Bloodlust, Written by a Fan Fiction Newbie Options

[jack cloudy]

Oh, exciting. Our killer is former Morag Tong. Oh my, a servant of Mephala. Savlian should be carefull.

[doubleimage]

If this is your first attempt at fanfiction...then colour me impressed

Here, have a to sustain you so you can keep writing. You'll need all your energy to update as often as I hope you will

[Lord Revan]

so he's an ex-morag-tong? well he seemed like a vampire, but Revan slaughters vampires......[size=1]and werewolfs.


well good work so far........

[Toroabok]

so he's an ex-morag-tong? well he seemed like a vampire, but Revan slaughters vampires......[size=1]and werewolfs.


well good work so far........

yeah, i thought the same thing, but he never drank the blood of his victims.

[minque]

Yes.....another great update! I enjoyed reading it quite a lot! Good work!

[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!

[minque]

Ahhh a lot of good reading here! Excellent work!

[The Metal Mallet]

The night was deathly silent. Secunda and Masser were hidden by an overcast sky, blackening the world underneath. The only light visible for this night would be from lamplight. A perfect night to hunt as any night would be.

Simion sauntered down the lonely streets of Kvatch, sporting his black suit, cloak fluttering briskly yet silently behind him. The enchanted necklace rested comfortably against his skin underneath his shirt. He kept his dagger concealed behind his back for now, the cloak blocking pedestrians from the sight of it. It wasn’t a good idea to get anyone suspicious. Specifically, anyone who was connected to Simion’s past. He hoped that the Morag Tong agent wouldn’t expect him to be out on the prowl the night of their confrontation. He had checked before he left his home that Lavos had not setup a stakeout, which would hamper his excursion tonight. Fortunately, he found no signs of the assassin watching his home so the coast was clear. Needless, Simion was still apprehensive.

Lavos could be anywhere, and if Simion happened to come across him during his hunt, trouble was going to brew. Assassins would be crawling all over his home, hunting him down for breaking the code. The way of the assassin is supposed to end upon retirement or death. Simion knew the risks he was taking when he decided to retire from the Morag Tong. It was the only way for him to get back to Kvatch though. He needed to finish the deed that sent him to the guild in the first place. He was so close to being ready; he could nearly hear his victim’s death.

Simion’s hand brushed against that all too familiar scar above his brow. Anger and pain flashed before his mind every time he felt that indentation. Hopefully in a matter of days that anger and pain would be rectified. As long as Lavos only had suspicion rather than certainty would Simion be able to complete his mission.

Despite the apprehension, a different sensation within his mind was trying to overtake him. That constant beating pulse, almost like a heartbeat now, along with its voice had begun to plague him. The harsh whispers, demanding vengeance, and most importantly, blood tested his endurance. If it weren’t for the guild techniques of calming one’s self before a mission Simion didn’t know what kind of state of madness he would be in.

Casting glances down the alleyways, Simion wondered how the guard would prepare themselves. He noted that they had improved the previous time by avoiding the alleys and travelling in groups. If Captain Savlian was smart, he would’ve instructed his men to avoid the pubs and taverns as well. Simion would still take a look around in the pubs, just to make sure, but it was likely the guards would know not to go to the taverns by their own judgement.

There was almost a point where he felt guilt for what he was doing to these guards. For all he knew, they were completely innocent men who defended the town with honour. Then again, considering who was in power, they might as well be corrupt and crooked as any smuggler or brigand. He could be possibly be helping Kvatch rather than hindering it with these murders. Time would tell.

A non-expectant shadow in an alley caused Simion to take a closer look. Activating the enchantment on his necklace caused the shadows of the night to dissolve, showing Simion a lone guard observing the ground in the alley.

The fool, he’s committed himself to his own doom, Simion thought as he slipped into the alley. As soon as he descended into the alley, the pulse within his head quickened. Not only did it quicken but the heartbeat had grown in volume. A war drum was a more suitable comparison.

Simion clutched his head, falling into the shadows. He needed to remain calm, but the voice than began to whisper its pleasing words.

