Bloodlust, Written by a Fan Fiction Newbie Options

[The Metal Mallet]

Greetings, I have been a fairly longtime reader of the Fan Fiction section of these forums (back when it was still W4O) as a guest. I thought it was about time to get out of "veil" per se. Hopefully, this Fan Fic will be enjoyable for you guys as your fics have been enjoyed by me. Criticism is always appreciated. Anyways, here it is!


- Bloodlust -

The knife slashed through the man’s throat with ease, causing an eruption of blood to pour out the gaping tare. A shocked gurgle escapes the man’s lips as he begins to pale. The only warmth he feels is the body that is holding him up and the bodily fluid running down his chest. His eyes finally cloud over, still locked in their state of shock. The body is then silently lowered to the ground.

The killer stares down at his latest handiwork. What a rush! The sound of the blade tearing through skin and flesh, the sudden burst of blood spouting out the wound, even the sickly sweet scent of the man’s life force intoxicated him. He inhaled the scent deeply as he bent over to clean off his knife on the man’s shirt. This was just another stepping stone in order to prepare himself for his main goal.

Vengeance, he thought, I will have it soon. I just need to make sure my skills are up to par to get away with this. Hopefully this gets you quivering in those expensive boots of yours as well.

The figure cloaked in darkness exited the alley where he committed his crime, casually integrating with the night’s pedestrians. As he passed a homeless man and his fire barrel, he casually tossed his bloodstained gloves into the flames. An experienced killer will not leave any incriminating evidence. Fortunately he didn’t get any blood on his clothes this time.

After handing the homeless man some coins, he continued on. The journey home was uneventful after that. No one paid any attention to the moderately well-dressed man walking down the street. No one knew the chaotic thoughts running through his mind at the moment. No one knew the pain and suffering he has gone through to get this far, or the lengths to which he’ll go to achieve what he wants. All they see is an average man who prefers black colours and cloaks. No one would suspect he was the one behind the current string of murders that have been happening.

The killer arrived at his home, located in a quiet, peaceful part of Kvatch. As he hung up his cloak, he contemplated his next move. The best approach would be to wait a couple of days before initiating his next murder. There was no need to be hasty and become careless. The point was to get away with his mission in the end; suspicions must be avoided at all costs.

As he climbed into bed, his thoughts were still running through his actions of the night, reliving every beautifully bloody moment. He closed his eyes and knew what his dream was going to be. It has always been the same recently.

Sweet, bloody revenge.

This post has been edited by The Metal Mallet: Jun 19 2006, 05:52 AM

[The Metal Mallet]

Bah! My daily update schedule ruined! Ohwell, it's not a huge deal. As long as you get material some of the time my readers will be happy right? RIGHT!?!?!?

Well, I'll continue and find out...

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Patience is a necessity if a killer expects to work on their craft for a long time. Any fool could just approach their target and behead them before they realize what’s going on. Unless the victim isn’t a fool, and guards are naturally suspicious, so the direct approach would definitely cause problems. Even if the target was a fool, the direct approach still can lower the lifetime of a killer just because there are the chances for witnesses. Witnesses tend to tell guards what a killer looks like, therefore the length of a killer’s career is substantially lowered.

The killer knew all about this. That was why he took his time to find his target for the night. He needed to be as inconspicuous as possible, and keep his eyes open for the right opportunity to rise. He was constantly peering into the alleyways, his amulet resting underneath his shirt allowed him to see in the darkness. It seemed the guards were smartening up their act; not a single guard was lurking around in the alleys this evening.

Looks like tonight is going to be more of a challenge, he thought as he thumbed at the scar above his right brow, I hoped it was so. Preparation is key for what I need to do…

As the killer progressed down the streets of Kvatch, he quickly noticed that the guards were no longer alone, they always had a partner with them. Some even had parties of three or four. He quickly decided to focus on a party of two. Given the right situation, he could take both out before they realized what was going on. Hopefully the sensation pulsating in his head didn’t drive him into anything too hasty.

“Blood! I demand it! Can’t you feel it? It’s calling…answer it!”

I will, I hear it too. I just have to maintain my control, one mistake and I could ruin everything.

“Yes… his blood calls the loudest. I want to see it sooo much! The sound of it spilling will sound better than any symphony ever created. I can picture it so vividly… the sound of ripping flesh… the geyser of crimson… the fear in his eyes before the life fades away from them… beautiful, picturesque isn’t it?”

It is… I want it now… No! I mustn’t be tempted right now! I have work to do, the blood of two men will satisfy for now. All I need is to figure out which two…

Raucous laughter suddenly erupted from around the corner ahead of the killer. Instantly, the killer made his way in the direction of the laughter, intent on who was behind this boisterous laughter. A rush of excitement began pulsating in union with the odd sensation that had been travelling with him.

