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]

Well my mouth is feeling much better, and the stitches from my surgery have basically all fallen out. So to celebrate, here's an update! Enjoy!

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Savlian needed to take the rest of the day off, less the stress would drive him insane. His talk with the Count had finished around midday and his mood had changed for the worse because of it. He had set off to the barracks, informed his Lieutenant that he was taking charge for the remainder of the day, and then he immediately headed to the nearest tavern. Fortunately, it wasn’t “The Flying Bosmer”.

Savlian took a long drink from mug of ale, gulping quietly. He set the mug onto the table and sighed. He had no idea where to take this serial murder investigation any further. He had reached an impenetrable roadblock, one that sucked the very life out of him. It was disturbing how this monster could remain completely undetected through 6 murders. It was baffling! Savlian finished off his mug and signalled the barkeep for another one; he had all ready finished off 4 previous mugs, a warm headiness filled his senses but it was not enough to fill the hopeless void within him.

Savlian was not one to drink a lot, he avoided it most of the time. Being a guard, he had seen what the stuff can do to a person. He decided that it didn’t matter today, escape was what he needed and if alcohol can escape his feelings, he was going to use it. There was only one other previous time that he had gone to such extremes before. It had been that night where he realized his real role of being the Count’s “Problem Solver”. He needed to numb the guilt he felt that night. Today, he needed to escape from this helpless situation he was stuck in. He was all ready well on his way.

Of course while drinking, his mind began to wander. It wandered to a time where his thoughts were clear, when what he did made sense. At least, at the time he thought they made sense…


“The Count wants you to pay a visit to Warvil Dibbens, a commoner in the town, he’s been spreading slanderous lies about his Lordship so he wants you to solve his problem, so to speak,” Brixley informed Savlian who simply answered with a curt nod and was on his way.

This problem seemed like an easy one to Savlian. If it was just a commoner, he was likely not to have any fighting experience so a fight probably wouldn‘t take place. All Savlian needed to do was simply get his point across, and he was good at doing that. He provided incentives that were hard not to agree upon.

While approaching the house of Warvil, he came up with the perfect idea to get inside. He knocked on the door and waited patiently. Footsteps approached the door which soon opened to reveal an old pair of Breton eyes as blue as the sky on a clear day. “Yes?” inquired the elderly man.

“Tax Collector. Might I enter?” Savlian asked.

Anger flashed across those old eyes but the door opened to allow Savlian to enter the cozy little home. It looked like the old man was alone, as no other activity could be heard throughout the house. The silence was almost death-like. Shrugging off the awkward silence, Savlian turned towards the Breton. “May I take a seat?”

“Sure,” came the gruff reply, it was obvious that the man didn’t enjoy Savlian’s company. Unfortunately Warvil thought Savlian was an employee of the town so had to be hospitable at the most.

Savlian took a seat in an old, creaky chair and pulled out a piece of parchment. “Looks like fifty-five septims are owed to us,” Savlian lied, actually reading his grocery list.

“Fifty-five! That’s highway robbery if I ever heard it! I won’t pay,” said Warvil, outraged.

Savlian had no clue how much taxes should normally cost so he decided to do some quick thinking. “Oh! My mistake. That’s for another poor soul, Varvil is his name, a simply mix up, my apologies sir,” Savlian said off the top of his head.

“Good because if that son of a guar of a Count thinks he’s going to get that much out of a honest man like myself, that --,” Warvil’s next words were quickly cut off due to the fist colliding with his face, sending him crashing to the floor.

“That’s enough of your filthy slanders old man! The Count was right to send me to “talk” with you. Your nothing but a no good crook!” Savlian said angrily as he accented his anger with a solid kick to Warvil’s chest, sending the elderly man rolling across the floor gasping in pain.

“Now, here’s the deal,” Savlian said, returning to a calm state of voice and turning his back to the man, “you hold your tongue with these slanders and you won’t lose your life? Got that, old man? Or do I need to speak louder so you can hear?” asked Savlian. This man definitely deserved this, slandering the Count was a criminal offence. Warvil should be lucky he’s just getting a fair warning.

