Chapter XLIV: Movarth

As I ascend the stairs and exit the now ownerless house I come face to face with a small crowd of Nords, the same crowd that was pestering the Steward when I arrived in fact, and with the same nobleman from earlier standing in front of them and already getting his poor ass swiftly wrapped around Mephys' finger.

It doesn't take him long to notice my silent hovering "You, what are you doing in there?" He points at me and asks suspiciously.

"You don't look like a guard." I point out lazily.

His face reddens slightly "I don't need to be a bloody guard to protect my home, now what in oblivion did you do in there? I won't ask again!" He grips the sheathed sword at his side but his quivering legs give out his true feelings.

"Cute." I deadpan "But there is no need for pointless escalation here." I continue just before the man can blow up on me "The one you knew as Alva was a vampire, likely behind the multiple disappearances happening in the past months. I just finished killing her and freeing her newest thrall."

The crowd goes completely quiet at my declaration, the nobleman frowning deeply and muttering "Truly?" But another priority seemingly takes over as he looks up with some hope "Hroggar is alive?"

"Indeed" I nod "I simply knocked the man out before my compatriot ended the vampire. He should be alright after a couple days of rest but his mind will be under understandable strain when he learns what happened."

"Aye" The noble nods sadly though I do notice a raised eyebrow at the terminology I use "At least the man will live."

"Not something that can be said about many others I'd wager." I add "Though I will make sure that whoever was behind Alva pays the same price."

"There are more of the monsters?" His eyes widen, the fear he was attempting to hide coming to the fore.

"There are indeed" I nod "But you should not concern yourself with them. They will be dealt with soon."

"How can you be so sure?" The man asks disbelievingly.

"Do you even know who you are speaking to?" I deadpan.

Instead of answering immediately, he takes another moment to look me over before his eyes widen further and he mutters out an "Oh..."

"Oh indeed." I snark and shoo them all away "Now go back to your homes, the issue is outside of both your hands and abilities to face."

There is some grumbling among the mob but they soon start dispersing, a couple of them grabbing the unconscious Hroggar with a rather large bump on his head and carrying him to see a healer.

"Now that that is done" Mephys' voice cuts into my thoughts as the last of the Nords leave "Why don't we pay a visit to the esteemed Jarl and get away from this disgusting bog air?"

"Even if I do not strictly need to breathe I still like doing it." Serana agrees immediately.

I shrug "Might as well inform the Steward about what happened. Man could obviously use some sleep." Consensus reached we left the now trashed house behind us, a part of my mind filled with petty glee at the idea of waking up Idgrod's household in the middle of the night.

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Much to my disappointment, Idgrod while recovering was still very much out of it when we barged into her home. Her daughter Idgrod the Younger, being a much more sensible creature, immediately offered us lodgings after we finished explaining what happened.

It did not take the Jarl's heir and Steward much time to realize that their overreliance on Idgrod's 'sight' and lack of Court Wizard had come to bite them in the ass, hard. I spent a good hour or so browbeating them into contacting the college before their idiot of a liege awoke and had her misguided pride make the decision for her, a properly attuned mage would have noticed something was amiss with Alva within days at most.

We spent a good chunk of the following day just relaxing in the tavern, chatting up the locals and listening to some more useless but entertaining rumors. The noble I'd spoke to earlier for example, was the leader of the local Stormcloak supporters, but his reputation for cowardice and empty bluster did more damage to his cause than it helped him.

Bloody poser...

Incompetent political opponents aside, it was at noon that Isran and his Dawnguards finally arrived to Morthal. The guards made a bit of a fuss about a bunch of heavily armed men entering their city but my support had the gates opening within mere moments of their arrival.

The first thing Isran did upon arrival was to rush to the slain vampire's home and examine every single bit of evidence he could find. The incredulous look he gave me one he realized we nearly razed the place to the ground in our attack kept me chuckling for minutes.

Understanding he was wasting his time and seeing how relaxed we were he finally asked us if we knew something and actually looked a bit miffed that he didn't do that to begin with, forcing his poor men to march out without even letting them have an hour of rest.

At least they were enthusiastic, it was always nice to have motivated meat shields after all.

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(General POV)

A perpetually balding Breton vampire sat atop a gaudy throne at the head of a large table, a golden cup filled with blood hung securely between his fingers as he pondered some old memory.

That was until his guest decided to be difficult again "You will be hunted down you monster!" The bound Moth Priest yelled out, either spite or despair fueling his words "The righteous warriors of the gods will take your head!"

"They will try." The rich, cultured voice of the vampire hummed in response "I used to be a hunter myself you know. Swore to hunt down all the vampire clans in fact... only to realize that the priest who taught me was one himself, it was how I attained my immortality in fact, the traitorous fool the first sacrifice on my path to power."

"Then you should have killed yourself the moment you were infected" The priest retorts hotly.

"And consign my soul to Coldharbour?" Movarth quirks an eyebrow and scoffs "I think not."

