I'd love to read that!

I've just got up to the chapter where Almerion saves a little German boy named Adolf from an out of control car headed straight for him

Kid's are asleep, adding the finishing touches to this chapter while I still can. It's going to be a delightfully flowery rainbow filled joy of a read.

Finally finished -- I dont have the time to proof read it so there may be a few immersion breaking mistakes in there but you will have to forgive me for now, enjoy






Chapter Fourteen: The Final resting place of Marcus Enveri





3 E 04, Skingrad







Almerion lay in the darkness across a dampened antique rug, every time he moved the soaked fibres of the woven rug replied with a sticky squelch. He stared down at his hands -- they had long since been scrubbed of his brothers borrowed blood -- but he could still feel it, imprinted into his pores, seeping out from beneath his uncut nails. He held in his hand a roughly carved cherry wood pipe; the same pipe his farther had carved himself, he said the roughly chiselled edges gave it depth and character, Almerion knew that in reality his farther was just not a very talented craftsman.

It was the same pipe too that he had taken from his brothers lifeless grip, stained by the blood he had spilt that night. He left a dark wake of chaos behind him in the Imperial City -- Riots and protests where held, over the death of their beloved captain of the watch, who did so much to keep the people of the city safe from petty scum and gang crime. His comrades in arms found him dead, alone in his house. Almerion had taken the liberty of disposing of the two 'appetizers' he had left out for Maximus' last meal. The knife he used to cut his brothers throat was the same design as the ceremonial knives carried by the upper echelon of Imperial Battle Mages.

In response to Almerion framing of Imperial Officials -- the lowly members of the watch, the wardens of security in the Imperial city -- had sparked a protest, they saw it as an assassination, keeping a man quiet after he recovered a dark secret stolen by the thieves guild the night of Bardas' betrayal to Almerion, Jonah, Emily and the rest of their motley band.

The protest had been going strong for a week -- with no one to protect the streets everything was fair game, the waterfront district was the first to fall to riots, people came and stole anything that wasn't nailed down, they swept through the city looting mugging and stealing whatever they could and the guards simply stood at their posts, looking on in boredom.


Or so reported the Black Horse Courier.

None of it mattered to him, he didn't care for those he hurt -- the room he sat in was evidence of this. He only cared for revenge, retribution, blood. He stopped staring at the pipe and reached his hand above his head, pulling down a willow box filled with tobacco leaf from the arm chair he was propped against. As he began to stuff the bowl of the pipe his mind wandered under the soothing nature of a monotonous task. It wandered to Jonah -- how pale he looked despite his Ra'Gadan skin -- To Emily, who was too young to die and then to his brother, lost and damned, deserving of his fate.

Then to Gabrielle -- but his fate was yet to be decided, or rather, how he met his fate was yet to be decided.

He lifted the pipe to his mouth and gripped it between his teeth then began to fiddle with a match and striking paper. The dull scratch of the wood head against the rough paper temporarily drowned out the sound of nothingness around him as the bright flame flickered into life and began to burn away at the wood, Illuminating the horrific scene around him.

It was his old house, the house he had lived in as a vinter and an artist, the home of Marcus Enveri and his departed wife -- who's name was now a but a whisper he could barely remember, her face a blurred outline hiding in wait behind a blackened veil of regret.

But he had sold his house -- or Gabrielle did, to a couple wishing to start their life with their family in Skingrad. They had paid the price for their misfortune of choosing this house. To his left the mother of the house lay sprawled across the floor, long trails of blood that seeped from the torn arteries in her neck and beneath both arms now seeped into the antique rug Almerion was sat upon, the damp blood mingling in with the faded ink's to turn it into a macabre canvas of her final moments.

Across the room was an old man -- he showed no external injuries save for a mask of fear permanently frozen onto his weathered old features. He didn't have to die, he was an Alchemist visiting from the Mages guild to talk to the occupants about their children's progress into academia. He died of a heart attack as soon as Almerion fell into a lustful revelry of slaughter, though Almerion did not regret the old mans presence -- it relieved him, it confirmed that the children of the mother where not in the house, he wouldn't have been able to strike down a child -- no matter how far into his madness he fell.

And to his right sat in an eagle armed leather chair sat the grizzliest of visages ever to be seen. The father of the house hold, Almerion had not fed on him, he tied him to the leather chair, forced him to watch as he drained the blood from his wife. Then he carefully cut around the mans face -- tracing past his jaw line and hair line, then he removed his flesh and left him with nothing more than chorded tendons and muscle tissue and a permanent look of shock.

He was a monster.

A monster he needed to be, a monster that strengthened him for what he was setting out to do -- he would need to meet Gabrielle at his level and show him who was the faster, stronger and smarter adversary. But first he needed to find out where he was, he needed to catch the scent.

So he sat, waiting, watching the spiralling smoke dance through the air the billow out across the ceiling as he pulled back large puffs of the thick clouds from his pipe, waiting for the authorities to return.

The night prior to his mass murder he had stolen the original deeds -- the deeds he himself had signed and dotted when his father passed away -- and he replaced the current owners deed with his own. It was enough to put his name permanently into the obituaries, which is exactly the reason why he had stolen the face of the father, so he could not be identified -- they would have to assume it was truly Marcus Enveri, as illustrated by the deed of the house which was hidden behind a portrait of the families youngest child. The guards would find it when the searched the house, they would find letters addressed to Marcus Enveri from his brother Tobias, who was visiting from the Imperial city to escape the riots. Tobias would then walk into the blood covered scene and collapse in a heap of tears on the blood soaked rug beside his sister in law, crying over his dead brother cherry wood pipe.