“There he is, can’t you hear the blood flowing through his veins? It’s just begging to come out. All that’s needed is a little rip in the flesh…”

Simion attempted the techniques, he began to slow his breathing, but with each whisper brought on by the voice, his concentration broke. Frustration began to grow, which began to feed a sense of hysteria within his mind. It seemed as if to accomplish what he needed to do, he had to give in to the voice.

“That’s exactly what should be done. It’s simple, take out your knife, and cut his throat! DO IT!!”

Simion couldn’t stand the bothersome noise within his head any longer. He unsheathed his dagger, and closed the distance between himself and the guard quickly. All the while, the drums banged in his head and the voice practically screamed for blood. Before the guard could react to anything, Simion wrenched back the guard’s head, exposing his neck. With a fluid motion, Simion viciously slashed through the guard’s throat. Blood sprayed against the alley walls. Delighted, Simion began to drink the vision up. The pattern of blood across the walls was more beautiful than any piece of art he had ever viewed.

His enjoyment was interrupted by a body crashing into him, slamming him into the alley wall. Instinctively, Simion rolled backwards back onto his feet as a broadsword clashed the ground where he previously was. Anger blazed across his eyes at the person who ruined his moment with his victim. This was quickly followed by confusion as his assailant looked familiar. It was if he was looking at an older version of the Redguard he killed the previous night.

“So you’re the monster who killed my brother!” spat the Redguard who took a moment to look down at the corpse of the fallen guard, “I didn’t mean for him to get to ya first, George, I was too slow. But I’ll avenge you as well as my brother.”

This was not the ideal situation for Simion; he now faced an angry brother. Actually it was worse; he was facing an angry Redguard brother that had a sword. This man needed to die too; he couldn’t let him tell the rest of the guard his description. He readied his dagger. Just then the voice cried from the recesses of his mind.

“More! Spill more blood! Spill his!”

The suddenness of the voice caused Simion to jump, giving an opening for Henrik to attack. The strike meant to take his head off ended up as a deep slash to his arm as he narrowly backed away from the strike. Pain flooded Simion’s mind, which only fed the voice.

“How DARES he spill our blood! He must pay!”

The pain and anger surged through Simion. One mere person was NOT going to ruin his mission! One mere person would not be able to kill a great assassin like him! It was a necessity for him to succeed in what he needed to do! Nothing was going to get in his way and live. Nothing! And at the moment, this Redguard was in his way.

Encompassed with fury, Simion recklessly threw himself at the Redguard, taking him by surprise. The collision of bodies sent the two men to the ground, tumbling over each other. Simion was too close to Henrik for the broadsword to be effective. Simion had Henrik’s life in his hands now that he was in his proximity. Unfortunately for Henrik, Simion had long decided his fate. Before Henrik could throw Simion off him, Simion planted his dagger in Henrik’s heart to the hilt.


A gasp of pain escaped Henrik’s lips as Simion rolled off him. He had failed, Ferrik, George, all the rest… were not avenged. He realized he didn’t hurt anymore; it was just getting cold, really cold. A shadow crossed over his face. It seemed so difficult for Henrik to move his eyes up to see what was casting it. He managed all the same. Once he found out what it was, he wished he didn’t bother. It was him, the one who killed him. He looked into those steel blue eyes. What he saw scared him. For within those eyes he saw a madness like no other he had seen before. He could see the delight in them, how they enjoyed the atrocity displayed before him, it was sickening. It was a madness that would doom many a man and mer before it was ended he thought.

Black was beginning to creep in through his eyes and yet the killer still stood over him, fixing him with that maddening stare. Henrik tried to curse the man but the words were stuck in his throat, he couldn’t force them out. He prayed to the Nine that he could wipe that smirk off his face, but the blackness had enveloped the killer’s lips.

The last thing Henrik saw was the eyes of his killer, burning with madness.

