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]

Woo!! I finally got a Kudos! Even I don't remember if I got one from you the first time you commented Mazelure, I'm too lazy to check. Anyways, to celebrate, I'm posting an update....


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Simion stared intently into the Redguard’s eyes as they slowly clouded over in death. Although it was the Redguard’s face that he was staring at, Simion perceived it as another face; the one he wanted to see this happen to. He had accomplished what he needed to do! It was over! His vengeance was finally fulfilled and with it the torment would go.

The deception faded with the fading of the Redguard’s eyes, his real face appearing to Simion once the spark of life exited him. Horror struck him as he saw the true face of his attacker again. He remembered what took place. While he marvelled at his bloody work done to the guard, “George”, this Redguard snuck up on him and tried to avenge his brother’s death. A fury had built up within him, likely fed by the infernal voice within him, which enabled him to defeat the assailant. In his state of fury, he perceived he was killing his true target in all of this. It was unsettling how badly his mind was behaving for him, he was getting delusional now.

Given his present state, he didn’t even feel any particular interest in this grisly scene displayed before him. The pooling and sprayed blood didn’t appease his eyes. The scent of it didn’t spread a smile across his face. Simion just stood there in cold indifference to his surroundings as anger at himself began to build within him.

I can’t believe I fell into such a predictable trap! He scolded himself. It’s as if I’m some amateur! While I’ve been doing this stuff for years! This damned voice is going to get me killed.

A throbbing pain in his arm brought to Simion’s attention that he had been injured. Wincing, he stripped a corner of his cloak and applied it to the wound. Examining the wound, Simion deducted it was just a large graze, fairly deep, but not deep enough for stitches or serious blood loss. All he needed to do was properly bandage it once he returned home.

Only once before had he been injured while on the job. The memory still stung on his reputation he had for himself…


“This is going to be a tricky one,” Falen muttered as he brought out the map of the Dren Plantation. He looked at both of the other assassins with him, Simion, a promising youth in the guild, and Avelili, a trusted veteran.

Avelili simply nodded in understanding while Simion had a glint of expectation in his eyes and fidgeted. Falen sighed; outlanders of the Morag Tong always seemed to lose the calm exposure they needed to get the job done. He had to give the lad some credit though; he didn’t run into a single problem with the Telvanni mage that was assigned to him previously. Given the Telvanni’s paranoid mindset, they were generally quite prepared for Morag Tong attacks. Simion successfully had slain the mer without him uttering a single spell. The reward, joining his team to take out Orvas Dren, leader of the Commona Tong. Both the other houses finally figured out that Orvas’ crime ring were involved in several of House Hlaalu’s endeavours, and insisted on having a writ issued for him.

“Now remember the plan, Orvas is likely on the top floor of his mansion, there’s only one other guard inside, but there’s plenty more outside. We also have to take in account that the Ienith brothers could be anywhere at anytime; we couldn’t get any intelligence on their current whereabouts. Remember, Orvas is the target, none of the others, only take them out in self defence. Preferably, I only want one dead body. Avelili, you’re going to monitor outside the mansion, if any of the guards from the outside enter the mansion I want you to make a dead Cliffracer call to warn us, hopefully we’ll hear it. I want you then to try to create a distraction. If you hear a dead Cliffracer call, then we need a distraction. Got that?” Falen looked to Avelili, who again silently nodded. Falen turned his attention to Simion.

“Simion and I are going to scale the walls behind the mansion. We’ll then proceed to infiltrate the mansion via window or back door. Then Simion here is going to give it to Orvas while I cover him,” Falen said to the grinning face of Simion.

After reconfirming the plan, Avelili split apart from the duo to her lookout position while Simion and Falen proceeded to the rear of the Plantation. All under a starless night.

Simion could barely contain his emotions. He was ecstatic that he was given the privilege to work with two of the top assassins in the Guild. They must have seen a great deal of potential in him as he had only been recruited by the Guild a scant year and a half ago. Now he was going to end the life of a figurehead in Morrowind! The infamous Orvas Dren! He could barely suppress the sense of glee he was feeling.

Falen and Simion silently scaled the walls with ease, it was surprising how a criminal mastermind didn’t post guards near the very likely spots to infiltrate his base of operations. Upon reaching the ground on the other side of the wall, Simion scanned his surroundings for guards. Looking over to Falen, Simion pointed to an opened window over in the corner of the mansion. Falen nodded in approval and the assassins headed towards it. Anticipation scaled up and down Simion’s spine as they approached the opened window. Simion rested a shaky hand on the windowsill as he peered into the mansion. Silence and emptiness greeted him fondly. Simion looked over to Falen for affirmation to enter. Falen fixed him with a look that meant “Are you all right?”. He must’ve noticed his shaky hand. Simion nodded that he was fine and Falen made a motion to signal to enter the mansion.

Looking around at his surroundings, Simion was impressed. Orvas definitely liked to display his wealth. Intricate rugs covered the floor, priceless vases and porcelain rested among the shelves and richly detailed pictures filled any empty space between the shelves. Simion wondered how many countless people had suffered at the hands of the Commona Tong to achieve such wealth. Shuddering, Simion followed Falen to the stairs.