Almerion was going to be playing the part of Tobias of course.

He could hear frantic talking -- footsteps and the jingle of chain armour against plate leggings. Instantly the vampire began to compose himself, all it took was a single whisper of his lost loves name and his face was engraved with deepest sorrow, tears welled in his eyes.

"Just through here, brace yourself, it's a nasty one." A gruff voice said -- each syllable far to relaxed to be upper middle class or even educated like most City watch captains. But here he was, an uneducated man of the law. Perhaps that was why he was so easily fooled -- the vampire hunters he had brought, however, may have been a different story.

He pushed open the door and the room lit up with a sudden flickering glow of a candle held high in his hand, just above eye level to avoid any glare that may lead to missing details in the puzzle. Close behind following him through the thick oaken door was a group of two Khajiit, an Argonian and a Dunmer. The Vampire hunter and his pet slaves -- blood hounds where too expensive.

"Definitely a vampire, and a vicious bastard at that." The ashen skin Dunmer said -- completely ignoring Almerion's deshelved form on the floor, he probably assumed he was another corpse. "Look at these wounds, ferocious creature, looks like he tore straight through the juggular in one bite, poor woman."

This carried on for about ten minutes -- he moved around the room examining the flow of blood on the floor -- the splashes on the walls and ceiling, the torn edges of skin that where once a part of the dead fathers face. Then he rounded on Almerion.

"When did you get here?" He said, not even looking at Almerion as he rose his head to look at the Dunmer, his face was instead buried into a scroll of parchment where he was quickly jotting down notes and key details.

"Just before sundown. She was still alive when I got here, I cried for help for ten whole minutes while I tried to stop the bleeding but no one came, and by the time some one did arrive she was gone." Almerion replied, pausing in all the right places -- stuttering with right syllables and choking on the correct words.

"Did she say anything to you before you she passed on? Any descriptions or numbers?" He said, still not looking up from his writings.

"No -- no descriptions or numbers, She just kept whispering the same name over and over again. Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle. She didn't realise I was here, she just stared up at the ceiling reciting that name like some demonic mantra. She also had this in her hand." Again he made all the right sounds in all the right places, pausing to wipe fake tears from his dead skin. The Dunmer finally looked up at what Almerion was handing him, a lock of strawberry gold hair tied with a velvet blue bow. The hair wasn't Gabrielle's, it belonged to a woman he had fed on travelling from the Imperial city, but the ribbon was his -- it would carry his scent still.

The Dunmer accepted, taking the hair with thin callous covered fingers, Almerion carefully making sure their skin did not touch, lest the vampire hunter feel how cold the vampires skin really was. He stared down through blood red orbs for a few seconds -- his eyes tracing over every hair and fibre carefully. Eventually he discarded the hair an dropped it to the floor, deciding it was to tainted by the blood from the woman's body to use -- but the bow was relatively clean.

"Excellent. I'm deeply truly sorry for your loss sir. Go get yourself cleaned up and find a room at a local Inn, we'll take it from here. I promise you that we will find this monster." The Dunmer said, crouching in front to Almerion as if to seem less imposing, "If we have any more information after we invastigate a little further we will contact you at the Minotaur's Ring Inn just to the north of here, I trust your familiar enough with Skingrad to find that yourself?"

"Yes, I can manage."

"Ok, who should we ask for when we return?"

"Tobias, My name is Tobias, Enveri. Marcus was my brother as I said before." Almerion muttered, making sure he took a glance at his dead 'brother', then visibly recoiling at the sickening sight, which earned a sympathetic knowing nod from the Ashlander, who obviously thought Almerion had a weak stomach for this kind of thing. "Are you sure you will find the one who did this, I wont be able to rest until I know that monster has paid for his crimes."


"Oh don't worry sir, He's as good as dust already, just you wait." The Dunmer said with the smallest of smiles before he stood and made to leave, his pet Khajiiti and Argonian following closely behind. "We'll find him."

And you will lead me right to him. Almerion thought as the group moved outside an he himself began to clamber up from the blood logged rug on the floor with the sound of peeling wet materials. And when you do, I'll kill you all.




* * *





Present day






"You killed an entire family?" The scribe said, his quill poised and ready over a fresh pot of ink, the previous pot sitting next to it empty and stained.

"Not all of them, just the parents. But I ask you, judge my actions if you will, but make no quick decisions on my character -- We have drug addicts, sixual deviants, Alcoholics and many more addicts in our society. I am one of those, as a vampire we are addicted to the kill, the hunt, the blood -- It is written into our very skin. I broke my sobriety that night, fell off the wagon so to speak, that fall lasted for centuries, I am still recovering from it. However, I am a changed man, I work for good in the name of those I have lost." Almerion said, spinning off the words that came from his heart as if they where readily carved into his mind.

"And you fell off the wagon because of your loss, because Emily was Killed?" He asked, dipping his quill before taking a few slanting notes on his blank leaf of parchment. "How did that make you feel?"

Almerion thought for a second, he looked like a man trying to recall a long lost memory, delving into the deepest recesses of his mind to unlock a hidden door that contained mouldy old scriptures and writings of that particular night and how it effected him. But in reality -- it was right on the surface, burnt into a mind like a cattle brand, a scar hidden away from viewing eyes but forever on show in Almerions thoughts.

