A Visit - Nayan/Tsajasuna Storytime

Nayan spied the silhouette of a mountain in the distance. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh - this one looked just the same as the other mountains he had searched. Grimacing, he trudged onward. Heavy clouds were gathering in the distance as the night rolled in, bathing the fields and mountains in orange and black. A distant layer of fog was sloping down the valleys and ravines in the distance, the many shrubs and trees of the Reach piercing it like ghostly arms. The wilderness was quiet, with only the sound of grass brushing against Nayan's smooth armour.

His search for Tsajasuna the White Witch had led him to Skyrim, to this desolate land called The Reach. It was wild and dangerous and beautiful, filled with creatures of Nirn and small, tightly-knit villages. Filled with prey. The villagers were simple farming folk, families and rarely guards - Nayan used this to his full advantage. He would walk through the towns and villages, explaining that his strange looks were down to his elven blood. Some kind of distant elven breed that he would make up on the fly. It became a game to make up stories about his origins - every new village, every new tavern, every new encounter with an attractive young lover - a new origin. He would wear a veil or mask of course, for nothing could explain his true nature, once revealed in all it's grotesque glory. He had not let one mortal see his true eyes and jagged teeth and slip away, not like the old days. One dull Vigilant had accused him of being a vampire, which Nayan took personally. As if he was as ugly as those used goods, living in filthy hovels and living off pet humans like fleas. A small chuckle rang out as he remembered fondly - not even Arkay would want to sanctify her body after what he'd done to it.

The rustling of the grass grew silent. Nayan's body froze, eyes scanning the land intently. Mortals, not far away - bandits, by the smell of them. A mix of Breton and Nord. Two males, one female. He was still, ears straining, listening for any noise. The smell was akin to prime meat to a starving beggar. Yesterday was the last occasion he'd fed, but the smell of live flesh was maddening. He closed his eyes, struggling to concentrate on his goal. He had something to do, he came here for a reason. The old Khajiit. The house. The mountain.

Something freezing landed on his skin. A snowflake settled on his cheek, and he opened his eyes. Then, he saw it. A lone house, small and well-hidden, situated on the side of the mountain. The faint glow of the moon had given it away, as if the celestial body was giving a helping hand to the lost homunculus. A small trickle of smoke was climbing out of the old chimney. The house was inhabited, at least. Snow had started to fall in plenty now, and Nayan felt the familiar cool of the Skyrim night settle in - he sighed again, breath white and wispy. The darkness of night eased his unsound mind - a characteristic inherited from Namira. The smell of the bandits melted away into nothing as his mood lightened. She had to be here, this must be where she was hiding!

Nayan walked excitedly to the feet of the mountain, and stared up at the final breath of his journey. The mountain was tall and jagged and alone. Just what she prefers, he thought with a smirk. A series of increasingly rickety stairs, planks and walkways curled around it, like some ancient serpent. He stepped on the first wooden beam - it was old and heaved, but he could feel it would take his weight. His strange heels made the wood moan in protest as he hurried his way upwards, black cloak spread out behind him. A small break was needed, every now and then, for the air was thin and the night was dark. Nayan could feel his breath becoming more ragged. His ebony armour made the wood complain when he leaned on it, but this didn't worry him. Why would it? This was typical of her, he thought. She would probably just teleport or fly up here. A burst of anger. Why didn't she ever teach me how to do that? That would've helped when we were run out of any number of places. A pang of sadness. Maybe because she knew I would teleport to her when she abandoned me. Emptiness. Disappointment.

By the time he had reached the top stairway, a good amount of time had passed and the sky was littered with stars and other celestial debris. The two moons were now high in the sky, as if they were both praising Nayan's victory in reaching his destination. Nayan stared at them, bathing in their beauty and smiled. He held his hand up to Secunda - he was as pale and beautiful as it was, and as everlasting. Haughtiness filled his mind. He would prove to Tsajasuna he was beautiful and useful and not a failure. He walked up the final set of stairs to the ancient wooden door. Pulling out a clawed hand, he nulled the magical lock over the thick wood. She was still using this spell? He grinned, brushed his hair with his claws and stroked his face, feeling for any dirt or snow. He would have to look his best, after all. He unlatched the lock and opened the door.