Peeking around the corner, the killer witnessed two men stumbling around with their arms over each other, laughing hysterically. They were obviously drunk and it looked like they were moving on to the next pub. The swords strapped around their waists told the killer that indeed, they were Kvatch guards, supposedly off-duty this evening. The killer smirked, a guard was a guard, these two men were going to be his targets this evening. The real hunt had just begun.

Trailing at a safe distance away, the killer observed the two men carefully. The one was a young Redguard, who seemed to be more inebriated than his partner. It was likely that this was his first time hitting the pubs, as the alcohol was making his stumble quite often. The other was a tall Imperial, drunk, but he was able to move straight, despite having to drag his feet along to do so. The killer decided he should still be cautious with this one as with age, a man could still be dangerous while drunk. As they entered the next pub, ‘The Flying Bosmer’, the killer knew exactly what he was going to do. The maddening pulse quickened as he crept into the alley, prepared for what was to come. It would only take patience to get away with his plan. Hopefully the urges wouldn’t ruin his frame of mind…



As expected, it took roughly an hour to hear the slamming washroom door in the upper story of the pub, followed by the young Redguard vomiting into the washbasin. A sudden rush flooded the killer’s mind. “Now! Now! Bleed him now!”

Suppressing the rush took effort and the killer began to perspire. Why was this happening? Never before had this been a problem. He was so close to what he wanted accomplished and yet this madness within his mind could ruin it all. He must suppress it!

Fortunately the Redguard was taking his time emptying his stomach, his loud retching was reaching the killer’s ear from outside on the roof quite easily. It took only a few moments to flood the urges within the calm void that his training had long since created. He then waited patiently for the retching to stop. Once it did, he leaned over the roof’s edge, and tapped on the washroom window. A shift in the light emanating from the window told the killer that the Redguard was investigating.

As quickly as he could, he slammed his fist through the window, causing a loud shattering, then grabbed the body by the shirt, and yanked the body out the window. A cry of shock escaped the drunken Redguard’s lips before plummeting from the heights of the pub. A sharp, wet crack accented the ending of the fall.

The killer then slipped into the pub from the broken window, and placed himself behind the door leading out into the hallway, knife at ready. Stumbling steps approached the door and a slurred voice called out, “Hey rookie! Ya okays in there? I tolds ya, you shouldn’t drink ‘o much!”

A few moments later the door creaked open and the Imperial walked in. Noticing the window, he stumbled closer to investigate.

“Now! Do it now!”

Almost instantly the killer reacted, viciously wrapping his arm around the forehead of the Imperial and slashing his throat open in one deft movement. He held the body up for a moment, the proceeded to toss him out the window as well. This time, a faint, wet splat told the killer the body had reached the end of its fall.

Quickly he exited via the window back onto the roof of the building. There he stood, eyes fixated on the two bodies sprawled on the ground before him. It was visionary, artwork at its finest. The blood spilled across the rivulets of the cobblestone like many small creeks, but were soon flooded into a lake of blood. He finally released the void of his training and let the rapture take over. The smell of the blood became stronger in his nostrils, the crimson more vivid, he could nearly taste it. Satisfaction protruded from ever pore of his soul. It had been too long to do this.

His thumb then brushed the scar above his brow and his feelings of rapture subsided. How could he be satisfied with this? Killing a couple of drunks was no challenge at all. Sure, there was two of them, but there did not seem to be any apparent danger at all. Maybe he was ready… maybe the fear was instilled high enough to act upon his true target. To finally achieve his revenge.

No, my tasks have been too easy so far, I need something more challenging. If I don’t I WILL get caught if I try to get my revenge at the moment. Preparation will have to continue, he thought as he began to head to the drainpipe leading back down to ground level. His moment’s bliss was ruined because of a scar, a scar left by the man he sought revenge for.

It wasn’t the mark above his right brow that drove him. No, the scars ran deeper than that. They went to his very soul, the very essence within him. Those scars had changed him, they drove him away from Kvatch, his home, for a long period of time. Since then, many changes had happened, but one thing didn’t change. The one who had scarred him still lived. He intended to change that. But first, he intended to scare him half to death. Let the paranoia sink in to torment him. The killer almost hoped that he would beg him to kill him once he got his chance, almost. Begging for his life would sound sweeter to his ears as he would ignore them. Then he would reach completion as he would spill the blood of the one who tormented his thoughts for so long…

Yet again, the killer paid homage to the homeless man with the fire barrel by giving away a few coins and relieving himself of his gloves as he engaged in a short conversation with the man. The man didn’t notice the smell of burning leather at all, his own filth would’ve easily overwhelmed most other scents. The killer didn’t mind the man’s stench though, he understood what it was like to down on his luck. He had been forced to live in similar fashion for a time. Before a significant change turned things around for him. He did not want to dwell on that memory though, his past provided the skills he needed for the future. That was all he needed from the past. That, and absolution.

As he continued back to his home, he noticed something. The pulsating sensation was all ready returning. A frown crossed his face. So soon…

Exhausted, he entered his home to formulate his next action.