Accursed Anima

The reach-born vampire, Skovir Greymist, recalls the Order of the Undying's assault on Coldharbour to rescue their captured comrades, and recalls his own unfortunate fate at the hands of the order's ancient nemesis, the daedric lord Zaslamar.

Go forth!

Planes of Oblivion always felt unpleasant on at least some subtle level. Even the more visually appealing or even peaceful realms had a suffocating air about them, like the feeling of not being able to breathe correctly on a mountaintop. Coldharbour was easily the most unpleasant of all. Both present with a dry, biting cold, and a thick stench of rot and decay, the black jagged ground seemed to drain the essence of mortals who walk across it. Fortunately, there were no mortals among the Order of the Undying, the nature of the vampiric, scholar-knights, lent itself well to the deadly nature of Molag Bal’s realm.

While the vampires of the order were extraplanar explorers and antiquarians, they made a point of not visiting Coldharbour directly when they could avoid it, as many of their greatest immortal enemies resided there what with the Prince of Corruption’s desire to reclaim all vampire souls the greatest threat to their freedom and even their existence. Skovir himself had never visited at all, making him one of the few vampires of the order to have not had the displeasure of beholding the realm at least once. 

Skovir couldn’t remember how his soul became separated from his body. 

Of all the places too, Coldharbour was the worst, yet mild indignation and disappointment was all he could feel at the moment, his usual fire having been stripped from him. He tried to think back to what he remembered last... 

He was part of a rescue mission with the Order. He was part of the escort for a full assault from the five leading lords of the Order: Brennon Fulburton, Vaulreth Duerkarn, Dulam Gilvaan, Naltris Vaylen and Vallus Kuun. They hadn’t been in Coldharbour long when they were met by the daedra Sarkynoth, a havocrel who had been an ally of the Order for some time along with his clan of mercenary dremora. Skovir couldn’t remember why he was there, or why he was there without his dremora. He spoke, though he couldn’t remember what was said, a little to Brennon and more with Dulam,. From what Skovir understood, Dulam and the havocrel had known each other longer, which was no surprise to him. Lord Dulam was the diplomat in nearly all their interactions with daedra, and had a knack for finding all of the prominent daedra not associated with the Princes.

They followed Sarkynoth into the crags and ravines of Coldharbour, his bright red skin practically a beacon amidst the sea of cold blue light. He led them to a large door hidden in the side of a bluff, the black stone around it bleeding pale azure plasm. It was some hours of attempting to open the door through magical means before the group was discovered by a wandering patrol of dremora. Slaying the dremora was ultimately a small effort, but once their husks were torn and sundered, the door seemed to open all by itself.

Once inside they found enormous corridors with ceilings reaching several times over Sarkynoth’s towering height. Braziers of blue fire and lightning lit the corridor and the massive staircase leading upward into it. Once atop the stairs, they came to what looked like a giant laboratory, strange coils and glass containers fixed onto the ceilings and walls, a few of the latter appearing large enough to hold human-sized creatures. A large complex of gears and pipes made up what looked like a huge daedric machine on the far wall. As they got closer, they saw that indeed, many beings were inside the row of glass containers, suspended in a clear red fluid. He didn’t remember most of the faces he saw within, some of them appeared to be dremora, while others appeared to be vampires. No… he remembered one. He remembered recognizing one of them. Who was it? An orc, a pale hulking male, only his skin was taught and drained, as if he was but a hollow husk. 

“Dulgroth!” 

Skovir remembered calling out his name, the name of his oldest friend, the orc he himself brought into unlife. He remembered running past Sarkynoth, and hearing Dulam calling out for him to come back. He hit… something. He remembered being thrown back as if by a battering ram and stunned as if struck by lightning. He looked and saw the large daedra appear, it must have been Baron Zaslamar, a grievous twilight that had long been the personal nemesis of the order, the agent of Molag Bal sent personally to hound the Order’s vampires at every turn. Sarkynoth started shouting, his smooth, deep voice carrying a ragged rasp as he snarled at the Baron.

“So… This is what has become of my clan? You’ve made them into your prisoners? To what end?”

The baron laughed, an annoyingly smug sound. “Lord Sarkynoth… we meet at last. As you can see, I’ve still not finished processing the rest of your clan, but rest assured, their animus will be absorbed.”

“You, wretched hideous worm!” Skovir remembered feeling the red-skined daedra’s voice as much as hearing it. “This insult shall not stand! My wrath will haunt you for all eternity! Release my clan now, and perhaps I’ll only send you into the void once, after a few decades of tormenting you of course.” 