Savlian had yet to hear an answer from the old man so he turned around to make sure he understood but paused. Warvil was convulsing on the floor. He was having a heart attack. This caused Savlian to pause momentarily. Should he help him? Or leave him to his demise? Was this the justice that this man deserved for his crimes against his boss or not? The usual routine was to warn them, and if they continued to get rid of them. Did Savlian think that this man would not have heeded Savlian’s warning, thus resulting in his death anyways? Savlian decided he should probably stick to routine. Unfortunately, the convulsing body of Warvil was silent by the time Savlian began to act. His head was tilted towards Savlian, dim cast eyes staring up at him, judging him even in death. Savlian shifted awkwardly on his feet, trying to avoid looking at the man’s eyes, but he still felt the stare. Still felt the judging. Hastily he knelt down and forced the man’s eyes closed. It helped immediately so Savlian vacated the room, hoping that whoever found Warvil would just think he had a heart attack and nothing more.



Reality came crashing back to Savlian as a loud, rambunctious group entered the tavern, cheering and yelling. Savlian cringed as he recognized one of the voices within the group. It was a distinct Nordish accent that could only belong to Hlodir. Savlian hurriedly ordered another mug. Hopefully it would help this new situation.

This is just what I need, more perfection to my perfect day…, Savlian thought bitterly as he began to gulp down his mug of ale. He prayed silently that Hlodir would be too involved with talking with his friends to notice Savlian sitting off by himself. That prayer was unanswered as an exclamation of “Hey!” came from Hlodir’s table. Soon after that, the man himself was standing in front of Savlian, smirking down at him with a mug of ale in his hands.

“Aww the poor ole Cap’n o’ the Guards has resorted t’drinkin’, what a shame,” chuckled the Nord, looking back to check if the rest of his table was chuckling along with him.

Savlian ignored Hlodir’s remark by taking another sip from his mug and not making any eye contact with him whatsoever.

Slightly angered by the lack of comment by the Captain, Hlodir continued, “Ya know, if I had that job o’ yours, this murderer would be hangin’ from the gallows ‘bout now. It’s obvious since I’ve all ready improved upon you on your previous occupation.”

“Be that as it may, Hlodir, I am still a much better man than you’ll ever be,” Savlian said calmly, still keeping his eyes firmly contented with his mug of ale.

Hlodir’s patience snapped. No one was going to talk down on his manhood. He placed a heavy hand of Savlian’s should and bent down to get his face right into Savlian’s. “Now you listen hear. You--,” his remark was interrupted by a head butt from Savlian right to his nose, causing him to recoil and stumble away from Savlian, the pain instantly caused his eyes to water. He tenderly touched his nose and flinched, it was definitely broken.

“Keep your hands off me, Hlodir,” the calm still remained in Savlian’s voice.

Growling, Hlodir charged at Savlian, and tackled him over his table, causing ale and mugs to go flying in all directions. Cheers of “Fight!” erupted from around the room and people milled in a circle around the now scrapping opponents.

The fight began with the two rolling around on the floor, crashing into other tables, spilling more ale. Hlodir then brought the fight back onto the feet by dragging Savlian by the shirt, hauling him up and slamming him onto a table, breaking it with a loud crash. Savlian recovered by carrying Hlodir down with him while landing on the table, throwing him over his head. Hlodir landed with a loud thud onto the ground, the air escaping his lungs. Savlian drunkenly got to his feet, his balance obviously hindered by the ale, he tried to keep his focus on Hlodir as he rose from the ground.

The fight took a momentary standstill as the combatants circled each other, Hlodir with his fists cocked and Savlian shuffling around drunkenly, trying to keep Hlodir in front of him. Savlian’s reactions were too slow to stop the two quick jabs Hlodir flicked out, followed by an uppercut the swept the ground from Savlian’s feet. Black flecks speckled across Savlian’s eyes as his head met the tavern floor. Suddenly, a heavy forearm was pressed tightly against his throat. Slowly through the haze, Hlodir’s face materialized.

“Here’s a point for the next time, matey. If you’re expectin’ a fight, don’t get so drunk next time. It could get ya killed,” Hlodir said as blood ran freely from his nose.

The forearm left Savlian’s neck and instantly Savlian rushed out the back end of the tavern to throw up, but not before stumbling into a few tables that caused him to fall over.


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Yay! Now time to celebrate with some Morrowind. I just got it back from my buddy!