#loyalindoril thread: the cure

[dragxnsfire]

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

@loyalindoril

Haleth ran up to the door of the small farmhouse, acutely aware that the guard on patrol gave her a wary glare all the while. Normally, she would have waited until she was sure the inhabitants were awake and had started their day before dropping in for a visit, but there was a certain matter of urgency to be taken care of. Quickly, she tied Socks’s reins to the post of the farmhouse’s porch; fortunately, the gentle horse remained loyal to his master in her new state of life― unlife?― Haleth’s stomach sunk anew, horrified at what she’d become. Thurvayn had specifically warned her against such a situation; no, it was worse than that. He’d warned against vampire lords, not the common rabble vampires that infested Skyrim’s caverns and crypts. Internally, she hesitated, stroking the soft velvet of Socks’s nose. What if he wouldn’t help? What if he turned her away? Taking a deep breath, Haleth forced herself closer to the door, pounding on it as heavily as possible.

“Thur! Thurvayn! Please open the door!”

As the seconds passed, her pounding became more desperate. “Please open the door! I need help!” she cried.

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Drabble: the Cure

Haleth blearily looked out the window of the Haelga’s Bunkhouse at the rays of light trying to make their way through the grime coating the windows. As she rose from the bed, her she grimaced at the sounds coming from her stomach, wincing a bit at the stab of pain that followed. “I should’ve never eaten that cheese. Bet those bandits left it in the sun too long or something,” she grumbled to herself as she sat up. That was a start. A quick look around the shared room told her that it was past eight o’clock in the morning― all the beds on her side of the bunkhouse were empty, though there hadn’t been too much activity for the past several days, during the duration of this… illness, whatever it was. She’d been banished to the far corner of the room by Wujeeta and Niluva, who usually shared the room without complaint. After the first two days, Haelga had threatened to kick her out, to avoid the spread of disease, of course, but Brand-Shei had stepped in and promised that any damages would be ‘paid for’. By whom, Haleth never asked.

Four days. Huh.

The first two days had felt like simply a small bug― nothing to waste a potion on; certainly, nothing to be worried about. After all, she’d just cleared out a clan of vampires from one of the local caves and escaped with only a scratch on the hand from one of the vampires’ weapons― given other stories, she considered herself lucky.

The second two days, until now at least, were different. They’d passed by in a blur. For most of it, the Dragonborn had been asleep, awaking only to eat or to talk to Brand-Shei, or Madesi or Svana― that’s when she’d been put in the corner bed. The only clear memory was waking up at around dusk and feeling a strange pit in her stomach; something clawing, gnashing to escape and feed, but on what she didn’t know. She then went right back to sleep as if nothing had happened.

Today, though, on the fifth day, everything felt… normal. No illness, except for the stomach ache; certainly, it was time to go do something, even if it was just going to take notes on how Balimund honed the weapons entrusted to his smithing expertise. Gathering up her belongings, Haleth left the bunkhouse with a wave to Svana and a few gold to pay the inn back for the food and board.

As she stood under the awning, however, something felt wrong; it was a gorgeous day, and the usual haze of the Rift had lifted, if only for a short time. Something in Haleth recoiled from the light, trying to coerce her to retreat to the safety of the indoors. The young womer shook her head, willing herself to overcome this new anxiety, brushing it off. Her attitude changed as she stepped into the sunlight.

Haleth had never felt what it was like to be burned. As a Dunmer, she was blessed with the ability to withstand any fire she encountered― so she’d been told by her mother and by her many battles with dragons. As soon as her skin felt the light of the sun, however, she knew that it burned. With a yelp, she jumped back to the safety of the awning, tears pricking in her eyes. She shook her head, hard. ‘No,’ she thought, ‘it had to be a fluke.’

She reached an un-gloved hand out to touch the ray of light just past the safety of the shade; again, she was burned by its touch. A sense of horror overcame her as realization dawned. Throwing on the mask of Krosis, she darted back into the abandoned upstairs of the Bunkhouse.

“No, no, no, no―” as she reached a brass plate, she stared in horror at the reflection that stared back. Her eyes now glowed fiery orange rather than the garnet of her ancestors; a hand to her sharpened canines confirmed her worst fears. She stood in silence for a moment, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. With a gasp, she pulled on her mask and ran out the door, through the gates of Riften.

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Haleth rubbed her hands on her pants before replacing the healing potions back into her knapsack. “I want to take it. I want to be normal,” she said quietly. “I can’t let anyone I know see me like this except you. I know people in Morthal, and I can’t let anyone know this happened.”

Satisfied that her belongings were mostly in order, Haleth stood and returned to her seat, spreading a map on an empty segment of the table. “I think the best way to go might be to go around Iverstead, then North. That should put us on the right track to Morthal.”  She paused for a moment. “Do you hear sniffing?”

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

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Haleth hugged the mask of Krosis close to her before nodding sharply. “I guess I’ll have to trust you on that,” she smirked, feeling a little better than before. “But— but I have to wear this,” she said, waving the mask a bit, before standing. Quickly she looked out the window before going back to her pack.