"It felt, Liberating, in the darkest sense. It wasn't a good freedom losing her -- It freed parts of me I would have rather trapped away for all eternity, it was like broken glass in my mind, moving and cutting my sane thoughts as it splintered through my personality and changed me. It effected me in the most profound ways, but I never did take anything positive from it." His voice was soft, quiet and just audible over the din of talking tavern patrons and a crackling fire.

"How did you overcome your addiction?"

"I didn't. I found compromise instead -- I met with a woman, she was a caring mother and introduced me to a loving family, who accepted anybody regardless of race or ailment." Almerion said, a sad smile forced itself onto his face as he fondly remembered the family he left behind. "She allowed me to kill -- knew it was in my nature but loved me all the more for it, but I only killed those who deserved it. I never killed an innocent if I could help it."

"And what happened to this family of yours?"

"Ah, that my friend is a story for another day, we're about two hundred years further back before I meet her."

"Ok, Tell me why you made it look like the man you killed was actually you? -- did anybody believe it was truly you?"

"Yes they believed, I was a hermit after my wife died -- save for my one trip to the Imperial City. Nobody even knew I'd died and was buried, my brother covered it up, spread about a rumour that I was ill, life threateningly so, then he framed the family who lived in my house for a crime they did not commit and placed the father I killed under house arrest. People did gossip though -- about a sick man taking on a young new wife with illegitimate children -- because that's what they thought had happened. The woman and her children where hated throughout all of Skingrad for manipulating that poor sick man to get at his riches. They all spoke of Marcus with polite hushed voices, they just thought he, I, was lonely."

"How Elaborate.."

"Yes, It was. My Brother knew I was alive -- he didn't want the family name being stained by my apparent staged death."

"But he didn't just go along with it, didn't just say you where dead?"

"Oh no, he knew the implications that would have on his career if I where ever to resurface -- with his plan he could simply say I had recovered after the alchemists worked out a way to cure me."

"Makes sense. So why did you make it look like you yourself had died?"

"The thieves guild knew I was gone -- they would worry about me, and Emily. They would break into the Imperial City head quarters after as they always did when one of their number went missing and look for reports of arrests -- as a rule each thieves guild member gives a code name when arrested, unless their name is openly known by the watch. Each code name corresponds to the person arrested, that's the first name. The last name corresponds to the city they where arrested in, quite a simple yet hugely effective system I must admit.

"They did eventually break in, as I would later learn from Emmanuel, and retrieve documents. They would learn that a Man named Marcus Enveri was killed by a vampire with his Bosmer wife who remained unidentified for the time being. They would believe it, already two of their number had been killed by a mysterious vampire, two more killings wouldn't come as a surprise."

The Breton scratched his chin for a few seconds, rubbing his finger over a the same patch a few times as if feeling for a developing zit underneath his skin, then carried on writing away. Almerion sat patiently, watching the occupants of the Tavern go about their days as normal -- not even realising the revelations Almerion had been revealing just a few feet away.

"So, what happened after that?"

"I burnt down the house before the guards could return and recover the bodies for identification -- nobody needed to prove the report wrong as far as I was concerned. Then I followed the vampire hunters trail, a difficult task for anybody considering their expertise at tracking and covering their own tracks. But the smell of two Khajiit an Argonian and a Dunmer in one group was too specific and hard to miss. I found them dead outside of a small town, hidden underneath an overturned vegetable cart."

"What did you find inside this town?"

Almerion smiled a dark smile, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.

"Gabrielle."


* * *



3 E 04, Hackdirt.




The Darkness was usually a soothing friend, a powerful ally and a cruel lover. Tonight however, it unnerved Almerion. He moved through shadows, towards a small town he had never seen nor heard of before -- It was strangely empty, not even the inn had lights on inside, the only building that did was the towns chapel, which was incidentally where Almerion was headed.

He stalked over, following the familiar scent right to the doors which stood ajar -- flooding the steps leading inside with a warm glow of candle light. Almerion walked on through, spotting his target in the distance, knelt down in front of the alter with hands clasped in prayer.

Careful not to make a sound, he moved onward, his sword held out to the side poised to strike at any moment, but Gabrielle sensed he was coming and lifted his head, but did not look back to him, he stared up at the stain glass window before him.

"Strange is it not. We meeting here in the house of the gods? Strange indeed, considering you where pulled from the cold loving womb of the earth in a very similar building." Gabrielle said, lowing his face back down to his clasped hands as he resumed his prayers.

"Symbolic perhaps, It is where my life began and where yours will end." Almerion spat back, lifting his sword to the back of Gabrielle's neck.

"I'm not going to die tonight Almerion -- your not going to kill me." He replied, calm as a glass surfaced lake.

"Did the gods tell you this while your prayed to them?" Almerion spat again, acid in his voice strong enough to melt a mans heart -- his grip tightened on the neck of the swords hilt, his knuckles whitened as he prepared to push down on the blade.

"I'm not praying Almerion. I'm giving the gods fair warning before I kill them. I am a man of honour after all, I wanted to give them time to prepare so that when their day comes the fight will be even."

"More mad ramblings Gabrielle? I thought you would have realised your folly by now."

"These are not the ramblings of a mad man. These are the truths of destiny. I have seen the end of this world as you have too -- You saw it when you touched the way shrine, I saw it when I was turned into a vampire by the matron. We both saw that fateful day when the gods die."

Almerions resolve crashed and burned around him at the mention of seeing the future through the way shrine, he lowered the sword, Gabrielle turned with a smile.

"Maybe I was shown this future so I may prevent it." Almerion muttered, moving away from Gabrielle to allow himself a moments peace while staring at the ever moving stain glass windows, the flowing beads of light and moving patterns, the forgiving faces.

