Revan Revisited, Hopefully, better than before. Options

[Lord Revan]

Chorrol, since having really gotten my hand into writing, there's been a number of things I've wanted to tweak or redo altogether about my first story. Being that I am too lazy to bear scanning and editing what I've written already, I will write it all anew. I hope that my experience now will make this more according to my vision and more enjoyable to read for everyone.
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The bitter winds from the north whistled shrilly through the Jerall Mountains. A pack of wolves on the prowl for food perked up suddenly, hearing faint sounds in the distance over the noise of the winds. They howled a communal call and shot toward the direction of the faint howling and screaming in the distance.

The full moon hovered ominously above the snowy landscape. While one could spite the moon for the problems it posed on nights such as this, its curse was indisputably useful on this very occasion.

A lone figure stood detached from the slaughter taking place between immortal enemies. His mission had been to kill the clan of vampires here, but he opted to end two plagues with one cure.
He watched impassively as a hulking werewolf chomped down on a vampire archer’s leg and ripped her from her tree branch screaming. The man was unmoved by the struggle of beast and plagued beings, for much of him was hollow and empty, and he knew not how to fill himself again.

The struggle grew more desperate as time went on, combatants being slain like wheat before the scythe. Soon only the vampire ancient and one of the strongest werewolves remained after the slaughter's climax.

Neither opponent was in any measure of good condition at this point. The man-beast had a poisonous arrow sticking between the shoulder blades, and a short sword, minus the hand that wielded it, was lodged in its left leg.

The vampire matron was bleeding from several bite and slash wounds, fragments of her glass armor were littered about her.
It was clear that neither would survive for long, death could not be denied. The wolf snarled at something, and the vampire heard the crunching footfalls of approaching boots on snow.

Seemingly from thin air, the lone observer materialized between the two crippled combatants. He produced a needle-like dagger of Deadric design with a flourish and started toward the ailing lycanthrope.
Not even the primal ferocity of lycanthropy could sustain the beast now; it lay on a patch of red-stained snow, staring at the moon.

Purposefully, the figure stood over its sprawled form, ceremonial dagger firmly in hand. In its weakened state, the werewolf was unable to stop the dagger thrust through its neck.
The armored man left the dagger in the creature’s throat, and rose to his full height again. The vampiress summoned up her last few moments of strength to gaze at the figure.

His armor covered every inch of him, and was compromised of two layers. The fabric underlay was matte-black, easily flexing according to his movement.
Over the underlay were plates of armor that look similar to chitin, albeit with a sapphire blue hue. Plates were attached precisely placed at non-pivot points, and even then in a way that they did not limit range of motion.

He loomed over the vampire silently, noble in a way. His helmet was constructed of many armor pieces fused together around a black, depthless faceplate.

The vampire ancient attempted to speak, but could not form words, the end was truly near. The figure finally spoke with a powerful and deep voice. “Your lifetime’s curse is lifted.”
He lifted a gauntleted hand; palm hovered just shy of her face. Pure, unbroken darkness flooded her vision, and the vampire was no more.

For a few moments, the ancient's body remained in a kneeling position, but as the figure pulled his hand away it crumpled limply. He took a moment more to scrutinize the body before retrieving his dagger from the werewolf.

Minutes passed as he searched the bodies for valuables and weapons that could be of use or profit. As the mysterious figure worked, a pack of timber wolves arrived, waiting anxiously for him to leave so they could feast upon the dead.
Finally, he finished scavenging the bodies for valuables, and allowed the pack to enjoy the bounty before them. The atmosphere of this place was repellant to his mind, and the figure departed without so much as looking back.

This post has been edited by Lord Revan: Apr 19 2008, 08:58 PM