Vorseth was born five years after Zildath was erased from Clan Taccor’s memory, but not his parent’s heart. Vorseth was a dark blue Dragonborn like his father, (Narina was red). He was built the way a Dragonborn should be. He breathed lightning as he should. He had no tail. He was a sturdy youngling and grew to be a strong Dragonborn.

A boy who was constantly reminded of his banished, abomination brother by his parents and their disgusting secret shrine. It was nothing really, a small table, but inside the drawer were letters, and a drawing of Zildath.

Narina and Hifras were so proud of Zildath. Vorseth heard it in their voices, saw the longing in his mother’s eyes when she read Zildath’s letters. Regret bowed his father’s shoulders over the years. Vorseth even heard them speak once of how they should leave the Clan, and be with their son.


Zildath should have been killed at birth. It was done before, for reasons much less. Why was his brother so special? Even banned his very existence was a stain in his family’s name and on the clan that served the Great Dragon. If no one else would take care of his brother – then he, Vorseth, would.

He spent two years training harder than was warranted. His teachers, his mother, were proud of him; how he took to the sword, his abilities as a Dragonborn, his keen battle tactics. But he saw in her eyes, in his father’s eyes, they were never proud of him they way they were of their abomination and it burned Vorseth’s very soul.

When he felt ready, he asked for permission to travel. Using the excuse he wanted to take a short journey to expand his knowledge of the world. His parents and Clan Taccor were pleased by his request, his want for knowledge to better himself and so his request was granted.

In the end it was easy to track down his abomination of a brother. Zildath often gave away his location in his letters to their parents. Vorseth knew what Zildath was training to be. It was even more of a reason to kill him. His brother played with dark magics that would one day consume him. All Blood Hunters eventually became the monsters they hunted and his brother was an abomination since birth. It was only a matter of time before he became a monster worse than he was.

It had been remarkably easy to kill his fool brother too. Vorseth trained for a fight, but Zildath had not given him one. Vorseth would never forget the surprise on his brother’s face when he announced himself. Or the shocked pain in his eyes when Vorseth shoved his sword through his brother’s heart. It had been a powerful moment for Vorseth. One of righteousness. His first real kill. He’d honored his clan. His family. Killed the abomination and stain once and for all.

He spent another few nights in the town in revelry and when he returned home, he told no one of the real purpose of his journey. But, Vorseth always fought to hold in a smile and bit his tongue as his parents worried and began to fear the worst because it had been so long since they’d heard from Zildath.

Soon, Vorseth knew, they would forget. They would move on. And they would look upon him with the same pride.

He could wait. 

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