"No, I believe it is because of you that those things happen Almerion. You're the fire that lights these flames of revolution. Truly only the one who controls time itself can interpret the message in these visions Almerion. Can you name a creature with such power over time?"

"Akatosh." Almerion muttered, his eyes wandering over to the window depicting dragon headed god of time with the face of a man.

"You think so? Is Akatosh not simply the conduit of time -- the singularity that binds time into one straight line, who when he loses control sends time spiralling out in all directions -- a phenomenon we have come to know as the Dragon Break? Can he really move through time, see everything that has and ever will happen? No, I do not think so. I believe it is we who are the wardens of time, for who better to manipulate it than we immortal brethren, who else can watch the flapping of a butterflies wings evolve into a storm over the passing years, who else can influence time as much as you or I? We are eternal, Immortal, all we have is infinity, even the great Akatosh is destined to die one day."

Almerion thought on his words and part of him agreed -- there was a morbid logic to his theory, unnerving as it was. He pondered the thoughts these ideas evolved into as he paced around the pews of the chapel -- pausing every now and then to examine weeping paintings of patron saints.

"We do not control time. The events within a time line perhaps, but time itself is a prospect no man could fathom." Almerion muttered, saying those few words in an act of reassurance more than anything, he wasn't even sure if Gabrielle could here. "And what makes you so sure that free will wont come into play -- that destiny is the deciding factor. What if I choose not to stay my blade as visions proclaim and order, but to kill you instead." he finished, his voice louder this time, carrying across the cavernous chapel with an echo.

"Free will always determines our destiny Almerion, free will is the deciding factor that chooses mercy over murder on this night." His voice was hiding no veil of a lie, nor hint of manipulation -- He was telling the truth, or at least he was telling what he thought was the truth, for all Almerion knew Gabrielle was the one being deceived.

Almerion retraced his steps over to Gabrielle, who turned and looked into the hollowed eyes of his former apprentice and friend, a faint quiver of a smile on his thin lips, his high cheekbones casting a shadow over his sunken cheeks.

"Are you going to kill me now Almerion?" he asked, the smile flickering across for one last time.

"No. Not yet." Almerion said, then he struck down -- hitting Gabrielle on the top of his head with the heavy hilt of his sword who immediately crumpled unconscious to the floor. "But soon my brother, very soon."





* * *








The arid stench of burning flesh would have made Almerion gag in any other situation but in this particular case, he was too focused on what he was doing to pay much mind to it -- and he had smelt much worse things before, undead flesh notwithstanding.

Gabrielle lay naked; strapped to a table with nothing more than a thick leather belt covering his genitals, but chivalry was not high on Almerions priorities at the moment. At the end of the table just inches bellow Gabrielle heals stood two large white candles taken from the empty chapel -- burning away at the cold lifeless flesh of his makers feet.

His fellow vampire was still out cold -- the opium's Almerion had spiked him with, burning around his head, probably didn't help. Unlike most poisons of pleasures moon sugar skooma and a few other select opiates had a potent effect on the undead -- some elated and empowered, some dishelmed and tormented while others rendered the users body totally catatonic and helpless while leaving their senses and sanity intact.

"Come on, come on I don't have all night." Almerion spat impatiently, slapping a stirring Gabrielle roughly across the face. Slowly his eye lids flickered as if jolted by an impulsive current, then they snapped open, though instead of a display of fear one would usually convey after finding themselves in such a situation, they looked around the empty tavern with curious hunger for details.

"Almerion?" He muttered, his speech slightly slurred thanks to the muscle relaxants in the opium. "Really now, I wake up tied and drugged, what do you have planned for me you devil!" he added with a mockingly flirtatious smile and what was supposed to be a wink but came out as a squint.

"Please do not prolong this with your obnoxious jokes and crude humour, I would very much like to be finished here before dawn." Almerion said flatly -- turning to a table filled with an asortment of spices and salts greases and fats.

"So what's the plan?" Gabrielle asked quite casually, if he where able to he probably would have rested his head on both hands behind him as if laying in the sun.

"I'm going to kill you, Like I promised."

"You know that curious, I've always wondered what it feels like to die. I mean ofcrourse, we've both died once before. But to die in absolution? That's a curiosity that has always plagued my mind. What do you think it feels like Almerion?" Gabrielle replied -- the opiates forcing his mind off into a mellow tangent of thought.

"I pray that it feels like a thousand red hot needles tearing slowly through your soul." he muttered, turning back to the table with a lit oil lantern and a gelatinous cube of animal fat.

"I'll bet it feels like a kiss." The intoxicated and bound vampire whispered, pursing his lips slightly as his eyes went in and out of focus. "A silent velvet soft kiss."

Almerion didn't humour him with a reply -- he held the lantern under the dish of fat, watching as the thick gelatinous cube relented to the heat an began to pool around itself -- bubbling and spitting horribly, scorching the bits of Almerions skin the flecks of runaway oil landed on.

Gabrielle watched with a soft lucent smile on his stoned looking face, as Almerion held the dish over his chest -- the fat boiling so violently that it nearly shook free of his grasp. They both held their breath, both sharing anticipation for what Almerion was about to do. Then a scream pierced the air like deaths cold scythe tearing through ones soul.

The fat turn the skin a violent red then a dead grey as it melted through the papyrus thin flesh of the vampire, which offered little defence to the rampaging torrent of super heated fluids.

Gabrielles body shook and contorted and shuddered as the fat seeped further and further through the liquefied flesh an muscle. Then, he laughed heartily and tried as best he could to lift his head and look at his new battle wound.

