The Vampire Hunter, A fanfic by DoomedOne Options

[DoomedOne]

Note from the Author: This story is set roughly, very roughly, around the end of the Third Era, basically on the stage of the game Oblivion. However, this is strickly for reference to certain characters from the game and general settings. It is taken in as though Kvatch has not yet been destroyed, and the Emperor still lives, basically before the unknown hero escapes from the Imperial Prison. The difference is the order of events, as certain side quests (such as the order of the Virtuous Blood) have already been completed. All spoilers are extremely minor and irrelevant, and will be specifically pointed out beforehand. If you have not played Oblivion, don't fret, this is just a disclaimer so I don't get complained at if I mention something.

Prologue:

The cobblestone street of Chorrol was quiet that night, with barely a flicker of light from the lamp-posts lighting the way. Hildor wandered home now, wearing his simple mage apprentice robe, exhausted from a long day of training. He felt unable to think properly, his mind still recycling hundreds of lessons on the proper technique to cast a fireball. He didn't even notice the figure cloaked in black along the edge of the Chapel. His home was a long way across town, and he much preferred the short way through the cemetery, though it was lonely and frightening and there were no guards posted nearby, he was too exhausted to pay mind to paranoia at this point, so he gave a heavy sigh and opened the cemetary gate. A second figure in black dropped down from the Chapel roof, joining the first.

Hildor turned around in unplaced suspicion, but there was nothing, he couldn't place what it was that brought upon all these sudden feelings of anxiety. Perhaps it was that the cemetery gate took an unnaturally long time to close. After just a few minutes, Hildor found himself far too deep into the cemetery to turn around, but this suspicious feeling grew heavier. He attempted to muster a bit of light but his magicka was far too drained. Perhaps, now that he thought of it, taking the street was not so much a longer walk, all this worrying was surely more trying on his energy than a nice walk close by the guards.

Hildor's foot hit a hard rock, and fell forward, an elven short blade sweeping directly above him. He turned, seeing just the silhouette of some figure before him, holding an elven shortsword.

"Guards!" he shouted, "guards!"

The first shadowy figure stepped back a bit as Hildor unleashed a grouping a wild kicks. The second, more nimble one leapt over the first wielding a steel dagger, but was suddenly pegged back by an arrow. His body clobbered over the other assassin, while as guard at the end of the cemetary restrung his bow and fired again, pegging him a second time, killing him. The assassin with the elven blade rolled under a tombstone, dodging the arrows that seemed unlikely to miss their marks. Hildor rolled to his belly and attempted to crawl as to avoid getting shot by the guard's arrows.

"Oh no you don't!" shouted the assassin, flinging forward, forgetting himself in succession to his goal. A torch knocked him upside the head as a second guard, wielding a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other, just arrived. Within seconds the assassin was dead.

"All clear over here!" one guard said to the other.

"Any idea who was attacking you, kid?" asked the guard with the bow as he approached.

"No, I have no idea at all," admitted Hildor.

"Perhaps the dark brotherhood?" suggested the guard with the sword.

"Have you done anything to piss anybody off?" asked the guard with the bow.

"No, nothing! Nothing at all!"

"Then that rules out the dark brotherhood, they're employers act out of greed and revenge, nothing more," said the guard with the bow.

"Well, you're a mage, aren't you kid? Perhaps they were necromancers or some other general sort of enemy," suggested the guard with the sword.

"Unlikely," said the guard with the bow. "These guys were good to get through out defenses, this city is well guarded, who would spoil the ability to infiltrate a city for the sake of a mere apprentice? One of those assassins threw his life away to kill that man, there must be a reason." The guard pondered it, "Perhaps it was that Vampire following that's been rumored of in High Rock and the Colovian Highlands?"

"No," said the guard with the sword, "They always attack in groups of three. Anyways, I'll escort him home, and strike at anything that lay in wait there, you should head back to your post."

"I'll inform the captain of this matter, and put them watch on high alert tonight."

"Very good," the guard said before grabbing Hildor by the shoulder and leading him off.

"I don't know what it could have been at all, to be honest that alone has scared me half to death, I've always lived so comfortably and securely, thinking as long as I stayed within the city walls and... oh it's just so dreadful..." Hildor sobbed as they reached his home, unlocked the door, and invited the guard in.

The guard just stood there.

"Well, aren't you going to look around, to be sure they aren't inside?"

The guard smiled, "You can be quite sure, we are," he grinned, "Don't scream for help, I could kill you in a moment. Now then, on to business, you should have a family heirloom, correct? I need it. I need the Ring of the Vampire Hunter, where is it?"

"I... I don't have it," Hildor offered.

"Liar, my superiors went through a lot of trouble tracking it down. We know you have it."

"No, no a thief took it, I don't have it, I was um... robbed this morning! I swear!"

"You have one more chance," he said, as the guard persona disappeared and a young dunmer woman in a black cloak took his position. Her voice was sweet, and her face beautiful despite the bright red, bloodshot eyes. "Where is the ring?"

"A thief!" He yelled, "A thief!"

"Thief you say?" a patrolling guard asked from outside the house.