[Mazelure]

Nicely executed dude... I just regret not replying to your other updates (I've been bussy... in a matter of speaking) and I would like to add that your writing is amazing... and the story is like my day dreams... it is as if you are extracting information from my head without me knowing it... and you deserve for kudos for that alone since extracting my thoughts would not be easy to beggin with... so yeah dude...

Kudos

[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!

[Lord Revan]

You should have probably gone to bed MM , I had to because I had to got to a tournament today

[The Metal Mallet]

I actually did go to bed, didn't feel 30-45 minutes of Morrowind was worth it. So I watched a TV show then went to bed, but today I'm DEFINATELY going to get some Elder Scrolls in.

[The Metal Mallet]

Hmmm, things seem to be going a little slow over here in the Fan Fiction section. I guess everyone is enjoying their summers a lot. Well I'll reward the few people still around with an update! You're very welcome everyone!


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Savlian woke up with a dull pounding in his head and the vile taste of bile in his mouth. The nauseated feeling in his stomach only added to his discomfort as he slowly rose out his bed. It was going to be a difficult day if he felt like this the whole time. He trudged over to the washbasin and splashed the cool water against his face. Sighing, Savlian looked up into the mirror as he grabbed a towel to dry off his face. The previous day’s events had taken a toll on Savlian. His right eye was purple due to bruising, and slightly swollen, causing his vision to be less expansive. The right corner of his lip was large and swollen; basically, his face was a pale, swollen, and haggard-looking mess.

I am never going to drink again… Savlian thought bitterly as he gently touched his lip. Wincing, he retracted his hand. It looked like he was not going to be in any sort of shape to go out on patrol today. He probably needed a day to rest. First off, it would give him time to get over his hangover, and second, a stress free day would really do him some good. A knocking at his door caused an end to Savlian’s hopeful thoughts. People knocking on his door always meant that someone wanted him to do something.

Begrudgingly, Savlian trudged to the door and opened it up. The face on the other side made a surprised expression.

“What the hell happened to you Cap?” the guard asked.

“None of your business. Now what the hell do you want, I’m not feeling well so you better make it fast,” Savlian replied with an edge to his voice.

The guard stood there for a moment, conflicted. “Sir, we found more bodies… It’s George and Henrik. I think you should see this, being your case and all…”

Savlian cursed loudly, and walked around from the door, leaving it ajar. “Great! Just great! What did I do to deserve this!?” he asked the air and he began to pull out his guard attire. He then chuckled bitterly; I know damn well what I did to deserve this…

A few minutes later Savlian exited his home, wearing standard guard attire; chain mail, and the Kvatch tabard, equipped with the appropriate slashes for his rank. He nodded to the guard accompanying him and began to follow him down into the center of the town.

Shortly after they begun their decent into town, a flash of lightning filled the sky and was shortly followed by a peal of thunder. A heavy torrent a rain began to fall as if to answer the call of the thunder. Slumping his head forward, Savlian muttered, “Perfect…,” and continued on his trek. Though it was likely there would be no evidence if it indeed was the killer who struck again, the rain certified that there would be no evidence whatsoever.

Savlian knew immediately they reached the murder scene as a river of crimson flowed out of the alleyway and into the storm drains. The churning blood did no help to Savlian’s all ready queasy stomach. Suppressing the nausea, Savlian peered into alleyway. Despite not being as messy as the other crime scenes, the image displayed before Savlian was still upsetting. George was sprawled, face down, in a pool of water. The paleness of death covered his exposed body. Meanwhile, Henrik’s cold, dead eyes stared up to the sky. Not even the rain splashing into them would cause them to blink. His whole torso was discoloured with blood. A lump grew in Savlian’s throat as he tried to withhold the emotions rising up within him.

From the looks of the scene, Henrik had indeed tried to catch the murderer “his way”. He had set a trap for the killer by using George as bait. Unfortunately, Henrik must not have been able to intercept the killer killing George. Since Henrik’s wound was fatal, but not instantly, the killer must’ve gotten into an altercation with him. That simply defied logic though, how could an assassin, likely armed with a simple dagger, defeat a highly trained swordsman who had vengeance on his mind? This killer was more dangerous than Savlian ever anticipated if he could defeat a sword-wielding Redguard in armed combat.

