He took a step onto the wooden stair and peered over the edge, down into the center of the shaft. It wasn’t like most circular stairs he’d encountered. Those were usually nothing more than a compact way to fit a storey or two of stairs into a confined space. This, though – this went down seemingly forever. As a vampire, he could fall from a ridiculous height and not take damage, could leap down from atop a cliff without worrying too much about breaking a leg. Usually. And yet he did not want to take his chances with this drop.
It would be fitting to be slain by my own hubris, wouldn’t it?
Dale walked, therefore. He walked downward, slowly and deliberately, but with a growing sense of excitement the deeper he went. This wasn’t just another burial mound. He wasn’t going to get to the bottom and find dust-laden sarcophagi and men masquerading as spirits.
I don’t know quite what I will find, but it’s not going to be a barrow.
He’d been picking his careful way around the circle and down the stairs when the sound of footsteps below him brought him to a full stop, and full attention. He peered down into the hole and gasped. Coming up the stairs toward him was the man he’d tailed out of Ivarstead and along the road, the same man he’d lost while being distracted by a bear. Somehow this vampire had come up to the shrine, gone down to – wherever it was Dale was heading – and was on his way back up now, and all in the amount of time it had taken him to find this location in the first place.
As they reached each other, Dale purposefully stepped in front of him. “Wait. You acknowledged that we’re kin, earlier. I’m looking for more kin, if the truth be told. My name is Ondale. Can you at least tell me who you are?”
The vampire drew back his lips slightly, exposing his fangs. “I’m Baalric, if you must know. And I don’t have all day.”
Dale knew he should be serious, but he couldn’t help himself. “But do you have all night?”
Baalric’s amber eyes seemed to get a bit darker for a moment and Dale wished he hadn’t indulged his sense of the ridiculous. “My apologies. That was… far more amusing in my head. But the truth is that I’ve been looking for a place fitting this description – I hope, anyway – for what feels like a lifetime and I’m a bit giddy about the possibility that I may have found it. Thanks to you, of course.”
“Keep going down,” Baalric said. “You’ll find your answers below. And I’ll be back, later. We can talk then. In the meantime, get out of my way.”
Dale blinked. So there is something down there! And it has to be something substantial for him to be coming back to it! He pressed himself back against the wall, making way for Baalric to pass. “Yes, of course! I’ll… look for you later, in that case.”
Baalric harrumphed and stomped up the stairwell past Dale. Dale watched for a moment, until the other vampire was completely out of sight. It was hard not to be excited that he might actually be able to give Agryn and Vyctyna the thing they’d sent him out to find, and yet there was still the possibility that he would be disappointed once he reached the bottom of this very deep well. Even worse, he thought, remembering Sild and the feral vampire at Rannveig’s Fast, there was also the potential that Baalric had led him here purposefully, and would be following him back down, waiting to ambush him.
I don’t believe I could win that engagement, even as skilled as I am. My success usually relies on surprise. I most definitely do not have surprise on my side this time.
Finally – it seemed like a year had passed rather than just a few minutes of time – he reached the polished stone circle at the bottom of the drop. Set into the surface opposite the stair’s landing was a metal door. Both the stone and the door had him furrowing his brow in confusion.
Dwemer?
It would make sense, he thought, that something this far beneath the surface had been a Dwemer city. The door, though, seemed a much darker color than the brassy Dwarven metal he’d seen in any of the other Dwemer ruins he’d encountered.
Tarnished. Moisture, maybe? Not that it matters. I need to see what’s on the other side.
As soon as he entered the stone passageway beyond the doors, he knew his hunch had been well-founded. Just beyond him, a Dwemer automaton clanked and rattled before a pool of oil that spoke of many other constructs having been there in days gone by. Burned wood and empty buckets piled into a nook on the opposite side of the passage, beneath a lighted brazier in the style of Molag Bal’s shrines, hinted that the oil hadn’t always been benign. Maybe excavation work hadn’t gone well? It was hard to know. Interestingly, there were cobbles underfoot – very worn-down cobbles as though there was an ancient roadway here at the bottom of the world, rediscovered after eons.
What he did know, though, was that there was a gate at the end of this rough-hewn tunnel. Beyond it, he could see lights and hear sounds.
He stepped forward, cautiously, hoping the Steam Centurion just to his right was only decorative. Powerful though he might be in his own right he was certainly no match for one of the largest of Dwemer automatons. At least he didn’t think so. And he didn’t care to test his theory.