This time it was the baron who snarled, a sound not at all human, unlike Sarkynoth’s. “Leave me to my work, princeless havocrel, or suffer your clan’s fate.”

Skovir didn’t see what happened. He heard Sarkynoth scream and felt the walls shake. He watched the huge daedra charge towards the baron, who simply stood in place with his wings wrapped around himself like a cloak. Sarkynoth bore a flaming sword, red lightning arcing from the edge as he brought it down towards the Baron, but then a flash of light blinded Skovir. When the light faded, a column of blue lightning stretching from the ceiling to the floor engulfed the havocrel, the red skin slowly burning away, replaced with an outline of red light. The sounds of footsteps came up the stairs behind them. The vampires readied themselves for combat once more as a force of dremora that matched their own in numbers charged up. The baron seemed uninterested at this, despite being a legendary fighter himself, instead turning to his strange machine as lightning built up from it, seeming to draw from the liquid-filled containers and their inhabitants.

Skovir remembered desperately calling on his strength to stand and fight, but his usual savage strength all but withered. He remembered looking down, and seeing the coldfire still smoldering across his rent armor and body. He had barely managed to stand up. The lords were more than enough to hold their own, but there must have been some xivkyn, Molag Bal’s elite cast of daedra, amongst the dremora, as the vampires were struggling to maintain their defense in the melee. He remembered looking back towards Dulgroth as lightning coursed through his chamber. He saw the orc move within the liquid, seeming to recognize Skovir at that moment. Skovir remembered being able to make out Sarkynoth’s form in the column still, and remembered that it was quickly dissipating by the second. There was no sign of the daedra’s husk, merely the mountain of energy that had given life to it moments ago. He felt a draw to the energy, as if somehow knowing it would restore his own. Why did it fill him with dread to recall his staggering steps towards the column of lightning? What was he thinking? That he could tap into it and the power and succeed where the ancient daedra had failed? That he could free their ally from the Baron’s grasp? 

The daedra had his back to the melee, and did not seem to hear Skovir’s approach. Skovir remembered standing before the column, watching as the red energy of the havocrel continued to fade before looking over towards Dulgroth. The orc was pounding on the glass, and seemed to be shouting something at Skovir, a look of desperation and panic in his hollowed out eyes. Skovir felt his legs start to waiver. He knew even then that several of his bones were broken, which if given time they would heal in a matter of moments with sufficient blood, but at that moment, there was neither. He remembered hearing his own voice with his thick reachman accent, but hardly recalled the action as if it was his own.

“I’m sorry, Dulgroth…”

With that, Skovir stepped into the column, his own body overwhelmed by the power. A cascade of light blinded him. A thousand kinds of pain wracked him over the course of a second, feeling as though his body was being torn apart and rebuilt back together a hundred times over. This was the moment where his memories became clearest. His eyes saw with both crushing darkness and blazing flame. His senses were innumerable and indescribable, he could somehow feel his surroundings as if he was touching and looking in every direction. The whole world screamed its presence at him as he peered at Zaslamar. The baron screamed in fury.

“What have you done?! You stupid wretch! You’ve ruined my work!” 

Skovir could still recall every image. He could replay it all in his mind as if it were still happening. He could feel every vibration in the Baron’s voice, he could see every spike in his marred, twisted flesh. Red lightning and flames coiled around Skovir’s body as the blue column dissipated. He felt overwhelming rage take him, a thunderous scream welling up in him, his own voice paired with what must have been Sarkynoth’s. He reached his hand forward, his whole body seeming to flash as if moving at the speed of a lightning bolt. His palm struck Zaslamar in the face, sending the daedra flying back into his machine with enough force to break the metal gears and plates. He heard the crunch of bones and saw the baron’s wings fall bloody and limp downward, though the state of his now crackling machine seemed to concern him more. He was looking up at it, his solid blue eyes wide with fear as he held a clawed hand towards Skovir.

“No!” Zaslamar screamed in terror and outrage as the machine started to screech and grind loudly, pieces of electrified metal flying out and shattering Dulgroth’s container. 

The orc fell to the ground moments before the other containers erupted into soulfire, the whole machine melting within the cold flames. Upon seeing Dulgroth was freed, Skovir turned his head back towards the baron. He batted aside the daedra’s attempt to swipe a claw at him, before reaching for one of the two large horns on Zaslamar’s head. He cracked it off with a swift motion, before staking the daedra through the chest with it, pinning him to his own burning machine. Zaslamar wailed, the sound bereft of any recognizable human emotion as his body began to erupt into soulfire before eventually exploding. 