"Just another excuse for not seeking a cure." The priest presses but soon finds his jaw unwilling to move.

"Your boldness will not save you from your fate." Movarth hisses sharply "The only reason I have not taken your mind is the Volkihar's request, do not tempt me further." 

The only thing Dexion could do as the vampire continued feasting on blood was hope against hope that someone would rescue him... and keep trying to glare a hole into the bastard's skull.

It might work, right?

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"Clear." A Dawnguard armed with an axe and shield calls out as he checks the bolt ridden corpse that was once the last guard to the lair's entrance.

"Understood" Isran grunts, his head covered in his order's usual full helmet "Proceed inside, split into two groups and start taking out as many lesser vampires as you can, regroup when compromised."

His men quickly follow his commands and start shuffling into the cave, a veritable phalanx of crossbows bearing silver-tipped bolts making certain that each and every one of them had someone covering their back.

"Rather efficient" Reyvin comments quietly as they follow the advancing vampire hunters.

"They have to be" Isran says simply "Otherwise they risk their lives and their souls. Now enough chitchat, we have a job to do." He grunts out and pointedly speeds up.

"He must be very fun at parties." Reyvin huffs and speeds after the Redguard.

"As if he knew what those were in the first place" Mephys sniffs and turns to Serana while pointing at the cave "After you dear."

Unwilling to spend any more time around the supposed Dremora, Serana gets inside without complaint. So quickly in fact that she doesn't notice it when Mephys suddenly turns invisible and disappears from all mortal senses, only the slightest movements in the air following her movements deeper into the lair.

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"It would seem that your wish has been granted" Movarth tells the priest with a frown "A pity, I had hoped the food would keep their noses out of it."

Still unable to speak, Dexion settles on producing the closest thing he can to mocking laughter. 

"Laugh freely, little priest!" Movarth smiles at him, his fanged mouth promising pain "it might just be your last opportunity." The vampire then shifts to his nearby servants "Call all of my subjects, it seems some sheep have lost their way."

Stretching lazily, the old vampire grabs his sword and gets up from his throne. He was relaxed as can be, after all one would need an army to face his vampires...

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Movarth's eyes narrowed as his fledgling bowed before him "What do you mean this is all of them?"

"The rest have either not heard it or refuse to answer the call." The woman answers blandly.

Only to earn a smack across the face "They are not refusing the call you fool, they are dead!" Movarth snarls "And you would be too if I did not need every single one of you right no-" before he can finish his 'motivational speech' he steps back, launching himself much further than his movement would originally suggest.

Just in time to dodge a volley of silver bolts slamming into many of his fledglings, taking down a good chunk of his remaining forces in an instant. There is no mercy in his attackers as more and more bolts descend into the central cavern, slowly but certainly bringing true death to all of his bloodline.

Movarth lashes out with his blood magic, striking the likeliest positions of the marksmen but his frustration grows with each spell as someone manages to erect a brilliant golden ward whenever his spells are about to detonate, almost mocking him by dispelling them fully each and every time.

As if to add insult to injury, a figure clad in a coat of plates and a full steel helmet, and wielding a hammer that radiated a feeling that greatly worried the vampire, descended into the chamber, a cloak of sunlight already surrounding it and not even the helm managing to hide the burning hatred within the pair of eyes under it.

Wordlessly the vampire rushes the figure, attempting to stop the barrage of bolts but finds himself repelled not with strength of arms but with positioning, as the hammer wielding hunter forces him to slow down for a brief moment by catching his blade and directing it aside which gave the crossbowmen enough time to bury a trio of bolts into Movarth's back.

With a hiss of pain Movarth dashes back to the cage beside his throne, pointing his blade at the priest and issuing a threat "Stay back or the priest gets it!"

"What priest?" A Dunmer mage peeks out from one of the passages, his voice filled with vicious mockery.

Dread descends upon Movarth as he dares look at the now emptied cage, his eyes snapping back to the mage just in time to see a dress-wearing female Dunmer become visible with the priest held firmly in her dainty hands.

His brain finally catches up with what just happened as he realizes he had been standing still for over ten seconds. He is only left with enough time to look down at his bolt ridden body before he disintegrates and his screaming soul is yanked toward the deeply disturbing fate reserved for his kind. 

The Dawnguards let out a mighty cheer as the master vampire turns to ash, though none forget to reload their crossbows just in case. Even Isran allows himself a smile that no one is able to see.

The Moth Priest begins offering his deep thanks to his rescuers but is soon silenced by the raised hand of the dark elf mage "I am afraid that the celebrations will have to wait" Reyvin says with annoyance in his voice "It would seem that the departed Movarth was meant to meet with the Volkihar today and his visitors have just entered my range."

"Shit." The priest curses, and then quickly pretends he said nothing as all eyes fall fall onto him.

A beat of awkward silence passes before it is utterly crushed by Isran barking order after order, his men scrambling to prepare an ambush and offer a proper welcome to their uninvited guests.

'That is a lot of n'wahs...' Scorch quips helpfully.

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