"My my that was invigorating." He said breathlessly, letting his head drop back to the table with a thump. "I thought you where going to kill me Almerion?"

"I am. But you haven't written your last will and testament and you are in possession of an item I would very much like to retrieve and there's the little issue of with held information." Almerion replied solemnly while sprinkling a flour like powder onto the fast cooling fats and tissue on his chest. The fats immediately bubbled and expanded before turning virgin white and solid.

"Well doesn't the torturer usually ask questions before inflicting grievous bodily harm?" Gabrielle asked, wincing as Almerion pulled the hardened fats away to reveal a quite clean welt of burnt and incredibly sensitive flesh in the centre of Gabrielles chest.

"Oh, I haven't stated torturing you yet Gabrielle, this is what you would call fore play."

"Well what do you want to know princess? Ask and Ye' shall receive, is that how the saying goes? Ask and Ye' shall receive?"

"The map fragments. Where are they?" Almerion said -- retrieving a small dish filled with what looked like ground seeds.

"You know, I feel like such a fool, but I cannot for the life of me remember where I put them. This opium isn't helping much either my friend, perhaps you should remove it from my presence, maybe then I'll be able to think clearly."

"And you would take me for a fool again." Almerion said -- sprinkling the ground seeds into the violently red wound with a hiss from Gabrielle who immediately bucked to try and fling them back from his wound.

"What in the world is that powder?" Gabrielle said through gritted teeth, contorting his body like a snake struggling to be free of a charmers grasp.

"Ground chilli and pepper seeds, imported from Valenwood I believe, you always did encourage me to be creative with my available resources." Almerion muttered before opening up a small wooden box, emptying its wriggling writhing contents of live maggots into the wound. "Now, while our grotesque little friends work their way through the wound an reveal yet more flesh for me to play with, lets think about your answer."

"Your barking up the wrong tree Almerion, you know I wont give you the answers. I wont let you destroy what I worked so hard to reclaim, you might as well finish me." Gabrielle spat -- his eye full of uncharacteristic anger an impatience.

"Very well." Almerion muttered, picking up his final tool of Gabrielle's pain from the table beside him -- a wooden chair leg sharpened to a point. He held it out, Gabrielle's eyes glued to the point of the hovering stake. Almerion screamed fiercely as he brought the point down to Gabrielle's chest -- but Gabrielle made a quick jolting motion with his entire body, sliding the table inches closer to Almerion. The chair leg pierced the rib cage with ease, but it missed the Vampires heart.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. An eternity hung in the moments that passed as they gazed upon each other; then, without warning, Gabrielle's entire body tensed and contracted, making short work of the thick leather straps holing him in place.

He swung his arm outwards and Almerion leaned backwards to avoid the strike, Gabrielle's free hand jumped up to his chest an tore the wooden stake from its resting place, leaving a gaping wide hole of cascading blood and shattered bone, he moved forwards to Almerion -- a blurred streak of pale white and crimson red pushing the Nord back with a clammy cold hand around his neck, the point of the wood coming to rest above his heart.

Almerion writhed and tried to free himself as the maggots from Gabrielles chest fell to the floor around his leather booted feet. But every movement he made was met with Gabrielles overpowering strength.

"That's the beauty about pain Almerion. Pain for a vampire is liberty -- our organs, they are entombed inside use, dead and useless. But our brain? Our mind? That organ is more potent now than in life. You should have known. Adrenaline Almerion, adrenaline. I thought I'd taught you better. Never let a vampire accumulate adrenaline through pain."

"Are you going to kill me?" Almerion asked -- his voice calm level and filled with acceptance.

"No." Gabrille replied, biting his lip as his eyes followed the contours of Almerions gaunt face. "I'm going to give you the answer, one of the answers, you wanted." he finished, his lips moving inches away from Almerions ear.

"The answer to which question?"

"You do not know the question Almerion, but the answer is yours before you ask it. North Point Almerion. That is the answer." he said, relinquishing his grasp on Almerions neck, letting him slide roughly down to the floor. "That's where she is."

"Who?" Almerion shouted after Gabrielle, who was walking away towards the tavern's exit, collecting his clothes as he went.

"Wait for the question Almerion. If we meet again I will kill you."

And with that, he was gone -- disappeared into a cloud of thick white mist that passed through the cracks in the door with ease and floated off into the night.

* * *

awesome, I only noticed a few mistakes so no worries there I can't wait for the next chapter. I love the characters Keep up the great work

GAAAAAK !!! I wish I hadn't eaten Chipotle Chicken right before reading the first section !!! Awesome write !!! Your storyline is really a great one - graphic, but great! I just will remember to read on an empty stomach next time, lol. I should have remembered after the last chapter.

My bad! I'd feel bad for you but I cant stand Chipotle Chicken so maybe I did you a favour

Finished the next two chapters. There long -- may take a while to proof read and correct both, I dont know If i should post them up at the same time or not.

I really liked the torture scene, very inventive

I may never eat it again after that, lol. If they are long, post the first one as soon as you edit it so we can be reading it while you edit the second one - (that is my vote, lol).

Sorry for the delay -- I just re-read the chapters and i've made some hugeeeeee mistakes with dating and what not -- I'm going to post them up as later chapters instead, but the good news is i'm half way through the replacement of the first

How do people feel about time skips -- I've implemented a 200 year time skip in the next chapter but i'm not 100% sure if i want to post it up or not.

Well Solidor, you didn't leave a cliff hanger, so I assume it would be fine.

