Chapter 3: Down by the Docks

Previously: Coming Down 

 

Leila had a love-hate relationship with skooma.

 

The dreams brought back good memories, and the dark silence that followed them quelled everything else. Everyone liked to remember the good times, and forget the bad.

 

But in her case, reliving the good times made her see they weren't so good after all. She was starting remember things she initially ignored, and now saw them in a new light. Exchanged glances. Off-hand comments. Mixed messages.

 

So now, she didn't indulge for the dreams. She indulged for the darkness. It was the closest she could get to Oblivion.

 

But now, the waking world was slowly becoming her favorite space. With the war over, feeding on the roads was more difficult. There were patrols everyone and all the forts were occupied by the Imperial Legions. Fewer bandits than ever were living in hideouts.

 

However, the cities were full. Traders, nobles, and travelers in general from across the continent were flocking to the cities. The once empty streets were now crawling with an endless number of people. The taverns and bunkhouses were overflowing.

 

Riften, in particular, was busier than ever. With fresh new prosperity flowing through Skyrim, the outlaws were out in force. The gambling houses were back. The brothels were booming. There was no shortage of drunk people just wandering freely.

 

"Pay attention to their appearance," Leila said, leading her quartet through the winding streets. It was well after dark and Riften's nightlife was in full swing. "We don't touch the nobility. Or guards, or priests, or the wealthy merchant class. Ever. If a high profile member of society turns up dead with vampire holes, hunters will soon swarm the fucking region."

 

Alva didn't like this strategy. "So we just kill the poor?" she grumbled, scowling at Leila.

 

"We hunt the deplorable," Aurelian told her. "The drunken gambler who turns to violence after a big loss."

 

"Or the brothel patron who can't take no for an answer," Colette cheerily added.

 

"And if we see one of our own, we kill on sight," Leila commanded. "Riften is ours and we do not share."

 

Alva could understand that. Her coven never liked it when wandering vampires came through Morthal. But then again....

 

"Then why didn't you kill me?" she asked.

 

Leila shrugged. "You were alone and clearly a fledgling. Also... you looked like you were being chased, and I needed to know what you knew. Once I realized you were harmless, I saw no reason to kill you."

 

Alva snorted. "Thanks."

 

Leila shrugged again. "No problem."

 

They descended into the bowels of the Ratway, the tunnel system beneath the system. Their wandering led them to the doors of the Ragged Flagon, a tavern where the Thieves Guild was known to operate. It was packed to the walls, with no empty seats. Alva gasped at the sight of so many drunken lowlifes drinking and laughing loudly.

 

Back in Morthal, she'd spent her nights at the Moorside Inn. In fact, almost everyone in Morthal did, yet even so, it was never this packed.

 

I don't think there were this many people in the whole town, she marveled, eyes wide.

 

Leila grinned, red eyes flashing. "Alva, when a brawl inevitably breaks out, you'll be the one to approach."

 

***

 

It didn't take long for a fight to break out. A Dunmer accused a Nord of stealing his coin. The Nord called the Dunmer a "gray-skin". It all went downhill from here.

 

Several minutes later, after a group of elves were almost done pummeling the Nord and his companions into the floor, the Redwater vampires kindly stepped in to break up the fight. 

 

"You come to the Ragged Flagon often?" Alva asked the Nord. His arm was draped across his shoulders as she helped him away from the fight. He was incredibly drunk, barely able to walk, and slurred his words heavily. The numerous punches he sustained weren't helping either.

 

"We just arrived in Riften," his Breton companion said. He was almost as drunk as the Nord, but no so drunk he couldn't appreciate his new friends. Colette was trying to help him walk out of the tavern when he made a point to slap her behind and grin at her.

 

Aurelian's jaw clenched, but he said nothing, instead helping another drunken Nord out of the Ratway. Leila was accompanied by a nearly unconscious Imperial whose face had been beaten into a bloody mess.

 

They led the mortals out to an empty section of the docks, where the moon was hidden by the mist and clouds of Riften.

 

"Remember," Leila warned, "no bodies."

 

Alva was barely listening. She inhaled the smell of the Nord's sweat before licking his throat and sinking her fangs into his skin. She closed her eyes, intent on enjoying every moment. He tasted of mead and smoke, and each gulp was deeply satisfying. His warm blood filled her mouth, gliding over her tongue and down her throat.

 

It chased away the cold, and made her feel less empty.

 

"Alva, stop."

 

Alva opened her eyes to see Aurelian staring at her in concern. It took every last shred of willpower to pry her mouth off the Nord. She stood back, blinking rapidly.

 

"Skooma affects our self-control," Aurelian said lowly. "That's why we indulge in moderation. It takes a while to build up tolerance."

 

"We should head back to the den," Leila said.

 

"So soon?" Alva protested. "We practically just arrived."

 

Leila shook her head. "You're not ready. You need more time and practice. If you're going to hunt in the city, you have to develop your restraint better. Come." She shoved her victim aside, letting him collapse against a wall.

 

Alva begrudgingly complied, following her new friends away from the docks and back into the city. It was torture. She could hear the hearts pounding and blood roaring. She wanted to snatch the nearest person to her and drain them to the last drop. By the time they exited the city gates, her whole body was shaking.

 

"We'll be back tomorrow," Colette assured her, lightly rubbing her back. "And the night after that, and the night after that, until you get it under control."

 

***

 

It was still a couple hours until dawn when they reached Redwater Den. Most of the patrons were gone, and everything was quiet. Alva promptly retreated to a private room and drew the filthy curtain close. Once she was alone, and out of sight, she pulled out her vial.

 

The hit was just what she needed. It knocked her out of herself, sent her hurtling through space and time, until she landed back on Movarth's lap where she belonged.

 

"The Jarl suspects nothing, my lord," she was saying. "The ring is working." 

 

"It's good to know." Movarth nodded. "I had had my doubts, but I am happy to hear it is effective."

 

"It is beautiful, my lord." The gold and ruby ring flashed in the candlelight. "Did you have it forged just for me?"

 

 "It was sent to me some months ago. Now," he said, gently sliding her off his lap, "you must return to the town. You'll need to create a thrall to guard your house and keep you fed."

 

"Can't I stay the day?" Alva pouted. "I've missed you, my lord. We see each other so rarely these days."

 

"Be a good girl, Alva," he chastised her. "Do as you're told."

 

Back in the den, Alva's eyes flew open. This was one of her earlier memories of Movarth, one she had long forgotten.

 

But she remembered now... she remembered the irritation she felt when he pushed her off. This dismissal made her angry to the point of defiance.

 

If he hadn't been so aloof, I wouldn't have chosen a married man, Alva realized, staring at the wall. I wouldn't have turned Laelette either. I would've chosen some nameless nobody and avoided the scandal altogether.

 

It made her sick to relive his rejection. Even now the memory burned. He had pushed her away like she was nothing, dismissed her like a lowly servant. It stung.

 

Alva was nauseous as she slowly sat up. She realized the den was noisier, with footsteps in the hall and various noises coming from the other rooms.

 

It's day, she realized. I've been out for hours.

 

Next: The Volkihar Imperative