"It's ancient. Millennia old, from the early First Era. The ink has faded, and a good number of pages were torn out. But what remains is a record of the vampire hunter's various hunts," Erik explained. He fell silent for a moment, letting Isran inspect the journal.
It was indeed the journal of a vampire hunter from long ago—one of the many treasures Erik Deathsong had stumbled upon during his centuries of wandering. The journal was authentic down to its core. Except for the last few pages.
Erik had taken great care when crafting his addition to the journal. He used illusion magic to perfectly mimic the original handwriting, and the parchment he added was artificially aged through magic, completely indistinguishable from the rest.
The lies were woven so seamlessly into the truth that even a vigilant investigator like Isran would find it difficult to uncover the deception.
Isran's expression shifted as he carefully read the passages, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The wind whipped around them on the high tower, but the Redguard remained still, his focus locked on the journal.
"This is… remarkable," Isran muttered as he continued to flip through the pages. He glanced up at Erik, suspicion flickering in his gaze but quickly replaced by a grudging respect. "I've read countless reports on vampires and their clans, but nothing like this. If this is real—"
"It is," Erik interjected with quiet intensity, his gaze locked on the Vigilant. "It's all there in the last pages. The hints are subtle, vague even, but they're unmistakable. Tyranny of the Sun… it's all there, written by a man who saw it firsthand." He gestured toward the journal. "I found it in a ruin, next to his remains—nothing but bones by the time I got there. The poor bastard didn't even have the chance to investigate the thrall's claims properly."
Isran's brow furrowed as he flipped through the final entries, his eyes scanning the faded ink. "Indeed," he muttered. "It's clear he didn't stop writing because he wanted to."
Erik shrugged, a casualness to his tone that masked the gravity of the situation. "With how vague everything was, most would have dismissed it as nonsense. But I've always been a bit too curious for my own good." He chuckled, though the sound lacked real humor. "In the end, it only took me a few years to track down one of the items the vampires need to initiate their ritual. It was locked away in Hjalmarch, tucked away where no one would think to look."
Isran's face darkened as he absorbed Erik's words, the weight of it pressing down on him. "And if it only took you a few years to find this relic, even with the scraps of information in this journal…" His voice dropped, becoming solemn.
Erik smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with a quiet certainty. "Then it's only a matter of time before the vampires find it too."
That was all Isran needed to hear. His jaw tightened, and without a word, he reached for the warhammer resting against the wall. He lifted the massive weapon with ease, settling it onto his shoulder.
His expression was grim, but resolute. "We can't afford to waste any time," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Where is this relic sealed? We need to get to it before they do."
"Dimhollow Crypt," Erik replied, turning on his heel and heading toward the stairs, gesturing for Isran to follow. "Near Morthal. It's sealed away alongside a daughter of Coldharbour."
Isran's eyes narrowed as he descended the stairs behind Erik, the mention of Molag Bal's spawn sending a ripple of disgust across his features. "A first vampire…" he muttered, almost to himself.
The thought of such an ancient and powerful creature was enough to stir even the most hardened vampire hunters.
"Indeed," Erik confirmed, his tone casual despite the gravity of his words. "The poor girl was probably offered to Molag Bal centuries ago. What happened after that… well, you know as well as I do what kind of 'blessing' she received." He shook his head, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face.
Isran shot him a cold glance. "There's no need to sympathize with those blood-sucking vermin," he said, his voice hard as iron. "The only good vampire is a dead one."
By the time they reached the exit of the watchtower, Erik simply shrugged. "Doesn't really matter right now, does it?" He pushed open the heavy door, letting the crisp night air rush in.
The chill of the Skyrim night washed over them as they stepped outside, the sky dark and foreboding. "Let's head to Riften and grab a carriage. We can talk about everything else on the way."
As Erik and Isran made their way toward the road leading out of the watchtower, the two Vigilants stationed below called out, their voices brimming with self-importance.
"Where do you think you're going, Isran?" one of them sneered. "Leaving your post already?"
Isran didn't even break his stride as he shot back, his voice flat and unimpressed. "If anyone asks, tell them I'm quitting the order."
The Vigilants shared a mocking laugh, the sound grating against the cold wind. "Running away, huh?" one of them jeered. "Seems the great Isran's is off to chasing shadows... and it looks he even found a bosom friend who is just as delusional...."
Erik felt his jaw tighten, a flicker of anger rising inside him. His eyes narrowed, and his steps slowed just enough to signal his agitation. If he didn't need Isran, the two fools would already be little more than charred remains. Their arrogance was nauseating, and their smugness only served to fan the flames of his irritation.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His hand instinctively went to the inside of his cloak, brushing against the cool surface of a black soul gem nestled within its folds. The temptation tugged at him, dark and irresistible. He could feel the familiar rush of magicka stir within him, and the thought of silencing those buffoons became all the more enticing.
Still, he had a plan to see through. He convinced himself that patience was the key to success and prepared to continue walking, but the two vigilants, unaware of the dark storm brewing in Erik's mind, continued their mockery.
"Be sure to hold each other's hands, eh?... otherwise those vampires will get you!"
They dared to mock him again.
Erik's patience finally snapped as the two vigilants began laughing, their voices echoing all over the peak.
His eyes grew cold, and without a word, his hand slipped beneath his cloak. The black soul gem, its surface covered in intricate Ayleid runes, pulsed faintly as he summoned it into his palm.
Unlike ordinary soul gems, this one held a darker purpose, its ancient symbols humming with malevolent power. Erik could feel the magic coursing through it, a well of energy waiting to be unleashed.
'If you like dealing with Daedra so much…' Erik mused silently, his lips curling into a smirk as he eyed the vigilants ahead. He loosened his fingers, dropping the soul gem onto the snow-covered ground.
With a soft whisper of magicka, the snow seemed to shift and swirl around the gem, as if welcoming it into the earth. The gem vanished, sinking beneath the surface, hidden from sight but not from its purpose.
"Then I'll give you more daedra to fight than you can count..."
He continue his stride smoothly, his expression impassive, his thoughts carefully masked. Neither Isran nor the Vigilants noticed his subtle movements, their attention focused elsewhere. But Erik felt a quiet satisfaction bloom within him.
The gem was set, and soon the Vigilants would get their wish. They wanted to deal with dark forces—well, Erik had given them their chance.
The only one who noticed his actions was Gerri. The little corgi let out an excited bark, tail wagging furiously as he trotted happily by Erik's side. His wide, blue eyes usually sparkled with innocent joy, but in that moment, they gleamed with something else—something darker, more mischievous.
Gerri's bark carried a hint of malevolence, as if the tiny creature was in on the plan, his excitement palpable.
...
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