I see no problems with a 200 year time-skip. In fact, I'd love to see how you vampires develop over 2 centuries.
Bring it on, I say!

Just read the whole thing today Solidor and you're doing a fine, fine job Keep at 'er.

Always good to get aproval off a new reader

new chapter will be up soon enough, a day or two probably. I've been really busy lately though -- my girlfriends birthday is coming up and I promised her I'd buy her a present but also make her one, so I'm painting her favourite bird (humming) in her favourite colours (purples black and pink), which has kept me pretty busy

Really enjoying your story, is it ready?

this is the greatest fan fic ive ever read, your quite the beastly writer

I have tried to read through this twice in 09 and never found the time to finish it, but on this day I have read, from begining to present end, Through the Eyes of a Vampire and love it! I shall eagerly wait through the two hundred for news of these Vampires.

Captivating tale! Please continue.

I stumbled on this story looking for TESIV fan fiction, and created an account just to ask you to finish...

It isnt, sorry. I've not had time to add to it in a long long time, but I'm writing it as we speak. (or more accurately, as I type.) I've been concentrating more on my novel recently, but I thought it might be time to re-visit this since I recently started RPing again as well.


Thank you, that means alot. Nothing like a confidence bolster. I'm almost tempted to sig this



You shant be waiting much longer for more read-y-ness!


Great to know I compelled some one to sign up to our homely home.

Sorry for the delay, as I said -- I've been so busy. But alas, long waits are rewarded with long chapters! (10 a4 pages to be precise)

It may seem a little rushedi n places, and its not been proof read yet, I'll do that tommorow when i wake up. I dont want to wait any longer to post up, i've been waiting to get this up all day. Hope you enjoy! I know I did.



Chapter Fifteen: A Path Less Followed.






Present Day.





“And did you stop hunting Gabrielle after his threat of murder?” The scholar asked in-between thanking the bar maid for his fresh drink and assuring her he was not staring at her ample bosoms, which of course, he was.

“Of course I did, and it took me nearly two hundred years to hear but a whisper of his name again.” Almerion said, lamenting on what where once inept abilities. “I found him in Hackdirt Easily enough simply because he wanted to be found -- but Gabrielle existed for a long time before he met me, he’s had years to hone his craft in deception and lies, years to perfect his way of walking through the world without ever being seen. It doesn’t help that clouds of mist and smoke leave no trace of their presence.”

“So how did you know when you where getting close?”

“I didn’t, it was pure chance -- we where two flecks of dust in a maelstrom, flying around in unruly winds avoiding the dropping rain, but some how we where destined to collide again, at the most inopportune of times.”

“Why, what was different about this meeting than any other, what made it an inopportune time?”







3 E 249





The Nord named Almerion walked through the streets, robed and hooded -- hands steeped before him, making him look some what like a monk. Though of which religion, many would rather not know. It had been almost two hundred years since Almerion had fled the Imperial City with his old friends from the thieves guild, among them his lost love Emily, who was a constant wound upon his heart he feared would never heal. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the rest of his companions, it was more than possible that some of the elves in the group had survived. With a pang of sadness -- he made a mental note to find out what happened to his old friends, to visit their graves if they had any.

From what he could see of the city -- naught had changed, save for the population. Since Tiber Septims death and the succession of rulers who followed the racial enmity had eased up a great deal, Orc’s where especially welcome as expert craftsmen to the city, Argonian’s and Khajiit where tolerated at best, though they where still shunned into the poorer districts of the Imperial Isles. Almerion remembered fondly his old friend Mashab, how he ended up in the thieves guild after being tormented and heckled for his race, and how he took every comment and beating with an straight back and proud face. At the time he didn’t realise it, but Almerion had learned a lot by his clumsy silent green friend.

But he was dead now -- of course, they all where.

Unlike the city however, Almerion had evolved much, much more. His hair had grown to the small of his back -- streaked with silver and grey, though still largely brown, his face had aged but not by a great deal -- he looked no more than three years older than he was the last time he came face to face with Gabrielle. The biggest change was his abilities, like a fine wine left to ferment, his blood had grown stronger -- festering and growing in his veins, empowering him with an addictive strength, it made him faster and stronger, his abilities in Alteration where great enough to rival the greatest magicians in the history of Tamriel.

It was this new found strength that bolstered his resolve to find Gabrielle, to hunt the turn tail and put a stake to his heart -- but this time there would be no hesitation, just clean simple murder. That was where he was headed -- to meet the man who would lead him to Gabrielle.

His eyes scanned the streets and found what he was looking for, a hanging sign indicating he had found his destination -- the Tiber Septim hotel. As he made his approach he noticed a slight hurdle to be crossed -- two guards wrestling with a drunk who’d had one keg too many, judging by the way his eyes looked in different directions and his tunic was plastered with a chunk filled orange bile, usually he would pass by with an apology for getting in the way, but in this case he couldn’t. This was the Imperial City.

And he was wanted, for murder.

He ducked around the corner into the shadows -- skirting past bushes and under tree’s silently, his eyes pealed for any sketchy skooma dealers or late night women offering their ‘good’s’, but thankfully, there where none. Finally he came up onto the back wall of the Tiber Septim hotel and began to move.

Slowly, he pushed his hand and right foot against the wall -- which passed through the stone as if he where pushing into sand. He repeated the motions with his other hand and foot, a little higher this time, and then again with his others after removing them from the wall -- leaving it perfectly smooth and unscathed.