---

Nayan strode into the warm interior of the house and looked around. A large stove and fire were in front of him, basking the room in an orange glow and delicious warmth. To his left were a simple table and chair, strewn with books, mugs, all manner of fetishes and empty vials of blood. Some strange alchemical flowers hung in the rafters above him, their scent gliding down and masking the smell of mould and blood. They had been woven in and out of the beams above, with a delicacy not known to him. They were quite pretty. To his right was a small study, with a small but well lived-in bed beside it, covers strewn about. It was thick with all manner of furs and cloth, with various notes and scribblings rubbed into the walls behind it. A giant brimmed hat lay on the bed stand, surrounded by any number of tatty cloths, furs and papers.

There at the desk to his left, head buried in some giant mouldy tome, was the ancient Khajiit who had given unlife to Nayan. Tsajasuna, the great Khajiit necromancer and fabled white witch of the old tales, although none believed her alive now. She looked almost the same as she had looked all those years ago - fur thin and white, streaked with black blots with long dark hair spilling down her back and shoulders. She stiffened, and turned in her chair to see who had disturbed her research - it was a glare Nayan was familiar with. He remembered those vivid green eyes, that glowed with an otherworldly energy. The same glow emanated from the necromantic markings she had given herself long ago, on her black snout and lower lips. Her giant vampiric fangs - as long and pin-prick sharp as ever - offset the soft curves of her face.

"Nayan?!"

Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating, mouth agape ever so slightly. She immediately stood tall, on those heels of hers. Nayan smiled, a true gesture this time - he had found her at last.

"Hello, mother"

Tsajasuna couldn't help hide her amazement, as her jaw hung slightly open. Her torn ears stood up on end. Nayan was exactly as she had left him. He had not aged a moment in those many years, but there was a certain maturity about him now. The child had gained some sort of experience. She squinted slightly as she looked upon her creation more closely.

He looked like a young man, from afar. His skin was milk-white, made paler by the black Ebony armour he had encased himself in. He wore no protective chainmail to protect his skin from the dark metal underneath, but of course he didn't need any. Wearing clothes for protection was pointless for such a unique creature - Tsajasuna noted he must have learned to dress himself in order to function in society. It was only when one got closer they would start to question what manner of creature Nayan was. His eyelashes were long and black and his eyelids hung low, with pale bowed lips and flawless skin, smooth to the touch. His jawline was delicate and feminine. It was as if a young man were wearing the highest quality of make-up meant only for the ladies of some far-flung Breton court. He lacked an Adam's apple, and one could see a curvature to his breast and body, even underneath his ebony armour. His ghostly hair was long and tousled, like some alluring bard or princess from an ancient Cydrodillic tale.

His other features portrayed his true nature, however. For Nayan did not have the eyes of a courtesan or prince, but rather the eyes of a some evil Daedric thing. His eyes were black and pitiless, with glowing pale irises that glowed even in light and his mouth was wearing that terrible smile Tsajasuna knew so well. For Nayan's mouth was also black, with a long black tongue and dull grey razor-sharp teeth that he used to consume his prey. They were like steel blades that could pierce skin, flesh and bone alike. Tsajasuna herself had been bitten by those teeth in the past, and she remembered the terrible rot they would place in the wound, along with the homunculus' strange blunt claws. The old witch shuddered slightly - she despised those teeth and the crooked smile of their owner.

"Just what is this one wearing? Hmm? Khajiit did not know that it was the fashion to dress like a common harlot!"

Tsajasuna regained her composure immediately - she would have to watch herself around her wayward spawn. Dominance would have to be shown now. She could not let Nayan see any weakness, or more than she had already shown. Nayan crossed his arms in defiance.

"This happens to be the most fashionable way for a magical swordsman to roam the land, mother. The small folk think it some exotic elven fashion. I've learned how to live properly since you...left me on my own"

A pang of guilt grew in Tsajasuna's heart. Even now, she wondered if she had done the right thing in leaving the creature to the world at large in exchange for her own safety. The feeling was short-lived - she had done what she had to do to survive. She was a vampire - selfishness was a requirement for survival. The guilt disappeared. Nayan unfurled his arms and looked around the hut, turning on the spot.