Savlian took a moment to offer a prayer to the fallen men.

At least you’re with your brother again, Henrik, peace be with you, friend.

Savlian looked over to his accompanying guard, who was involved in a conversation with what looked to be a homeless man. The man seemed to be talking quite urgently with the guard, and suddenly indicated an action across his shirt. Both Savlian and the guard made a surprised expression as a streak of blood was revealed across his shirt. The guard looked over to Savlian and waved him over.

Savlian walked over to the two men, shivering from the cold rain falling down. “What does this fellow want?” he inquired.

“The name’s Madsen, been living here since that whole Tharn incident a wile back. Rather embarrassing situation wasn’t it?” he looked embarrassed momentarily. “Sorry, I’m getting off topic. I just wanted you to know about this odd thing that happened to me last night.”

Hope flickered across Savlian’s eyes. “Go ahead good sir, anything at this time will help.”

The homeless man cleared his throat roughly, “Well, there’s always this one gentleman who visits me for a little chat from time to time. We make some small talk, he then gives me a few gold septims and goes on his way. He seemed like a nice fellow, until last night. He seemed to be in a bad mood. I just wanted to start up a conversation, but he just brushed me off, quite roughly to add. I kinda glare at his back and then look down at myself and what do I see?” He pulled at his shirt, a disgusted look across his face, “Blood! I don’t know whose, but I would have to say his due to his mood.”

Savlian smiled, things were taking a turning point. He turned the guard assisting him. “Could you please take Madsen down to the barracks, get his nice and comfortable,” he then turned to Madsen, “You would be able to give us a decent description of this man, correct?”

“That I would sir.”

“Excellent, now you’re going down to barracks to give a description of this person. We’re going to try to treat you real nice. You all right with that?” Savlian asked warmly.

The homeless man smiled, “I would love a nice hot meal.”

“We will get you that at the barracks, Lucile here will escort you,” said Savlian, motioning to the guard beside him.

The two men began to set off, but something dawned on Savlian and he called out to them, “Hold on! Which direction did he walk off to, Madsen?”

Madsen pondered the question for a second. “He went off north of here, likely towards the more upper middle class area of town, seeing as his clothes were quite fine.”

“Thank you Madsen.”

“Very welcome sir.”

As the two men headed off towards the barracks, Savlian headed north. Eager to scope out the landscape of where the possible killer would be. Silently, he thanked Henrik yet again for his sacrifice.

Without your help, I don’t know if we would’ve had this opportunity.

Savlian chuckled dryly as his recently vanished determination began to settle in once again. Who would have thought that such a gloomy day would bring a glimmer of light at the end of this nearly hopeless tunnel?

[Lord Revan]

Looks like our assasin needs to realize that beggers see everything

[The Metal Mallet]

A bit of a shorter on with this one, ohwell, the next one will probably be more involved. Sometimes, you just gotta be subtle... But enough of my babble! Here it is!


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It had been quite a long time since Savlian had visited this area of Kvatch. He could only guess that the Count didn’t over tax the residents here, because he never had to come here to “problem solve”. For his atonement, Savlian decided he would patrol the likely “rough spots” of Kvatch; the downtown area where most of the pubs and taverns were located, and the district containing the lower class. He considered this place a rather peaceful part of town. Odd that it could possibly house a serial killer.

These houses were of modest Cyrodillic quality; grey stone, two story buildings with thatched roofs, many with smoke coming out of the chimneys to fend off the coolness of the rainy weather outside. Even in the dreary weather, the homes brought a cheery feeling within Savlian. When he retired, this would be the ideal place to live. He could never settle down in a farm, there would still be too much work to do.

Savlian noticed a young Imperial female tending to her garden, so he decided to approach her.

“Greetings miss,” he said modestly, drawing her attention.

She rose from her knees, wiping off the mud caked to her knees. She started once she caught a glimpse of Savlian’s face. “Oh my! Captain! What happened to you? Did you run into a horde of bandits single handily or something?” she asked with concern.