Of course -- thanks to his heightened abilities in alteration he could simply pass through most objects as if they where liquid -- but moving his entire body through a solid wall could be dangerous and extremely exhausting, he would most likely need to feed within the hour after such a stunt, an it was too close to dawn.

He moved up faster and faster as he got to grips with the seldom used spell -- climbing the wall as if it was little more than a ladder placed there for his convenience, until finally, he reached a window. Cautiously he raised his head over the ledge and gazed into the room.

The candle light flickered, a woman lay on the bed in a deep slumber, her red hair spread across the pillow in an eerily beautiful way. She lay so still she could almost be dead, Almerion hoped she wasn’t -- he was feeling weak, he would need to feed soon. Slowly, painstakingly slow, he moved his hand up toward the window -- cursing the wooden frame, which thanks to his vampire affliction he could not pass through without killing or maiming himself. Instead he used a very basic levitation spell to lift the latch out of place -- and with that, the window swung inwards on itself.

He climbed through -- thanking whichever god cared to listen that the floors where made of stone and not wood, which solved the problem of squeaking or loose floorboards. As he moved the red haired woman stirred, rolling over onto her back, ending up spread across the bed like a star fish -- svcking her top lip into her mouth like a child would. He was reminded with a harsh stab that Emily used to sleep exactly the same way, with the sheets up over her head.

Once certain she was still in deepest depths of her dreams, he began to move, quickly opening and closing the door into the hall way. The hotel was deathly silent; the only sounds where the crackling torched burning in brackets upon the wall, placed at the flank of each room’s door, and around the bending staircase to the social room and bar bellow.

The room was large -- centred with a bard and registration desk, to its left a collection of plush over stuffed armchairs, to the right a series of excellently carved wooden tables and chairs, a variety of oak and mahogany, a few bearing decorative patterns of inlaid willow or ash. It was amongst this jumble of chairs and tables that Almerion spotted his contact; a tall elvish man of mixed decent, a mongrel of Altmer Dunmer and Bosmer heritage, perhaps even a slight human influence judging by the shaping of his eyes. Most men would not notice it, they would see only a pale dunmer, but Almerion was nearly three hundred years old.

He’d learned to pick up on the details.

“Please -- take a seat wont you?” The man said as Almerion made his approach, speaking in low melodic tones, gesturing to the chair across from him with a flourish. “Finally… we meet.”

“Indeed.” Almerion said curtly -- taking his seat across from the mortal, eying the few remaining and extremely drunk patrons with a weary eye. “Talk.”

“Ah -- refreshing, a man of few words but straight to the point. I like that.” The mongrel said, his eyes moving up and down Almerions robed form while he bit his bottom lip in what was supposed to be a demure gesture, but it served only to raise bile in Almerions throat. Or it would, if he had any. “I understand your looking for some one, a friend of mine I believe. Gabrielle.”

“Yes, I am. -- I‘ll have a mead.” Almerion said, ordering a drink from the barmaid as she paused at their table to deliver the mongrels drink. He was trying his best to fit into society after so any years off the grid, and normal men and women didn’t go into drinking establishments only to sit down without ordering a drink. He was just a friend visiting a friend, or at least that’s what he hoped. “I can pay you two thousand Septim’s for the information that leads me to his location.”

To Almerions surprise his contact looked both mock offended and genuinely amused at the offer of money, he sat laughing silently -- his eyes completely empty of emotion and humour, they where instead cold and hollow, though a glint of black vile rage could be witnessed in the depths, behind the charade of light heartedness.

“I do not need money. I assure you -- I earn enough money in a month to put that pittance of an offer to shame.” The mongrel said with another flirtatious smile, leaning forward to Almerion, reaching his hand out to touch the vampire -- who recoiled as if burnt. “No -- I’ve heard of you, Almerion -- I believe? Yes, I heard about you long ago, you’re the one from the wanted poster are you not? The one who murdered the arch mage?”

Almerion looked toward the wall where the Mongrel was gesturing to see his own crudely and inaccurately sketched face looking down, with the words ‘WANTED’ and ‘REWARD OFFERED’ Inked on in blood red above and bellow the picture.

“Yes, I am. But he tried to kill me first.”

“Why was that?”

“He found me in bed with his daughter.” It wasn’t true of course, Almerion had never met the Arch mage, nor did he know her daughter. Some one was trying to frame him, his first thought was Gabrielle -- but why? And after so long, it was too sloppy. It wasn’t his old friends style. “So he came at me with a dagger.”

“Oh, quite an over reaction.” He said, eying the bar maid’s generous chest as she bent down with Almerion’s order. Which served as a relief for Almerion himself -- his flirtation was jut a cover, a distraction to that rage filled soul. The same way Almerions lie about the Arch mage was a cover, to stop the mongrel of a man from questioning why his new business associate would be framed -- he didn’t want him thinking about what kind of people wanted him dead or out of the picture, that was for Almerion to find out for himself.

“Not really -- she was dead.” Almerion lied, taking a mock sip of his mead, the bubbling froth tickled his upper lip. Though the liquid was quite cold, it felt warm against his skin in comparison.

“Well, enough dilly dallying about hm? I’ve been looking for some one like you, killing an archmage was all the proof I needed, you might just be able to find what I want, and in exchange, I’ll find what you want.”

“What is it you want?” he said with a smile, happy that who ever had tried to pin the death of the mage onto Almerion had inadvertently sealed the deal between the vampire and the mongrel.

“Information.” He said, pausing with an unneeded dose of dramatics. “But it may be difficult to acquire..”

“Where do I start?”

