Double Dragon Disventure Interlude 4

Interlude 4:  A Night in the Limelight

A swift motion of the gloved hand is all it takes to rip the thrall’s throat out, causing the thing’s blood to generously spray the altar of Harkon’s patron. The ancient vampire lord watches impassively as he stews on his thoughts. He is close, so close, to fulfilling his destiny, and yet so far. It took centuries for his servants to find where his treacherous wife spirited their daughter away. Centuries upon millenia, and in the end, a lucky cave-in is what unearthed Valerika’s scheme. None should ever say his wife was not a clever one. Of course, that’s when things stopped going his way.

The Vigilants of Stendarr were an annoyance, an unforeseen variant brought by Dagon’s plotting, just like Molag Bal’s created occasion for Harkon to pretend his clan has been wiped out, allowing Volkihars to move unseen and underestimated. Perhaps this advantage is what caused Vingalmo to so grossly misinterpret Vigilants.

A shame. Harkon liked the Altmer’s sharp mind. It contrasted well with Orthjolf’s more bestial cunning. Alas, an example needed to be made for such a colossal failure. Not only did Vingalmo’s plan cost them far too many fledglings and even some of the more established servants, but Serana was whiskered away!

Fury was too tame of a word for what Harkon felt in that moment. He has been too indulging of his court. Dragging the Altmer and his clique before Lord Bal’s altar and sacrificing all of them in the name of the Prince of Domination has reminded everyone where their power and privilege ultimately came from. 

And, fortunately for them, Orthjolf’s little thrall-hounds brought back an interesting enough information back to the castle to cool Harkon’s rage. His daughter emerged, made a thane of Morthal, not even a week after she vanished from Vingalmo’s grasp! And because of eradicating a lair of another clan. With the help of some mortals, but Harkon has no doubt it was her achievement primarily. Even with the trail doubtlessly cold, Orthjolf wasted no time in sending his servants back to gather more information, even as both he and Harkon knew the thralls would, at most, arrive after Serana had departed. Why his wayward daughter had not enthralled the mortals to come back, Harkon knows not, but he will find out soon.

There is a knock on the door, a quiet, slow thing, executing maximum politeness and caution. Vingalmo’s replacement, no doubt. For now stepping with care, but Harkon has no doubt it will be replaced with arrogance soon enough. 

“Enter.” He commands, and the doors to the chapel open and Feran slips in, closing it behind him. He approaches with his head bowed, stops exactly ten steps behind Harkon, at the foot of the steps to the altar, and kneels. The Dunmer maintained the pose for exactly half a minute, before raising his head.

“My lord, the thralls have reported a Moth Priest disembarking the ship in Solitude.” Harkon stares, unblinking, motioning for the alchemist to continue. “They tail his carriage, but… There has been a development, my sire.” He mutters, bowing again. “One of them has seen lady Serana”

Harkon focuses on Feran, giving the dark elf his full, undivided attention. “From your words, it sounds like the sighting was coincidental. Tell me, Feran, what has the servant learned?”

“Yes, my sire. I ordered her to ask around, discreetly, of course. She tells that lady Serana travels in the company of Dragonborn, and that they were… ” The dark elf falls silent, no doubt looking for a word that will describe what his wayward daughter got up to without insulting her. Harkon just grunts to signal Feran to get on with the report. “... hired, my sire. As an adventuring party, to deal with the ghost of Empress Potema accidentally released by the ritual she interrupted. The servant knows not when she will return, or how long until she will depart from Solitude...”

“That is enough.” Harkon dismisses the man. “The servant, she was rewarded, I take it?”

“I have recalled her to the castle, my sire, but left the question of the reward to you.” Harkon nods, pleased. He will miss this sort of ability to read his mood once Feran inevitably settles into his new position. “There is something else I wish to bring to your attention, my sire...”

Harkon feels Feran’s continued competence deserves some indulgence. “What is it?”

