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 4

The Waterfront had an old stench about it. Several ships tied into the docks, few among them looked sea worthy. Because the only guard in the Waterfront district of the Imperial City kept homeless from sleeping on the streets, there were many make shift bedrolls made on these ships while their owners were off in the city or elswhere. Grindley made his way to the Bloated Float, a ship converted into an Inn, and his favorite place to stay, mostly because of the good food and the atmosphere, and because the owners tended to turn their heads from shady figures.

He paid for a room, and went to his bed to get some rest.

"String of murders continue in the Colovian highlands!" yelled a distributor from the black horse courier. Iago awoke gripping his chest, panting heavily.

"Damn you dreams, go away!" he whispered, clamboring out of bed and throwing on his clothes.

"What did you say about murders in the Colovian Highlands?" Grindley called as he ran up to the main room of the Inn.

"Here, take a copy," said the distributor. Grindley accepted one and began reading through it.

Murderers loose in Chorrol!

To join the murder of Hildor Veseras two weeks ago, just two days ago there was a second victim, an old monk named Javen Porter, who was well known by Chorrol citizens by his kind disposition and his ritual of sitting on the ridge outside of town during sunset. He was found on that ridge the next morning, dead. The Chorrol Town Watch has assumed control of the investigation, and has given absolutely no information about possible suspects or anything else. All they have said is that it's almost definite the two murders were linked.

Grindley dropped the paper, running for the door, "When Gray-Throat comes tell him I'm in Chorrol!" he yelled to the Inn Keeper on his way out. He was on his horse in ten minutes, and well on the road in twenty, getting in a good day's ride to Skingrad before stopping at West Weald Inn for the night.

He arrived around 10 at night. Upon entering it seemed like it was a quiet night, completely undisturbed aside from the snoring inn-keeper sitting in the corner on a chair. Grindley dropped ten gold coins on her lap, and went behind the counter to grab a room key. They were on a rack, each key labeled with a number, one, two, three, four, five, six, etcetera. No key was missing, telling Grindley no one was staying at the Inn that night. This wouldn't have been so strange, and Grindley ignored it until he turned back around. He noticed on a table in the center of the room a very old, very good bottle of wine was prepared with two glasses.

It was at this moment the door handle rotated, and the door creaked open. Grindley could barely stick his white clay half-mask on his face before two men in robes and hoods entered, very quietly. The Inn-keeper stirred, opening one eye to see them enter, before quickly closing it an snoring again. The two men seemed not to notice.

"Count, I promise you this place has been secured, there is not a safer place in all of Skingrad tonight for what we are about discuss," one man said to the other.

"I still say we should have headed out of town a ways. But, well, nevermind. Ugrok, take a walk," an older looking dunmer called to the Inn-Keeper as he sat down and removed his hood. His hair was charcoal and slick. His face was a little pale, but not unreasonably so. The startling feature on him were his piercing light red bloodshot eyes. Grindley knew instantly what he was.

The Inn-Keeper grunted, picking herself up. A few of the coins dropped on the ground, which she picked up curiously but not ungratefully, before leaving.

"Alright my lord, the situation is simple. The Following of the Three Fangs are making you an offer," said the second man, a redguard with insane, bloodshot eyes and large fangs. Fangs were a trait the Count did not carry.

"What could you possibly offer me?" asked the Count.

"We've done our research, Janus, we know what we can give you, what we have in our power to give you," smiled the redguard.

Janus stared at him harshly. "Deals with the Following are deals with Clavicus Vile, I do not accept."

"Please, please please Count Hassildor, I beg you to reconsider. Skingrad will be used in our plot whether you accept it or not, but because you're... one of us, we decided to offer you a deal, a deal none of the other target cities will get. We were willing to give you something in return."

"You are a fool, Branlid, your entire Order is one of fools and idiots to think you have the power to--"

"Hold on!" the Redguard stifled Count Hassildor, "We are being watched."

Count Hassildor stood up, giving a quick glance around the room. "A spy? Who do you work for?!" he shouted, jolting forward, unleashing a barage of paralysis spells. Iago Grindley found himself struck by one before he could move. He face fell back, and the mask flew off, revealing him to the two vampires.

"Is he dead?" the redguard asked.

"No," said the Count. "He'll be right again in just a few minutes. Ugh... he has a reflection on of some kind, I can barely move."

The redguard grinned. "Well, I'm going to go ahead and feed." He approached Grindley, who lay there, his malachite eyes transfixed on the Count, even as the Redguard's fangs buried deep into his neck and began to suck.

"Your wasting your time," said Grindley, his hand at his scimitar. The redguard retracted from his neck.

"Augh, disgusting!" he yelled as Grindley grabbed him the coller and rolled over, pinning him to the ground with one arm, slicing him across the throat with the next.

The Count already let loose another volley of various spells at Grindley, who was prepared this time, diving forward, allowing them to strike the Redguard, who lay on the ground clamping his bleeding throat.

"Who do you work for?!" Count Hassildor yelled.

"You know the rules, vampire, you have to catch me first!" Grindley yelled grabbing on his mask and slipping it into his coat.

"Dammit!" Hassildor stammered, summoning a skeleton to help him fight. "Die already!"

"Who'd have thought?" Grindley asked, squaring himself from across a table, his scimitar focused on the skeleton. "Count Janus Hassildor, leader of Skingrad, was a vampire."

"You fool, you'll carry that to the grave!" Hassildor yelled.

"Hah, don't worry I already knew. If my goal were to slur your name I would have done it ages ago."

"Then why come here?" Hassildor interrogated. The skeleton disappeared.

"I came for a room."

Janus Hassildor smiled. "Well, if that's everything, I suppose I'm dismissed. Please finish off the other one, he's bleeding all over my carpet. I suppose they think I killed their messenger, a suitable response enough..."

"I very much doubt you'll make it to the door before you're a pile of dust," Grindley stated, raising his blade with one hand, pointing the other hand forward, aimed directly at Count.

"A race is it? Very well, give me to the count of three," Hassildor chuckled.

"No."

A large fireball flew at the Count, who raised his hand that glowed purple, and the fireball was intercepted in a magical barrier. A larger skeleton with an axe shot out of the void and charged at Grindley, who gripped his sword with both hands to intercept the axe, then recoiled and sprang forward, using his sword to prop the head of the skeleton. When he turned back to the Count, he was gone.

Grindley stepped over the redguard vampire, who still bled on the floor, paralyzed by the Count's earlier spells.

"Any information you provided me would be useless," he shrugged, stabbing him through his chest.

(I'm afriad it will be a while before chapter 5 comes, as I'm moving and I doubt I'll have internet access for some time afterwards)

This post has been edited by DoomedOne: May 5 2006, 03:57 AM