"I was expecting something more grand than this...hut, I must admit"

His eyes glided over the vials of empty blood toppled about the coffin to his left, and noticed a crate full of fresh blooded capsules tucked away nearby. He wrinkled his nose in disgust - cold blood was ill fitting for such a powerful vampire as his mother. Maybe he would go out and catch some fat muscle-headed Nord for her later.

"Tsajasuna sees that this one has grown up somewhat, Nayan. Khajiit sees an improvement from the last time she laid eyes upon her cub"

Nayan whipped his head around to look at Tsajasuna, eyes wide with happiness.

"Nayan talks of fashion? Of culture? Of the people? This old Khajiit is pleased with her cubs' progress"

Yes! He was not a failure! He wanted to laugh, to tell the great witch of all the times he had not died and survived whatever was thrown at him. Again and again and again and again and again he had lived. All of them. A small grin spread across his face. His arrogance grew. He looked back down at the red bottles of blood.

"When did you stop hunting and started bottling blood, mother?"

"It is easier for Khajiits' research that the mortals not know what she is or what she eats. That is why-"

"It's cold. Cold. When it's warm, it's better. When it gushes."

"This one sees Nayan has not conquered his bloodlust. This was always the problem, Nayan. This was the reason-"

"Did you know there are bandits near the road here? To the south-west? I could smell them, but I walked past. I ignored them."

"Good. Khajiit can only imagine how many were messily killed on your way to Rorikstead"

"I have no bounties on me. No guard could catch me. Those that did died. Oh, I caught a Vigilant! Maybe she was after you, hmm?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Khajiit doesn't even want to know"

Tsajasuna turned to walk away while Nayan turned to follow, shifting the many papers and furs underneath him as he moved. Dust motes sprang up into the air like tiny lanterns, in the light of the fire, used to the delicate patters of furred paws. Tsajasuna leaned on the wooden beam next to her desk, her brilliant green eyes reflecting the flames as she looked at Nayan.

But he had stopped moving. He had smelt it. Here, in the cabin.

He smelt something alive. Something living, with blood coursing through its veins and warm flesh. He sniffed and held his black tongue to the air, tasting the tiny motes which betrayed all manner of secrets to him. There it was again, even stronger. The taste and smell of something living, something breathing. Tsajasuna was watching the homunculus. Her eyes grew wide in horror. He had smelt her apprentice, the little Khajiit known as Mordessa.

Nayan would not take this lightly.

"You're keeping something alive here, mother. Another Khajiit."

"Incorrect. Khajiit has a thrall downstairs where-"

"No, this mortal spends much of its time in this room. Like a...pet? No. Not a lover. Like a...friend?"

A dash of magicka. The taste of a burnt Destruction scroll. The acrid smell of ink. Nayan's eyes widened in anger.

"An apprentice?!"

Nayan licked the air once more, tasting even more of this intruder. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, whether from
hurt of anger he couldn't tell.

"Over me!?"

He hissed in anger, a deadly sound which Tsajasuna knew only too well. There was no point trying to placate the creature with words now. She became quiet and still, and put her hands behind her. Nayan felt his anger overtake him. He had decided. He would kill this apprentice to punish his wayward mother. That would teach her a lesson. Or maybe he'd persuade Tsajasuna to let him keep this unknown Khajiit as a pet. He smiled evilly as all manner of vile possibilities bled into his thoughts. His mind suddenly went blank, his arms fell limp. Nayan started to sway on the spot, his mouth open, his grotesque black tongue hanging freely like a strung-up corpse. His eyes began to shift colour, turning from a pale blue to a deathly white.

"Nayan, calm down! Tsajasuna has had enough of these tantrums!"

The homunculus stopped swaying and stood still suddenly, like a statue. His tongue slithered back into his mouth like a black snake. His true eyes gleamed, like twin pearls in the dark. Even the fire next to him seemed to dim and flicker.

"Khajiit, female...maybe twenty or so years old...branded? Tainted in some way, like me. Of low birth. Skinny. A whiff of Oblivion. The pages of a book. A journal? You've been keeping her up here, letting her sleep on a bedroll stuffed under the bed. That's why you have bottled blood here, so you don't hurt her."

