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]

I'd like to request that if you begin picking up on certain things in this story that you do not post about them, as it would spoil it for other readers. If you think you know what's going to happen or what information is going to be revealed, and are bursting about it, just PM it to me.

Chapter 3:

"Sir, sir? A man from the Order of the Virtuous Blood is here to see you," said a messenger to Servatius Quintilius, a tall, strong Imperial with a short forehead, who wore a simple green shirt and some white pants. As he sat behind a desk that day, there was no need for his armor.

"Finally," said Servatius, "Send him in."

Iago Grindley stepped in a few moments later, sporting his classic broken brimmed hat and long black coat. The silverish hilt of his scimitar jutted out the front of his coat, with a half-moon counter-weight.

"Well," Servatius chuckled, "If you weren't from that group of yours I'd swear an assassin just walked in here."

Grindley gave a polite smile, removed his hat and sat down across from Servatius. "So what manner of business does this extend to?" he asked.

"Oh, yes well you know as Captain of the City Watch, my duties, err... well it's very beaurocratic, which I despise. I'm no beaurocrat, but I got this formal complaint, you see. It's from the Fighter's Guild, they're pissed off about something or another. Here, read this." Servatius hunted through a stack of papers, and handed one to Grindley. He read it over, then dropped it on the desk.

"They claim we're stepping into their territory?"

"Well, you know, not everyone in Cyrodiil can just step up and begin a little vigilante organization, friend, oh, what did you say your name was?"

"Grindley," he said. "And yours?"

"You haven't um... heard?"

"I'm bad with names," Grindley said sternly. "I don't even remember the last guy."

"Oh, yes well I am Servatius Quintilius, Captain of--"

"Yeah, I know that part," Grindley cut him off. "This Fighter's Guild thing is ridiculous. We're not competition, because we do not require rewards for hunting down Vampires, occasionally they're given to us out of the goodness of the hearts of the people we help in our cause, however all of our funds that we use to pay people off for donating Vampire Dust is given to us by rich individuals who would like to promote our cause. Therefore, we are in no way an illegal guild."

"Okay, I just needed to touch base with one of you, you know how it is, I mean what with you using the late Seridur's Manor as your headquarters, which is bad enough."

"It could not be put to better use," Grindley argued.

"Look, I know the threat vampires have in this province..." Servatius attempted to respond, "I just think the fighter's guild does suitably enough, there's no need for you people, vampirism does not oftenly extend much farther past their dwellings, occasionally a traveller who drifted from the road--"

"How many Vampire Clans do you know of in the entire Province on Cyrodiil?"

"I wouldn't have that information on me but if I were to ask my--"

"One, just one, one of the oldest in all of Tamriel," Grindley went on. "They say this clan originally migrated from Valenwood, the father clan of the Telboth. This clan outcompeted all Vampires in Cyrodiil after Talos made it a much more dangerous place for Vampires, only they managed to hold onto their niche and survive. Their name was lost, no longer needed they had become so good at concealment. So good that they have infested every orifice of the government and the military. They use their powers of charm and persuasion and their sudden lack of care over the well being of men and mer to make themselves rich and decadent, honing to the highest tastes. They have ensnared every cyrodiilian citizen so deeply that if I were to even begin to strike at the real threats I would find myself crossed with you and your entire watch. The most powerful ones you hear of in history, are no such thing, they are the ones that made a claim for fame and got themselves writ into legend as ghosts. The truly powerful Cyrodiilian vampires walk among us today the same as they had in the beginning of the Third Era, claiming many different names and faces, and most of all claiming many different cattle."

Servatius stared at Grindley for the longest time, frozen with a molested expression. "And how do you know this?"

"Oral traditions, tales passed around certain vampire circles and followings."

"And, how would one like yourself manage to gain an ear into such oral traditions, Mr. Grindley?"

Iago narrowed his eyes, "That's my business."

"Well," said Servatius, "This is a far fetched idea, that vampirism is such a large problem in Cyrodiil. I mean, personally I'd rather this all went away, everything, the Order of the Bloody Virtues and the whole idea, and I'd like Seridur's Manor cleaned up so the office of Imperial Commerce can sell it."

"Then I'm afraid I can't comply, we're well invested in that place as our headquarters."

Servatius began eyeing Grindley's scimitar. "You'll have to comply, Mr. Grindley, frankly I'm sick of it, complaints that your group has murdered innocent men in their homes, Fighter's guild whining that we have another group of blades for hire who play dirty..."

"I don't know what metal it is," said Grindley.

"Excuse me?"

"My sword, you were looking at my sword. To be honest with you I don't know what metal it is."

"Oh, oh interesting, a gift was it?"

"Perhaps, perhaps it's just been stricken with so much tainted blood it gave up it's old skin, which was erased from my memory. It's called Ensis De Lunes, perhaps that's a hint."

"Right... well I think I have another appointment, but I'm not such an arrogant man that I won't grant another one of these meetings, not in my office though..."

"Lunch on Tirdas," said Grindley.

"Sounds good."

"Sleep tight Captain."