"Damn!" the dunmer woman shouted, a cutlass already pulled at a moved against his head.

M'Orik sat up from his bed roll and looked about frantically. His dream was terrible. Feeling a little worried, he tore the ring from pocket and gave it a quick run over. He dared not put it on, first chance he got he would sell the cursed thing off to a fence.

This post has been edited by DoomedOne: May 4 2006, 08:00 AM

[DoomedOne]

Chapter 2

Iago Grindley knocked on an old door in the Temple district of the Imperial City. He had been riding home from Elswyr for a day and a half, staying at an Inn in Bravil on the way. His horse, an albino black from Cheydinhal, was across the river from the Waterfront, as Grindley didn't trust the Imperial stables.

"To whom do we owe the pleasure?" answered a male voice from the other side.

"To a humble servant," responded Grindley. The door opened. He was greeted by Cylben Dolovas, sporting full ebondy armor with a large ebony claymore strapped across his back. He was a handsome looking dunmer, with a smooth face.

"Grindley!" he smiled. "You've been gone for nearly two weeks on that assignment."

"They were difficult to track down," Grindley admitted.

"Well Gray-Throat has some far more pressing news in the headquarters anyway. Roland dismissed him, so he wants to talk to you personally about the matter. You know Roland, unless you carry the dust he doesn't trust anything."

"Very well, is it a private matter?"

"Yes," said Cylben, "But Roland and Gilen went on an expedition to Skyrim in an attempt to track down a few Volkihar."

"Silen is still after a clan that can produce cure-adequate dust commonly, is he?" Grindley snickered. "Well, good day."

"I was wondering, Grindley, if we could spot some lunch on Tirdas," suggested Cylben.

"I'll probably be out of town by then," said Grindley.

"Oh very well, next time."

Grindley headed down to the basement. The room was well lit, with some nice tables. The entry walls were covered in books upon books, mostly about or written by vampires. On the wall at the far side of the entrance were dozens of rows protected by glass casing, storing hundreds upon hundreds of brown clay jars, vampire dust. It always made Grindley sick to his stomache, to know each one was a another vampire slain by the order. On the left end of the cases was a collection in black clay jars, the exceptional vampire remains were left there.

On one side of a table, reading a book, was Gray-Throat, and older looking argonian. He looked up and noticed Grindley, who removed his hat and sat down across from Gray-Throat.

"It's very good to see you Brother," said Gray-Throat. "There is extremely pressing business I think you'll take with more open ears that Roland."

"Good to see you, too, Gray-Throat, now what is this business?"

"You've heard of the Vampire following rumored from Southeastern Highrock and Eastern Hammerfell?"

"Yes, we had a Brother investigating that a month ago didn't we?"

"You are correct, the Khajiit."

"Right, Da'Rudo."

Gray-Throat looked curiously at Grindley for a moment. "That is correct, an investigator native to High Rock, attempting to gather information from this most fearsome of followings. He has told us very little more than what we know from rumor. They select their targets in advance, always with reason, as though there is some goal behind their workings. They always attack in groups of three, two acolytes and a master. It's was believed to be a Vampiric form of the Dark brotherhood, selecting their pray for monetary gain. Those are the rumors, what Da'Rudo has informed is... they have been spotted in the Colovian Highlands. Specifically their targets have been found in the Colovian Highlands."

Grindley leaned back in chair, narrowing his eyes. "It's befuddling to learn they've grown so bold. How many victims in Cyrodiil, where were they found?"

"One, in Chorrol."

"Chorrol?!" Iago sounded incredulous "Who?"

"It's not proven, as they left no marks, but one of the guards claims he is sure they used deceit and trickery to hunt down a local member of the mage's guild. A guard heard him shouting for help from his home, and by the time the guard broke in, he was dead, so it's probable the vampire felt the mission far too urgent to go through the usual ritual. What's unknown is who would want them dead. Da'Rudo has not confirmed for us whether they are an assassin clan for higher, or if there's some other ambition we haven't noticed yet."

"My place is in Chorrol immediatly, then," Grindley stated, picking his hat up.

"Not yet brother," Gray-Throat croaked. "The guard has requested a meeting, as I do not like talking to the Guard, I told them they could see you when you returned, so you'll want to go tell Servatius Quintilius you're present, inform him you're representing the Order."

"And pile through some beaurocratic mess while the Following grows in territory? Very well."

"There's one other thing, some information I have kept until your return. You've read the book, "Immortal Blood," correct?"

Grindley nodded as he stood up from his seat.

"I have uncovered the diary of Movarth Piquine."

Grindley gave Gray-Throat a harsh glance. "Where is it?"

"In a safe place."

"That's important news, indeed, you were right not to tell anyone, keep it hidden." Grindley left the basement, heading back up to the first floor, where Cylben sat eating some Lunch.

"Still up for Lunch of Tirdas?" Grindley asked as he made his way for the door. "I'll be stuck in town for a while."

"Unfortunate, but yes that does sound good. I'll be seeing you. Err... blessings of Akatosh and all that nonsense."

"You too," said Grindley on his way out the door.

This post has been edited by DoomedOne: May 2 2006, 03:50 AM