His voice was calm and his tongue dangled again slightly. Tsajasuna winced as his mouth widened, showing those terrible teeth. Nayan's eyes turned to slivers, his heavy lashes betraying his intentions.

"A virgin."

The old witch had had enough. Nayan had gone too far, threatening the life of her dear apprentice. Silence hung in the air, Nayan enraptured in his delirium and Tsajasuna inwardly furious. She walked forward, incantation in hand to put the creature to sleep as she had done hundreds of times long ago. However Nayan was faster and older...and remembered.

Quick as a flash, Nayan regained his composure and grabbed Tsajasuna's wrist with his right hand as she drew it upwards, forcing the Khajiit back, slamming her against the beam she had been leaning on previously. He knew she couldn't recite the incantation without the use of both hands, so he grasped her neck in his left hand, claws digging into her fur. The old witch grunted and arched her back, air escaping her as she was taken by surpise. She struggled against the grip of her child, but physical strength was not something she could use against such a beast. She let out a furious snarl, but Nayan simply clutched her neck more tightly. The snarl turned to a splutter, the witches long fangs flashed in silence angrily. Nayan grinned madly, saliva starting to drip from his mouth as he leaned in closer to her face.

"You sent her somewhere. Call her back."

Tsajasuna was close to heaving. Nayan's face was so close to hers, she could smell his breath. It was sickly sweet, like fruit left out too long in the sun. The smell of blood and rot. She could feel fire inside her now, as she concentrated her magicka. Her anger was growing. The insubordiantion of this...thing she had created in her younger days! Nayan was laughing under his breath now, a low rumbling sound. Laughing at Tsajasuna, at her weakness. She glared into Nayans' pale eyes and placed her free hand on his outstretched arm.

The Great White Witch was furious.

What sounded like a crack of lightning bellowed throughout the small house. An earthquake and tornado seemed to happen at once. The sky moaned and the earth roared. Nayan was thrown back and smashed down on the stone floor in front of the hearth. His sword was thrown from his side. He leant up and shook his head, unable to grasp what just happened. Something dark and wet dripped down the left side of his face, covering his left eye and sticking to his eyelashes - he touched it. Blood?! But it was black, not the deep red he was accustomed to. He gasped, horrified at what he was seeing - his blood?!

A voice belonging to what can only be described as a god seemed to echo throughout existence.

"YOU DO NOT TOUCH HER"

Nayan looked up and saw his creator in front of him, but he did not see an old witch. He saw a god. He saw a being more powerful than any he had known, more ancient than the mountaintop they rested upon and more angry than he could fathom. Its eyes were a a blinding white, quivering in fury. Its fangs looked so sharp they could pierce even the hardiest of ebony armour. Black blood dripped from the claws of the right hand, claws wet and dancing in the fires' orange light. Its other hand was shaking, magicka being violently concentrated in its' palm. Its presence seemed to fill the room, its body becoming gigantic before Nayan's eyes. It spoke again, its voice shaking the house, almost deafening the shrinking form of the homunculus. Nayan shook his head, covering his ears with his hands. His vision was blurry.

Tsajasuna's voice echoed inside his head.

"WHAT DID I JUST SAY, UNLIFE?"

Tsajasuna's voice echoed again, the voice more cruel.

"As if an unlife could hold a candle to it's creator. A sad creature with no soul and no knowledge against an ancient with a true soul, who once knew life and then gained it everlasting. A sad creature who will never know life. A sad creature with no history. A sad creature with a repulsive form."

Nayan fell to his hands, as magika swirled around them both. All anger had left him now.

Tsajasuna had won.

There was silence as the Illusion spell Tsajasuna had used on Nayan worse off, and she shrank back down to her normal wizened form. She eyed his curled up form piteously.

"Nayan must leave here at once. Tsajasuna has put a claim on this territory and Khajiit will not put up with tantrums or roving man-eaters, even if they are her own. Nayan will bring the wrath of the populace on Khajiits' head once again, and Khajiit will not give up this location lightly."