Savlian smiled warmly, trying to brush away her concern. “Oh don’t worry about me; it looks worse than it feels. You should see what I did to those bandits though,” he chuckled. “Why are you out in this kind of weather though?”

“Oh, it’s just a light sprinkle. I actually enjoy the feel of the rain against my skin; it’s refreshing considering the heat over the last few days. I just couldn’t wait for the rain to stop before tending to my garden,” she replied then smiled, “May I ask you the same question?”

“I received word that a suspicious person was seen heading in this direction. I too, am anxious to get something done. That being, catching this suspicious person. I was planning on scoping out the vicinity, but I saw you out here so I was wondering if you’ve seen anything odd over the last few days?” Savlian inquired.

The Imperial looked off to the side thoughtfully. After a few moments she replied, “Well I’ve seen some shady looking fellows visiting Vadame Dralen’s home over the course of a few weeks. They’re always looking dangerously cautious.”

“Which house is Vadame’s?”

“That one,” she pointed, “It’s the last one on the corner there. The shady people always come walking alongside the wall there.”

As Savlian observed Vadame’s home, another house caught his attention. It was three houses ahead of Vadame’s and on the opposite side of the street. It looked like every other house on that street, but that’s what made it stand out. Then he remembered.

“Someone is living in the Mandrake’s old home?” he asked.

“Oh yes, it’s actually their son, Simion, that‘s living there now. Poor fellow, having his parents abandon him with their disappearance. I was nearly shocked that he decided to return here after that. You would think living in that home would bring back too painful of memories or something. That might be the case; he’s a bit of a recluse,” the Imperial said sadly, pity mixed with her sadness.

Before Savlian was employed by the Count, he had heard about the abandoned Mandrake house. Supposedly one night, Mister and Miss Mandrake disappeared, leaving their son, Simion, all alone. Shortly after than, Simion simply left his home; no one knew where he went and it seemed he was basically forgotten. It looked like that had now changed with Simion’s sudden return. It was curious indeed on why he would return to such a place.

Savlian placed his curiosity aside as he thanked the Imperial for her help. He had a certain Dunmer to visit.

[Black Hand]

Wow. More and more intriguing with each read Mallet! Seriously, a very well written story, and i do hope you keep this up. I'll probably have to try extra hard to be as original in my fanfic though. Keep it up!

[Mazelure]

Short? I wished my update would be half as long as yours. Anyways I like the update... and I think this shady character Simion is hidding something... well time will tell.

[Lord Revan]

right Mazelure, long time no post

[Mazelure]

Yeah I've been kinda bussy lately. But I am trying to cut some time for reading and writing in this forums again. Anyways it's good to be back in the FanFic section again... with my fellow writers. Cheers.

[The Metal Mallet]

Well it's nice seeing you back and commenting, Mazelure, I appreciate them. Especially from those consistantly posted, it's nice to see you're enjoying my writing . Even those just reading, thanks for giving this a chance. But enough of my sappy appreciation Update time!


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As Savlian approached the Dralen residence, voices coming from along the outer wall were steadily getting louder. Silently, Savlian strafed across the road and flattened his back against a neighbouring house. Peaking around the edge, he had an excellent scope of Vadame’s home. Moments after Savlian found his cover, two figures appeared heading to Vadame’s house, cloaks over their heads to avoid the rain. Both the figures were rather large and a distinctive rattling of glass bottles reached Savlian’s ears even from the distance where he was situated. Before approaching the door, the figures cast glances around their surroundings guardedly. Savlian was able to identify one of the figures as a Nord, due to a distinctive beard. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the figures knocked on the door and patiently waited for it to open.

Moments later the door opened and a young, red-haired Dunmer poked her head out the doorway to survey the street before allowing the figures to enter. Savlian was able to see the whole scene from his vantage point. Indeed it did seem these figures were shady. Even Vadame herself had shown a want of secrecy. Not to mention the rattling bottles could be among a number of illegal things. Savlian had a vague idea what exactly were in those bottles. The best thing to do was investigate.