“What d’you think we’d need?” she asked, rummaging through her belongings. She set the healing options she’d made on the table to make room for her… other… potions. She winced at the thought of leaving the batch of freshly-made potions, but something told her that pragmatism was, in this case, a necessary evil. “I guess we leave this stuff here. And food! We should take some food. Maybe we should— I don’t know, wait and cook something first?” Haleth pushed a small sack of bread further down into the pack to make room for whatever else was needed, looking to Thurvayn expectantly.

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

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Haleth looked at the older vampire nervously, before nodding slowly. It was some comfort to know that she didn’t have to face such prospects alone, but his reassurances didn’t dissuade all of her anxiety. “Would it be safe to travel to Morthal? I mean, it’s only a day or two’s run, but so much can happen—” she gasped, suddenly realizing a new threat— “and the Dawnguard! They’d probably recognize you, but they’d shoot me in an instant!” She remembered meeting one of the members— Sorine, if she remembered correctly— and marveling at the fascinating mechanical weapon wielded by the organizations’ hunters; now, the amazement turned to fear.

“Wait,” she said quickly, “you’re actually going with me? Are you sure? What if something happens?”

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

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Haleth drew in a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair. “Yes! Yeah, you’re right!” she said, snapping to attention. “I just need to stop and think.” The womer wrapped her arms around herself as she began to think. Soon, the tip of her boot began tapping the floor, a release of nervous energy so she could right her racing mind.

“There’s supposed to be a guy in Morthal that’s been studying vampires and other undead… things,” she said quickly, “but that’s just a rumor I heard in some inn a few months ago. It doesn’t help that this man in Morthal and may or may not actually exist.” As she spoke, one of her hands absently rubbed her arm in an attempt to calm herself. “What if I’m stuck like this forever? What if he won’t help me?”

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

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He was worried about her attacking his family? Haleth paled even further than her newly faded complexion. She opened her mouth to argue. “I wouldn’t―” but found herself unable to complete the sentence. Something in her knew the older vampire was right; she barely even knew the new rules she had to live by, let alone what she might do in a fit of hunger.

“Okay,” she said softly, before tipping the bottle back and draining it; while she drank, she thought about the distrust she’d initially shown Thur, and how she’d wondered why on Nirn someone would let themselves become a monster. She set the bottle down on the table while staring at the ground, her thoughts and questions turning to cacophony in her mind.

There was no going back to Windhelm, that was for sure; her professors at the college would detect her new state in an instant. She clenched her hands into fists, thoughts racing. “What now?” she asked, more to herself than to her companion.

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

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Haleth sat down in the chair heavily as he spoke. “If by ‘the hard way’ you mean ‘getting burned by the sun’, then yeah,” she said, eyeing a sweetroll on the table and wondering if making herself at home included eating the pastry. The younger Dunmer listened to him, wanting to say something in her own defense, but ultimately deciding against it. She’d made enough of a fool of herself as it stood.

“Thanks,” she began quietly, “I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t think I would’ve made it home before being found out or turning to dust or something―” that part made her stomach churn, remembering just where vampire dust came from― “and I couldn’t tell anyone else.” Her ears flushed violet in shame. “I should have taken a potion. None of this would’ve happened if I did.”

As he handed her a bottle, Haleth swirled it around to observe the contents: it was a deep crimson with a syrupy consistency; she gave him a confused glance. “I don’t think a potion can help me now,” she began slowly. She raised the lip of the bottle to her nose, hoping this wasn’t the potion with skeever in it; she soon wished it was.

“Blood?” she squeaked, placing the bottle on the table quickly, “No, no, no— I’m not drinking blood.’

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

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Haleth slipped into the door as quickly as possible to avoid attracting any further unwanted attention from the patrol. As soon as the door was closed, she turned to face the older vampire. As he asked for an explanation, Haleth found that she didn’t have the words to describe the past few days. Her mouth felt dry as she gripped the rim of the mask that had concealed her new condition from those she’d passed on her way.

“I― I don’t know,” she said lamely, letting the mask fall to her side, “I was fighting a― a thinblood, and I thought everything was alright, and now it isn’t.” She glanced anxiously out the widow, hoping no one from the upper echelon of the Dawnguard planned on popping over for a visit before returning her gaze to Thurvayn. “One of them scratched me with his knife.”

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

@loyalindoril

Haleth ran up to the door of the small farmhouse, acutely aware that the guard on patrol gave her a wary glare all the while. Normally, she would have waited until she was sure the inhabitants were awake and had started their day before dropping in for a visit, but there was a certain matter of urgency to be taken care of. Quickly, she tied Socks’s reins to the post of the farmhouse’s porch; fortunately, the gentle horse remained loyal to his master in her new state of life― unlife?― Haleth’s stomach sunk anew, horrified at what she’d become. Thurvayn had specifically warned her against such a situation; no, it was worse than that. He’d warned against vampire lords, not the common rabble vampires that infested Skyrim’s caverns and crypts. Internally, she hesitated, stroking the soft velvet of Socks’s nose. What if he wouldn’t help? What if he turned her away? Taking a deep breath, Haleth forced herself closer to the door, pounding on it as heavily as possible.

“Thur! Thurvayn! Please open the door!”

As the seconds passed, her pounding became more desperate. “Please open the door! I need help!” she cried.