He turned back towards the vampires and the dremora fighting on the staircase. At this point, his memories ceased to feel like his own, his movements no longer feeling like his. As if he were simply a passenger in his own body. Skovir’s hand reached out again, red lightning flying from his fingertips in a storm of dark energy. The lightning picked out the dremora and xivkyn, incapacitating them before slowly burning their bodies to withered husks. The other vampires turned towards him. They looked at him as if in shock or horror, he still couldn’t decide which it was. His life and long unlife seemed to flash before his eyes in this instance, remembering every important moment he’s had, all the friends and enemies he had made. A painted wood-elf woman’s face filled his thoughts, both as he stood in the chamber and again as he floated in the void. Her beautiful face, with her sharp, toothy smile and hungry eyes. Little vines and flowers came to mind. Laying on the grass, feeling the earth speak to them as it had for the reachman for so long. Some part of him knew he’d never see or feel either again.

“Sael… My beautiful Sa-” His voice ceased to be his own even as he spoke, bloody tears falling down his face. “Goodbye…” 

Sarkynoth looked at his new body, turning over his hands as the surge of power faded. He saw his usual red skin through the broken armor, with the runes etched into it. He was saved from becoming bound to the Baron’s experiments, but at what cost? Where was his clan? Were they in the void to one day return to him or were they lost elsewhere? What of his own form? Was he trapped within this vampire’s mortal body? He stopped, reaching inward with his senses. He no longer felt the vampire’s soul. Had he pushed the foolish mortal’s soul out? Where was it now?

With his mind racing with a thousand more questions, he did not notice Brennon approach him. 

“Skovir?” There was a pause after Brennon’s question. Skovir! What happened?”

Sarkynoth turned towards the breton, blinking against the light of the room, even as the fires of the machine faded. “I… don’t feel him anymore. He’s gone.” 

The voice that came from what had been Skovir’s mouth mere moments before was none other than Sarkynoth’s smooth, deep voice, bereft of the reachman’s distinct accent. 

Brennon looked at the daedra with a mix of confusion and disgust.

“What have you done with him? Where is Skovir?!” Brennon roared as he grabbed Sarkynoth by the rent collar of Skovir’s armor. “Give him back you son of a bitch!” 

Sarkynoth blinked at Brennon. His immortal mind had not known such bizarre shock in an eternity. Firstly, Havocrel were blinded by an ancient curse, and could not see through mundane means. To see Brennon through mortal eyes, and also in much more comparable height was staggering. While Skovir was considerably taller than the breton by mortal terms, Sarkynoth felt tiny to be between a dremora and xivali’s size. Brennon’s rage gave way to anguish and despair as he watched the daedra dumbfounded reaction. He let go of Sarkynoth before screaming out in frustration.

Vaulreth let out a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms. “We have failed. We lost our captured order members and Skovir along with them.”

“No.” Dulgroth’s ragged voice caught everyone’s attention. “They're not gone. They’re just… displaced. We can find them. We can reverse engineer Zaslamar’s work. We can find them. We can undo this… I know it.”

Dulam raised an eyebrow at the orc. “How? His machine is broken. And we don’t exactly have time to stay here and rebuild it.”

Naltris shook her head. “No, but if Zaslamar figured out how to move and coalesce vampire souls and daedric animus, than we can too.”

Sarkynoth felt something strange. Something he had never felt in all his eons of existence. Remorse. Sympathy. He walked over to Dulgroth and set his hand on the orc’s shoulder.

“Dulgroth. I remember you… as he did.” 

Dulgroth widened his eyes as a soft gasp escaped him. 

“He was a brother to you. The only… family… you ever had.” Daedra had no concept of family. What was he even saying? Why did this make sense to him? “I swear. We will restore your friend and my clan. It will be done. And Zaslamar will pay.”

Dulgroth looked down, nodding as he spoke. “Of course.”

Sarkynoth turned to face the rest of the vampires. “I swear to you… on the honor of my clan, the Cinderbane, I will fight with you to reclaim what has been taken, and bring vengeance to Baron Zaslamar and his wretched Prince, Molag Bal!”

Dulam nodded. “Your assistance will be appreciated, Lord Sarkynoth. For the time being, our resources are yours. This becomes our utmost priority. You shall be counted as one of us, until you no longer possess the body of our fellow knight.”

Brennon let out his own sigh of resignation before saluting. “For the Undying!”

“For the Undying!” The other vampires echoed.

“For the Undying… And for Skovir.” Sarkynoth said solemnly, still reeling from his new surge of emotions.