The gate was closed, but not locked. He pushed it open and stepped through as quietly as he could manage. The two guards in closed-face helmets guarding either side of the entry; they looked him over fairly closely but didn’t challenge him in any way. He thought they gave more attention to his eyes than anything else.
So they recognize that I’m a vampire. I can’t see their eyes – I don’t know whether they are or not.
Just past the second guard were some plants he wasn’t familiar with – smallish, bell-shaped, glowing blossoms atop thick stalks. He wanted to pick a sample but didn’t want to risk angering the guards. Then he turned past them and looked down the road.
In spite of priding himself over his usual composure, he gasped.
This was, as far as he could recall, the largest cavern he’d ever been in. It was simply enormous, towering so far over his head that its ceiling disappeared into mists. There were huge, tapered pillars of stone here and there. Subtly phosphorescent giant mushrooms lined the roadway before him, and far in the distance he could see glowing mushrooms halfway up the cavern – mushrooms like the mundane type found on the rocks in many caverns, but many times their size, each with long, trailing tendrils beneath.
And there were buildings – a great many of them, as far as he could tell. The signs hanging outside the structures nearest him on either side of the road identified them as businesses. The one directly to his right was an inn.
By the Eight. The rumors were right! Agryn was right! There’s a city down here!
I suppose… I should find out what this place is all about before I go back to him. I really wouldn’t like to make him angry.
He took a few steps forward, still trying to catch his breath, overwhelmed by the scope of what he’d found. This place clearly wasn’t well-known. Even the rumors that had spread across the province were vague, not focused on any particular place, and largely ignored as foolishness. But here it was.
A reddish glow to his left had him turning to look for its source. There was a metallic cage of some kind, topped with another menacing bust of Molag Bal. The empty cage’s sides and backs were a delicate latticework, and its raised floor made of cracked but well-polished stone.
“Odd,” he murmured. The cage didn’t seem to have an obvious purpose, especially not as a cage with its open front. He leaned closer to examine the writing on a plaque mounted beside its opening. The top three lines were in Daedric text. Below them was an inscription: “Drink of the font / Molag Bal’s blood / Honor Coldhaven / Paths will be opened.”
Interesting. Paths? And what font? I see no font. Well. I could spend far too much time puzzling over this when I need to be investigating things. I believe I’ll start at the inn. Maybe the innkeeper here below ground will be as full of gossip as the ones above.
He stepped into a space very much like that of the Winking Skeever, but with very dim lighting. All the eyes he could make out in the murk were brilliant, glowing auburn or copper. Dale noticed a curtained alcove on his left. It was just too tempting to resist; he stepped quietly to the side and parted the curtains just enough to peek in.
To his surprise he found a neatly-decorated dining nook, its table clearly set for human occupants. There was a note marked “Patron Notice” at the edge of the table; he picked it up and scanned its contents, chuckling quietly. The alcove was for the convenience of mortal guests while dining at … “The Chalice and Lancet? Perfect. What a perfectly amusing name for a vampire inn.”
Alright, that settles any lingering doubts. This is definitely a vampire city. So, the innkeeper is Thadius. Let me go speak with Master Thadius and see what he has to tell me.
Thadius was behind the counter, and waved Dale over when he saw him. He was not the ugliest vampire Dale had ever seen – not by far. He wore a very long mustache that curled down to his jaw and backwards, just the thing to minimize the deep furrows around the mouth that were common effects of the transformation.
He wasn’t the worst-looking vampire ever. Neither was the best-looking. As far as Dale was concerned that honor belonged to Vyctyna Tardif. Not even Serana was as beautiful; in spite of having long fangs and glowing eyes, Vyctyna was a vision. That was one of the reasons Dale was always so careful around her. He’d heard them talking about how Edwyn Wickham had attempted to take advantage of that beauty, and he had no desire to be the target of that sort of anger. Ever.
What Thadius was, however, was pleasant and welcoming. “Greetings, stranger. If you need anything, let me know.”
Dale smiled back at him. “Greetings to you, as well. I can’t say that I was expecting to find a fellow Imperial this far underground, at least not in Skyrim.”
“Oh, a good many of us live here. I hope you’ll spend some time with us so that you can meet them for yourself. Some of them are even mortals. We cater to both vampires and mortals here, though we don’t see many men, mer or beasts come through.”
“Ahh, so that’s the purpose of the curtained-off alcove.”
“Indeed,” Thadius said with a smirk. “Our policy is that all are welcome. That doesn’t mean some of our customers don’t get a bit – out of hand when they’ve been sampling the stronger vintages of bloodwine.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for later,” Dale said, politely. He wasn’t fond of bloodwine. For whatever reason he much preferred a good Colovian brandy. “I can’t imagine too many mortals would just wander in here. I had to search quite a while before I found it. From what I could see, this place is vast. What else is nearby?”