Savlian hesitated a moment. He wasn’t in the ideal physical condition at the moment to confront likely 3 armed suspects, 2 at the least. It would probably be a good idea to go get some assistance. Then again, by the time he did that the suspects could be gone, having completed their business with Dralen. Indecision reflected in Savlian’s eyes. Did he have time to get help? Or could he take on these criminals? Realization then sparked. He still had the advantage of surprise. He peeked around the corner of the house and noticed that Vadame had her drapes blocking the windows. He could get in front of the door without them seeing him getting there. If he could rush into the house and disarm everyone, no conflicts would arrive. Savlian had made up his mind.

He quickly closed the distance between him and the Dralen home, thanking the rain for masking the sound of his heavy boots smacking against the cobblestones. He now stood in front of the door, adrenaline beginning the pump through his veins. The pain and swollenness from last night receded. Flexing his fingers, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his broadsword. Easing the well-honed blade out of its sheath, Savlian took a steady breath to ease his nerves. This was a risk he was now committed to. He couldn’t pull back now, even if he wanted to without jeopardizing catching these criminals. He slowly knocked on the door. The murmurs from the other side of the door quickly died and footsteps approached.

“Who is it?” called a female voice.

“Tax Collector,” Savlian said calmly, taking a step back from the door. It was about time he used this method for something good.

As the door opened up a crack so Vadame could peer out at the would-be Tax Collector, Savlian heavily kicked the door, sending the Dunmer sprawling across the floor. Savlian charged in, sword ready into the room. The Nord went for a hand axe resting on the table, but a quick smash over the head with a broadsword hilt incapacitated the Nord. Turning his sword on the other figure, Savlian said “Hands up!” The figure complied. Savlian approached the now recognized Orc, and removed him of his weapon.

“Sit!” he commanded, surveying the room. The room was lightly furnished with the necessities, a couple of chairs and a table. On the table rested multitudes of skooma bottles. Just as he expected. He looked over at the Orc. “Where did you get the drugs?”

The Orc stared at him angrily, keeping his mouth firmly shut. It looked like some persuasion was needed to get what Savlian wanted. Savlian edged closer to the Orc. “I’ll ask you nicely one last time, Orc. Where did you get the drugs?” Vicious intent was clearly evident in Savlian’s eyes.

Before the Orc could speak, a terrifying screech sounded from across the room. Before Vadame stood a ghostly spectre, shrilling its death-like call. Vadame pointed directly at Savlian, smiling intently. The spirit then rushed at Savlian. Instinctively, Savlian grabbed the silver throwing dagger within his boot. Taking quick aim, Savlian threw the dagger, flying through the spirit and embedding itself in the shoulder of Vadame. The spectre wailed in pain as it dissipated while Vadame collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Turning around Savlian was suddenly bowled over by the Orc rushing out of the house, carrying as much skooma as he could possibly get his hands on. Cursing, Savlian ignored the vacancy of the Orc; he still had two perfect culprits to get answers from. A groan from Savlian’s right revealed that the Nord was coming to. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t going to like it.

Savlian roughly picked up the Nord and shoved him into a chair. “Now you’re going to tell me where you got these drugs from!” he said angrily.

Bewilderment was still evident in the stunned Nord’s eyes. Looking around, the Nord groaned, “Where’s Lug-Arglog?”

An idea instantly formulated in Savlian’s head. “He’s outside, dead. I did you a favour, you would’ve thrown up if you saw what I did to him,” Savlian sighed, “He should’ve talked…”

The Nord stared at Savlian in horror, gulping audibly. “Drugs ya asked abou‘? Right! Err, a Nord by the name o’ Hlodir told use t'deliver this skooma to Vadame. She distributes it to the local dealers… I think,” the Nord blurted out as quickly as possible.

Hlodir! That could only mean the Count is involved in this… Savlian thought. Things had just become more difficult.

“Well then, looks like you and Vadame here are going to pay a visit to the prison.”