4It was the steady dripping of the water from the cave that awoke her. She sat up, too quickly, but felt no dizziness at the sudden movement. She ran her fingers along her scalp, feeling the ebony hair along her course hands. She looked down at her hands, searching for any sign of blood or other injury. She noted briefly that her gold ring was gone.
No Matter, Isa thought. It wasn't enchanted anyway. I am surprised it didn't get stolen in that stupid castle, anyway.
Slowly, she brought herself to her feet, and immediately realized that something was very wrong. She looked down at her hands again, and brought them up to the light. Rather than the deep blue they normally were, her hands had taken on a grey tint. She bent down to look at her feet and noticed the same strange grey. A slight breeze blew in from the make-shift door of the cave, and Isa felt a chill go up her back. Her clothes were gone.
So was her sword, her torches, the silver and gold she had been carrying to Leyawiin to sell, and the daedric artifact she had recovered for Martin.
Martin…the name had just slipped through her mind, but she struggled to attach it to anything, or anyone. Martin…Kvatch…Cloud?
These words ran through her mind. Somehow she felt they were all connected, but that was not important right now. She needed to find the bandits or goblins or whatever that had stolen her things. Pushing on the dilapidated door, a stream of sunshine poured into the cave. Blinding her, she held up an arm to block the sudden brightness, and felt a burning sensation sweep over her. It was by no means pleasant. She screeched and pulled her arm away from the heat, back into the darkness, slamming the door shut.
Is there…some kind of barrier? Isa felt the door without opening, but sensed no spells at work. Besides, she had a natural immunity to flame; she probably could have passed through such a barrier relatively unscathed.
Isa turned and looked into the cave, the darkness that stunk of moss and decay. She could only hope that the thieves were still in here somewhere, and that she would find them soon, before she ran into anything that would need more than her fists to defeat.
She walked slowly forward, feeling the wall, hoping to find any sort of opening. The flicker of a fire glowed ahead of her, dancing against the damp cave walls.
Crouching down, Isa wished she had her shrouded armor, an entry gift from the Dark Brotherhood, to properly sneak up on these fools and take care of them.
"Good haul, I'd say," the growl of an Argonian echoed through the walls.
"Maybe, but she won't be happy when she wakes." Isa couldn't quite place the race of the second man, it could be anything from a Breton to a Bosmer.
"She was dead; did you not feel her skin? Cold as Burma. And just as grey, too. If that Dunmer waltzes in here and demands her stuff, then I'm an ogre."
There was rustling as one of the men stood, and the clang of something hitting the floor. "She wasn't dead, you idiot. I've seen that color and look before. She was in the midst of changing, and by the looks of it, she was almost done. Vampires are not easy to kill, and I don't feel like fighting an angry vamp."
"Ah, you are paranoid. She was dead," the Argonian said. She felt him walk right past her hiding spot and lay something hard on a table.
"No! I have seen the change, Draik, and she is almost done with it! It only takes about three days. My guess is that she was attacked by vampires, was bitten, and crawled in here to avoid the sun when the change was complete. It must have been hard; the poison literally burns your blood away."
"Look, I don't wanna hear about it! She's dead, it's done, and we're done. Now help me pack this stuff, we are leaving now," Draik snapped, walking away from the table.
Isa reached up to the top, and felt her fingers close around the cool handle of her Sufferthorn. She lifted it off the table, careful not to make a single sound, and crept slowly out of the shadows, knife at the ready.
The Argonian called Draik had his back to her, and was shuffling through her armor, checking hidden pockets for extra loot. Standing up, Isa approached him and wrapped her arm around his throat, pulling him close to her.
"That's mine," she breathed icily into his ear, slowly driving Sufferthorn between his ribs, relishing in the warmth of his blood that dripped down the dagger. She twisted it, driving it deeper into his chest, and yanked it out swiftly, dropping him to a crumpled, gurgling heap to the cave floor.
The other man turned and saw his friend lying on the ground, writhing and groaning in a pool of his own blood. He looked at Isa, horror flashing across his face, and bolted for the sword against the wall. She threw the dagger with all her might, and it landed square in the center of his head, buried to the hilt. He faltered, fell to his knees, and was dead before Isa even reached him.
Yanking her dagger from his skull, she wiped the blood on his clothes. But rather than the usual indifference she held towards her filthy blade, she noticed how the blood shimmered on the blade. It looked…delicious. She wanted to taste it, so she brought the blade to her finger and wiped a bit onto it, and then licked her finger. The normal rusty, salty taste of blood was not there, and was instead replaced with something sweet, tangy, and wonderful. Her eyes widened at the taste, and she took another lick.
Isa looked down at the man with the hole in his head, and bit down on his neck, right on his jugular. The same taste was not there. She rose and stood looking at his body. This man's blood was dead, and had lost its taste in just the few seconds that it had been on the blade and inside him. Anger boiled up inside her, and she kicked the man's body to the side. She wanted to drain him, to drink his blood until she was satisified
Isa felt her knees go weak, and leaned against the wall, her hands pulling at her hair. She ran the conversation the two men had just had again and again through her mind, thinking of the second man's hesitation at stealing her things. An attack…getting bitten…
Of course, she thought. How could I not remember?
The fleeting image of a pale man leaning over her, telling her that she would be suffering…no death would come to her…yes. She had been attacked, and had been too stupid and shocked to try and defend herself. Now she was paying a heavy price for being cocky and careless. She felt disgusted with herself, and wanted to vomit. She slid down the wall and landed on her knees, face buried in her hands. Looking at the ground, she shook her head in disbelief.
What am I going to do?
AN: Thank you guys for all the feedback, I really appreciate it. I haven't played Oblivion in a while, so there will be some things that are wrong. I am stretching the quest "A Cure for Vampirism" to make it more entertaining, and please tell me if it gets too dull. Reviews are much appreciated, good and bad! :)