“Oh let’s see. Across the street is the Long Road, a general store. Navar keeps boars, though. I hate them. There’s a clothing store – Guarded Attire – run by the twins, Janesryk and Jegnorr. I can never tell them apart. Our resident Argonian couple, Wilstiss and Katseels, sell gems and jewelry at their booths at the crossroads. They live here at the inn. There’s a general magic shop, run by Talia. Potions, enchantments, and the like are her specialty.”
Dale nodded. “I’m impressed,” he said – and he was. This was turning out to be an even more complete city than he’d expected or ever hoped to find. “So… do you do a lot of trading with the surface world? For, say, ingredients and … boars and such? Raw materials?”
Thadius’ face took on a bit of a guarded expression, or so Dale thought. “Well, we have most of what we need here. Gardens, mines, and so forth. Falmer tend some of them and there are mortals that tend the specialized gardens – those that are lighted by sun lamps. For obvious reasons. I’d stay away from their encampments. The Falmer stink and the mortals are always moaning. It gets annoying.”
Dale nodded. He felt as though he might be asking too many questions, and it wouldn’t do to be held in suspicion immediately after arriving. But Thadius seemed happy to be chatting, so he simply waited. Sure enough, the man had more to tell.
“If you really want to be impressed, check out the smithy, down by the mines. Kharsh is an expert at working with Bloodglass and makes some of the best weapons and armor anywhere.”
Bloodglass? I’ve never heard of that, but it sounds intriguing.
“I will indeed. How about that area with all the glowing mushrooms on it? That looked interesting.”
“Oh, right, you mean the Noble’s Plateau. It’s home to the upper class of Coldhaven. They advise the Sovrena and help govern the city. There are a few residents up there with connections to the Houses, but they mainly keep to themselves. And that big tower in the middle is where the Sovrena – Tamara – lives. She rules over all of Coldhaven. Our last Sovrena was one of the founders of the city, but she was deposed.”
Oh there’s a story in that, I suspect. I’ll try to be circumspect, but…
“Deposed?”
Thadius didn’t need more prompting than that. As often seemed to be true of innkeepers, their lives were fairly confined to standing behind a counter and left them eager to swap gossip or news. He nodded vigorously. “Tamara showed up many years ago and brought with her new weapons, magic, and ideas. It didn’t take long for the nobles to be convinced we needed a stronger Coldhaven. Tamara was voted into power unanimously.”
“Except for the previous Sovrena, I would imagine,” Dale said dryly.
“Well, yes,” Thadius said, grinning. “Poor Sicara, much to her shame, was allowed to stay in Coldhaven. She lives in a shack in an isolated part of the plateau now, and avoids having visitors.”
Dale had the feeling that further explorations of this subject might get him into trouble, so he thanked the man for his help. “I’ll be back later for a drink!” he said in as bright a voice as he was able to produce. “I do want to have a look around first, though. Thank you for your time!”
He nodded to the innkeeper and stepped away, and only then allowed his smile to turn into a smirk. Thadius is a pleasant enough chap, but not awfully clever. How strong a Coldhaven can it be if all of its secrets get spilled to a stranger on his first step into the place?
Or maybe that’s purposeful. Maybe it’s a test to see what I’ll do with all that information.
But no. That would be a terrible test if it gets repeated to every newcomer.
While they’d been speaking, the inn had been filling with customers, all of them clearly vampires. He spotted a Khajiit, an Imperial barmaid, and a Nord bard strumming her lute. An Argonian male entered from a side hallway, nearly running into Dale.
“Need something?” the Argonian said, tsking.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see you coming.” Dale peered at him for a moment, trying to remember the names Thadius had given him. “Might you be Wilstiss?”
The Argonian smiled. “I am. Katseels and I sell the finest gems and jewelry in all of Coldhaven and the world above. Stop by our booths when you have the time. You won’t be disappointed.”
Dale smiled back at him. “I shall do that. I… might be looking for a gift for a certain young lady.”
He blinked, surprised at his own statement. He’d intended for it to be merely a pleasantry, a way to make idle conversation. He was startled to realize that not only had it occurred to him, but that it seemed like a reasonably good idea.
I do wish to make closer acquaintance with the divine Miss Qaralana. What better way to say “you’ve been on my mind” than with a gift of jewelry?