Footsteps echoing down a hall told the assassins that the guard was patrolling downstairs at the moment, perfect for their situation. Falen hand signalled to Simion that he would keep watch down here while Simion was to go upstairs to finish the job. Simion nodded and proceeded to head up the stairs.

By now, Simion’s mouth was as dry as the Ashlands were, nervousness began to creep alongside the anticipation. Simion attempted to swallow, but it felt like he was swallowing a lump of gravel. Despite that inconvenience, Simion continued up the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones he identified by sight.

Once he reached the top floor, Simion no longer fancied looking at the displays of wealth surrounding him, so focused on the mission he became. He now focused on the teachings of the Guild. He paced his breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose, avoiding all possible noise. He shuffled silently down the hallway towards Orvas’ bedroom, keeping on the balls of his feet, the padded Guild shoes absorbing the sound of his footsteps.

Simion approached the closed door of Dren’s bedroom. A quick test of the door handle proved it was locked. Fortunately, Simion had his trusty lock pick. Probing the lock with his pick, Simion discovered the lock was of moderate quality; it would only take him a minute at the most to open.

In reality, it took several minutes to spring open the lock, each time he neared locking the final tumbler, his hand would get shaky causing the tumblers to collapse again, thus resulting in Simion starting over. His growing frustration didn’t help much. The guard could be approaching anytime now. He paused momentarily, took a deep breath to settle his nerves, and resumed his work on the lock. In no time the lock sprung open with a click and Simion stepped into the room.

The room was blanketed in darkness so Simion stood there to let his eyes adjust. As objects began to appear before Simion, he began to see the steady rise and fall of a body in the large bed. Orvas Dren was soundly asleep. For quite a powerful man, Simion thought Orvas was rather small. Of course the size of the bed could’ve been misleading him, but he was certain that he was larger than him, and Simion wasn’t considered a large person.

Silently, Simion unsheathed his dagger and stalked towards the bed, his eyes fixed intently on the sleeping body. This was it. The moment of truth. It felt as though Simion’s heart was stuck in his throat, he was beginning to get uncomfortable. All he needed to do was stab Orvas fatally, and then he would be recognized as one of the best assassins in the Guild. At least, the Guild members would praise him. It was considered a bad idea to brag about assassinations made to non-members, it was considered dishonourable and if one was meant to be secretive, it would be ruined. Simion raised the dagger over his head, and edged another step closer…

Bang!!

Simion’s foot collided with a footstool loudly causing the body in the bed to bolt upright, head whipping in the direction of the noise. Simion froze in shock, dagger still held above his head as he stared directly at Orvas Dren. His state of shock was broken as Orvas pulled out his own dagger from under his pillow and stabbed Simion directly in his belly. Simion cried out in pain and fell off the blade onto the ground. It felt as is his flesh was on fire! The blade was obviously enchanted and he could feel the wound searing with hot pain.

“Assassin!” Dren hollered as he threw off the covers and sprang out of bed, hatred filled his ember eyes.

Simion rolled under Dren’s horizontal slash and tried to roll onto his feet towards the door. The pain laced through his body and with a cry he collapsed back onto the floor.

Dren loomed over him, vicious intent clearly read over his face. “Time to die fetcher!” he said as he raised his dagger overhead.

Just as he did, a knife suddenly seemed to have bloomed from out of his chest. Dren stared down at the knife in horror, he opened his mouth as if to say something but all that was heard was a gurgle of blood as it suddenly began to pour out of his mouth. Dren stumbled backwards and collapsed onto his bed, dead.

Unseen arms wrapped around Simion and pulled him up forcibly. “Flee we must!” Falen whispered harshly into his ear.

As they descended down the stairs, Simion clutching to Falen tightly while trying to ignore his pain, Simion noticed the dead body of the lone house guard of Orvas Dren. It seemed like he was sporting a new knife to the back of his head. As they exited via the window, the pain became too much for Simion and he blacked out.



Simion angrily tossed the memory aside as he exited the alleyway. When he had awoken he was back in the guildhall. After his recuperation, he had received a stern lecture on focus and was forced to do many tedious and mind numbing missions before earning the trust to do serious assassinations once more. Even then, some of the veterans would poke fun of him, always mentioning to “look out for footstools” which had always set off his temper.

Again he had made a foolish mistake and suffered the price for it. At least in this case, his wound was not serious and could be easily looked after. From now on he planned to retain focus at all costs, he couldn’t let something such as this voice in his head ruin what he had to do.

He passed by the all too familiar homeless man and his bonfire. He was in no mood for small talk with the man this evening, but he made a little. Just enough to dispose of his gloves without the man noticing. Even then the man still tried to keep a conversation with him. Fed up, Simion pushed him aside roughly and continued on his way home. He needed rest to settle himself. Tomorrow, he would be a different man, a more focused one.

Too bad Simion did not decide to look back as the homeless man looked down, horror struck, at himself to find a streak of blood wiped across his shirt from where the man brushed him aside.


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Hmmm, now what should I do? Go to bed at a decent time so I'm all rested for work? Or play some Morrowind since I've been too busy the last couple of days? I think the answer is pretty easy!