Nayan looked up at her, still leaning. His face was one of defeat. There was hurt in his eyes as they
shone white for a second, black blood dripping from his eyes and mouth. He was heaving. Tsajasuna could still hurt him.

"There is a Namiran shrine not to far from here, to the west - perhaps a days walk or two. Through pleasant dark valleys and under the cloak of mist. A dark cavern for this child to spent some time in, thinking on its mistakes. Perhaps Nayan would feel more at home there, hmm?"

"I-I..."

"Do not apologise, child. Khajiit must learn to live with...mistakes as well. Besides..."

Tsajasuna bent down, and took Nayans' face in her paws. She stroked his face delicately, moving his hair out of the way of his wound above his left eye. His eyes went wide with fear, as her huge emerald eyes seem to bore into his own. She smiled.

"You are my masterpiece"

The witch placed her paw over Nayans' wound and it was gone. She stood up, and faced away from him as he felt his non-existent wound. A masterpiece? Like a beautiful painting? He slowly stood up, regaining his composure. He felt faint, so exhausted he felt he would fall again. But he also felt exhilaration. Although he had challenged his mother and lost, he would not come away completely empty-handed. He had garnered praise...and learned of a powerful weakness in the shape of this apprentice.

"Apologies for my anger, mother. I will leave straight away - c-can I come visit in the future, perhaps?"

"Do not push your luck, child. Khajiit knows what you are hoping to find. Khajiit will let you know when she is ready for a visit from Nayan."

Nayan nodded, smiling wryly to himself. He checked his armour quickly, untangled his cloak and picked up his gnarled sword from the ground, checking to see if it was damaged. He was ready for travel once again. Tsajasuna did not turn around to face him, watching him closely from the corner of her eyes. He opened the door. A blast of cold air whipped through the wooden house, knocking over various bottles and papers.

"Goodbye, Nayan"

"Goodbye, mother"

He was gone.

---

Nayan walked down the stairs from the wooden door. His back fizzed as he felt the magic seal he'd removed earlier applied again to the door. A different seal, unknown to him, this time. He reached the first of the many verandas he'd rested at earlier and fell to his knees. His sword rattled in his belt loop as he leaned on his hands for support, claws scratching at the splintering wood. An apprentice? An apprentice gets to live with his creator, but he doesn't? He bit his lip in anger as jealously wracked his mind. As if this apprentice was a masterpiece like him. Nayan hissed in frustration - he would have to be patient and clever to catch her. Not his strongest suits.

Voices. There were voices in the dark.

Nayan's thoughts melted away as he realized the bandits were closer. A new urge filled his mind. He needed to blow off some steam after the encounter with Tsajasuna. He leapt up onto a wooden post and stared into the darkness below him, crouching like some sort of monstrous bat. His eyes saw clearly in the dark.

There they were, at the small rocky road directly below, in front of Nayan. One male was waiting by the roadside, readying an ambush, hands on daggers. Another lay in the road, pretending to be dead or injured. A female also lay in wait, smiling sweetly at the mans outstretched form. A quarry was near, a small merchant carriage, coming from Rorikstead to deliver items to Dragonbridge, hoping to avoid confrontation under the guise of night.

He would have fifteen minutes. More than enough time.

Nayans' eyes glowed white, the change coming to him quickly this time. He dropped from the pillar.

---

Tsajasuna stood for a while, her mind aching with worry. She had fended off her wayward child this time, but she was disturbed at his lack of subordination. Nayan had become independent and had challenged her. This was not to be tolerated. The old Khajiit let out a long sigh, ears twitching. She sat down on her bed - she didn't want to end his existence. He was far too unique. Maybe she could trap him somehow? No, soul traps wouldn't work. She could use the seal branded on his lip to immobilize him, but only for short amounts of time. She cursed her lack of foresight. She thought of Mordessa, of how helpless a thing she was, all skin and bones and whiskers. The little cat would make for a terrible meal. Tsajasuna grimaced - even all the way up here, the gods found time to interfere with her research and solitude.

A sound.

Tsajasuna's ears twitched, straining to hear it again. A shout, far away in the night. Panic. Gasping. Tearing. She stopped listening. The witch stood up and sauntered over to her blood vials, picking one up and snapping open a fresh sample. She would need one to get through the night.