“I’m sure we have something to suit your needs,” Wilstiss said, taking his leave to head for the bar.
Dale waited until the bard was facing out into the main room before slipping past her to walk up the stairs. He was convinced that guest rooms would be there, so his presence wouldn’t be particularly noteworthy; he needed to search the place thoroughly to get the lay of the land. The second floor was nothing he hadn’t seen before – a semi-private dining area overlooking the bar, with a couple of large rooms at its far side. He stepped into the room with an open door, just as if he belonged there, and smirked at the two coffins atop a double bed.
Why not simply line them up against the wall? They could accommodate more people that way. Or perhaps this is the Argonians’ room. Thadius did say they lived here.
He poked around the room, looking on the shelves and tables, and was about to leave when a note on one of the side tables caught his eye. From the doorway it had been nearly hidden by the coffin’s open lid. He looked around once more, and extended his senses to be certain nobody was approaching before picking up the note.
It was addressed to Wilstiss, from Katseels. “I am tired of you mocking me,” it read in part. “Someone, or something, tried to grab me through the sewer grate by our merchant stands. It looked like a slimy skeletal arm.”
Interesting. So this isn’t as far down as this city goes. Deeper still, and something intriguing living there? I’ll have to look for it.
But I thought they were a couple. Why send him a note? Why not just… talk to the man? Relationships can be so odd.
He tried not to jump visibly as he left the bedroom and met Katseels coming up the stairs. Being caught had been altogether too near a thing. While he hadn’t done anything wrong, he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate his having rummaged through her things. He nodded to her and smiled as he passed, but didn’t engage her in conversation.
He didn’t stop at the first floor. Instead, he took a quick look around and started down to the lower level. The Imperial server passed him on her way up, but she didn’t look at him and he didn’t engage her. I’m not interested in bloodwine. I’m looking for information.
What he found, to begin with, was what he could only describe as a feeding station. Food preparation, perhaps. Four human cattle hung from shackles on the wall. There was straw placed strategically beneath each of them – to catch drips, he assumed. The large, red-stained casks at the sides of this alcove told him that these humans were regularly “harvested” of blood that was then stored for later use. It was clever – akin to the cages overseen by Rargall Thrallmaster at Volkihar Castle, but more compact. By taking only some of their blood, in rotations, one could keep all of these cattle alive and not be in constant search of replacements.
In fact, he thought as he looked around the room at the wine racks and the small side table and chairs, it seemed likely that the woman he’d just passed had the regular harvesting and preparation of the blood as part of her duties here at the inn. On the table was a bloodstained wooden bowl, a nasty-looking rag, a quill and inkpot and what he at first took for another piece of cloth. Looking at it a second time, he realized it was a note; he again picked up the paper to search for information.
Apparently she’s not as skilled at keeping them alive as she should be, Dale thought as he scanned the note. Her name was Gwyndris, it seemed, and when she dumped the bodies through a trapdoor into the sewers below – apparently a regular thing – she was sure she heard and felt some presence, as though something was watching her. She believed she’d heard crunching noises, and maybe even a scream.
He looked around the place and finally spotted the trap door in the floor, well-concealed by a generous blood spatter. When he knelt down to try the hatch, though, he wasn’t able to pull it up. Either it was locked or was firmly fastened shut from below. The faint whiff of decay that always surrounded blood casks and vampire cattle was much more definite here. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
I may live on blood but that doesn’t mean I like the scent of rotting things. Especially damp rotting things. I’m going to keep these sewers in mind. I might be able to use this information to our benefit, somehow.
Dale climbed the stairs again and, this time, left the inn. His mind was full to bursting with new information, and he’d only been in a single one of the many buildings he could see, up and down the main thoroughfare. He mulled all of it while wandering down the street. The boars he’d heard about caught his notice by their smell more than anything else, hidden in the deep shadows as they were. He wandered over to look at them and was intrigued to see wheat-like plants growing: wheat-like, but purple, like nothing he’d ever seen. He was itching to take a sample but once again stopped himself, standing here in the open as he was. After all the work and time he and his patrons had gone through to find the place he didn’t dare violate some law or other just to satisfy his own curiosity.
The building nearby was The Long Road, the general store. Dale pushed the door open and smiled across the counter at Navar, a Nord.
“Hello, I just had to pop in to ask about the boars. It seems an odd place to be raising livestock. Why do you have them, if it’s not too rude a question?”
“Why not?” the man said, grinning, his amber eyes twinkling. “I love the taste of their flesh. It’s much sweeter than human flesh by far, in my opinion. If you’d like to try some, I can make you a good deal.”