“I have taken the liberty to analyse the Dimhollow Crypt, and lady Serana’s sealing chamber, my sire. I have found… a potent trace of Oblivion energies, my sire. Coupled with the descriptions of Lady Serana’s companions, I believe Prince Sanguine may have involved himself.”

Harkon’s mind whirls as he takes the information in. Sanguine is a wild card, almost as unpredictable as Sheogorath. To have him involved enough as to send his champion to intercept Serana…

“Leave, Feran. And send for a thrall, a woman, as attractive as we have. I need to convene with Lord Bal.” The man bows and stands up, retreating without turning his back on Harkon. The vampire lord observes him until the doors close. Then, he turns back to the altar of the Prince of Domination, overflowing with blood as always. “What it is that you are planning, Reveler...”

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The thrall, a pretty little thing, barely sixteen really, with long, golden hair put in a braid and brilliant green eyes, now wide in terror, trashes in Harkon’s grasp. This particular rite to Molag Bal needs the sacrifice to be fully aware of what is happening to her. And even as the thing claws and bites and drags her feet, Harkon smiles, his blood rushing through the veins fast enough to deafen him in a rush of euphoria. In such a moment, he truly connects with his god. It takes all of his restraint for Harkon not to dig in, really.

Instead, he pushes her against the altar, forcing her head under the pool of blood, forcing her to drink. And, as she chokes on the liquid, he rips her clothes off in a single motion.

“Molag Bal, Prince of Domination!” He intones, ignoring the thrall’s panicked bucking as she realises what is coming. “Your devoted Servant brings you this young, fertile soul.” Effortlessly, Harkon lifts the girl up, transforming in a smooth motion to bring her over the altar. “And plead to you, the Harvester of Souls, for advice! Hear my pleas, Molag Bal, and answer!” He roars as he pushes the girl down, impaling her womb on the horns of the carved head of the Prince. The girl howls in pain, tears streaking down her cheeks as her blood and gore mix with that spawn by the altar.

Then, the altar pulses and the girl goes limp. “HARKON. WHAT IS THE REASON YOU HAVE CALLED ME?”

“Sanguine has interfered in the affairs of prophecy of Tyranny of the Sun, Lord Bal.” Harkon speaks as he falls to his knees, his turn to bow his head. “I am unsure of the intent of his champion, but given my daughter is still denied me, I would seek your boon to protect myself from the machinations of the Reveler.”

For a moment, Molag Bal is quiet, before laughing. “AH HA HA! YOU WILL NEED MORE THAN JUST A PRETTY LITTLE THING OFFERED, YOU REALISE, DON’T YOU, HARKON?”

“Yes, Lord Bal. I live to serve your designs.” Harkon murmurs.

“HA! VERY WELL, LET’S TEST THAT RESOLVE, SHALL WE, HARKON? ONE OF MY PRIESTS BETRAYED ME FOR VAERMINA. HUNT HIM DOWN AND BRING HIM BACK ALIVE. NOT HERE. THERE IS A HIDDEN SHRINE IN MARKARTH THAT THE FOOL IS SUPPOSED TO DESPOIL IN THE NAME OF THAT CANNIBALISTIC BITCH. HE WILL GUIDE YOU TO IT. ONCE THERE… WE WILL HAVE OUR FUN.” Harkon opens his mouth to affirm his dedication to the task, but the Prince’s laughter cuts off, and he bows his head back. “BUT. THIS IS THE TASK FOR YOU, HARKON. NO SCURRYING IN THE SHADOWS, NO SENDING OUT SLAVES. YOU PERFORM THIS TASK YOURSELF, OR YOU WILL FACE WHAT IS TO COME ON YOUR OWN, UNDERSTOOD?”

“Yes, my lord, you will be my fate.”

Molag Bal doesn’t speak anymore, the light of the altar dimming down as the corpse of the thrall is taken away, in exchange for the location of the priest. Harkon stands back  up, his legs shaking just a little, before turning around. Perhaps it is for the best that Vingalmo has been removed from the picture. That way, the court will not turn into a bloodbath in his absence.