Dale chuckled. “I have to admit that I have tried neither, but I will take your word for it. I stick to a fairly strict – liquid diet.” He looked around, spotting camping equipment, soul gems, and a variety of other mundane goods. “Interesting place you have here.”
“I sell a little of everything, my friend. We have regular trade with the outside world, so check back often!”
“I will do that, thank you,” Dale said, inclining his head and turning to leave the building.
Regular trade. That’s very interesting. They must all be very good at illusion magic in order to make that happen, because there’s no mistaking any of them for anything but vampires. I probably could pass as human, so long as I had my hood pulled far enough forward that they can’t see my eyes, but none of these vampires could. I wonder if someone here isn’t as good as they imagine, and that’s where the rumors have come from?
He wandered down the street, looking at the intriguing plant life along the way. In addition to the glowing bell-shaped flowers there were abundant fungi of various kinds, and a curious red plant, with tall, thin stalks. This time he did take a sample of each, maneuvering himself into the deepest shadows and waiting to be certain nobody was looking. Perhaps Agryn would be able to identify these crops.
When he rose from plucking the plants, and turned to get his bearings, he saw a familiar figure dashing toward him from the direction of the plateau.
“Baalric!” he called out. “Wait just a moment!”
Baalric slowed, looked at him, and grimaced. He crossed his arms and sighed. “I did say we could talk later, didn’t I. So now it’s later. Talk.”
Dale grinned. “Well, let’s see. I’ve had a look around, and I’m impressed. My first question is what do you do in Coldhaven?”
Baalric snorted. “What do I do? I live. My house on the plateau has all the comforts of home.”
Dale grinned. “As one might expect of a house that one owns.” He regretted having opened his mouth as soon as he saw Baalric’s expression. I’m not as funny as I think I am. Except to myself, that is. I should keep quiet.
“Vampires enjoy the security of Coldhaven and our enemies can’t touch us here,” Baalric said, largely ignoring Dale’s attempt to be witty. His expression, though, became pinched. Dale couldn’t tell whether he saw a sneer – or a snarl. “Personally, I’d like to see all of our enemies wiped out. Preferably in slow, lingering deaths at my own hands.”
In spite of his best intentions, Dale’s sense of humor leapt from his mouth.
“Oh, a bloodthirsty one? Wait, I suppose we all are here, aren’t we?” He chuckled, hoping to lighten Baalric’s mood. It didn’t work. Baalric just glared at him.
Damn it, I should listen to my own good counsel once in awhile. He could feel the ice on which he stood getting thinner by the moment, so he tried another question.
“I see that you’re coming from the noble’s plateau. Are you a noble here?”
Baalric shrugged. “I was. I left that life and all its responsibilities behind. My story is my own and I don’t share it with others.”
“Well that’s fair enough. I tend to keep my own counsel, as well.” If not consistently. I’m such a fool sometimes. “Let me ask you this: why do you travel outside to Ivarstead? Isn’t that a bit… risky, for the city? I mean no offense, but I could see that you were a fellow vampire immediately.”
Baalric frowned at him. “I hunt. On occasion Vigilant or Dawnguard patrols pass along the road through town; I make certain they die soon after leaving Ivarstead. I’ve been chastised by other Nobles about risking the secrets of Coldhaven but I don’t care. I do my part to ensure we are safe.”
Dale nodded, even as his mind raced.
That makes sense. And that’s why they’ve been finding drained bodies around the riverfront. There’s more to this, though, and I suspect I’ll want to find out. Why did he cease working as a Noble? Are things not as rosy as Thadius led me to believe?
“I see,” Dale said. “That makes sense. I won’t take up any more of your time, then. Thank you. I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me.”
“Sure,” Baalric grumbled. “Whatever. Just leave me alone.” And with that he dashed off toward the city exit once more.
Dale watched him running away. Now that is a man with a serious chip on his shoulder. Wrongs to right. Gripes to air. He was a Noble, and now he’s not, even though he presumably still lives up there. He turned back toward the towers and the plateau with the huge houses on it, and scanned back and forth. There. Out on a perch of its own, a small shack. Thadius told me the previous Sovrena lived in a shack on the Nobles’ plateau. I’ll bet that’s it. What was her name again? Oh yes. Sicara. I wonder what led him to resign his governing duties. Maybe he was loyal to Sicara. Who knows?
He allowed himself the luxury of a small, eager smile.
I’ll bet the current Sovrena knows. Perhaps it’s time to pay her a little visit. I suspect Agryn will be pleased if I do.