“Kvatch, the count there has what your looking for. Tell him Count Songwind sent him, he’ll know who I am.”




* * *



His hair whipped around in the wind as he ran -- full pelt to the closest settlement he could see. Both legs beat a tattoo of panic and fear into the sodden rain clogged earth, his clothes spattered with muddy clay and blood, a distinct scent of undead flesh lingered about his person.

The city of Kvatch could be seen ahead, even through the thick torrential rain and velvet black skies, Its silhouette stood out on the landscape for miles around -- a symbol of hope to many of the surrounding villages and farms.

Or it would be, had any of the occupants survived.

Cursing the mongrel under his breath, Almeron trundled on, stumbling through the bog like terrain, loosing a shoe as he went. I hope for his sake he didn’t know what was about to transpire this night! he thought viciously, chancing a look over his shoulder. There was enough distance to be safe, but it wouldn’t last for long. They would close on him in due time.

“The city is in a state of lockdown! No one enters!” A man shouted, long before Almerion could make out his silhouette on the archway above the city gates, the rain began to seep into the vampires eyes, making his vision less than reliable. “If you hurry you can escape into the countryside and make your way to Skingrad of Chorrol!” the man shouted again when Almerion showed no sign of relenting. Survival as the vampires top priority, he had come to far to die in the dirt and wet, his work was a long way from finished.

“Please sir!” Almerion cried once he was close enough to make out the mans anxious looking face, “Please! My wife, she’s heavily pregnant!”

“I see no woman!” He shouted back, not to be rude, just to be heard.

“She is within the city, with her mother! I must make sure she is safe, please, allow me to enter!” He cried, looking over his shoulder at the looming silhouette now at the foot of the hill. “Please!”

He watched on, his eyes imploring the man as his face contorted with conflicting emotions, before relenting and shouting back down, “Ok, but get in quickly, Open the door!”, almost instantly, a small door to the right of the city gates opened, an old worn out looking guard who looked like he’d be more at home behind the bar of a crusty old in popped his head out and gestured furiously to Almerion, who more than happily complied.

As soon as he was in, the gate slammed shut and was bolted just as quickly -- the old guard heaving and wheezing, but performing his duties regardless. Almerion made to exit the guard booth into the city at large, but not before the wizened old guard placed a hand on a mud caked shoulder and examined his features.

“Hold on a minute…” He said quietly, an expression of sudden dawning recognition overcoming his previous mask of anxiety. “Yer’ that geezer off the posters! The ones all o’er the mages guild!”

Almerion moved almost instantaneously as he spotted the guards hand twitch toward the hilt of his blade. It was barely even a strike, the vampires fist travelled no more than a few inches, the clenched hand impacting with the guards wind pipe with a meaty thud.

“P*ss off,” Almerion spat, dropping all imitations of a worried father to be in exchange for his usual persona. He walked off; unhindered by the guard, who was now on his knee’s clutching at his throat, coughing and spluttering. Almerion heard a thud as the old man fell to the ground, just seconds after he moved into the town square.

It was chaos.

People ran screaming, looking for loved ones or dragging children to the chapel. A long line of men… and boys no older than fourteen, where stood to Almerions right -- each one looked scared to death, some had visibly wet themselves. At the top of the line where two guards, handing the men weapons and worn out pieces of armour.

“Oi, you!” A voice called over the din of crying, shouting and the pounding rain. Almerion cocked his head, noticing that the man shouting was shouting at him “Get back in the line!”

What else could he do?

He fell in step, not wanting to give himself away -- he’d find his opportunity to get to the castle and its Count soon enough, all he had to do in the mean time was wait for that opportunity. He waited patiently as weapons and armour made their way toward him -- welcoming a little extra protection.

Unfortunately, the only items left for him where a pair of steel gauntlets and an old iron shield. He half smiled and half groaned as he pulled the metal gauntlets over his sopping wet hands and began to tighten the clasps and fastenings. How could a city expecting war be so under equipped?

He didn’t have time to ask, only moments after he fitted them, a large war horn blew.

The entire city fell into a foreboding silence, as if mourning the death of a loved one -- every man and woman stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide and ears open, waiting for the words to come. It seemed like an eternity, the only noise now competing with the rain was that of the cities collective crying children some where in the chapels bowels. Then, it came.

“He’s here!” The guard who Almerion had a shouting contest with cried to the men and women of the city, “He’s here! The Usurper is here!”

Silence was ravaged by chaos. People screamed louder now than ever, men broke free of the line Almerion had been shouted into, running desperately away from the city gates, headed in all directions. But only Almerion seemed to notice them, every one else had eyes only for the city gate.

“Look out!” The guard atop the gate cried again, his shout accompanied by a whistling noise. It took a moment for Almerion to work out that the rain hadn’t gotten thicker, but arrows where now flying over the city walls. Thousands of them.

Cries erupted around him as men at arms crouched to the floor, those with shield held them above their head, those without simply held their hands over their faces as if begging for mercy. Though mercy didn’t come.

Almerion mirrored the men around him, dropping to his knee, he held up the newly acquired iron shield and closed his eyes. The sickening thud-thud-thud of arrows hitting bodies came next, groans of pain followed then shouts for healers.

It was a pointless endeavour, but Almerion couldn’t stop himself. He ran into the crowd of fallen bodies, searching for any one who was stirring. Dropping the shield as he went -- it was now sporting three new arrows, which had stopped just inches from the vampires soaked face.

“Where is the captain!” Almerion shouted as he scooped down and picked up the blood soaked body of an Orcish youth, barely older than fifteen. “Where!”

“Over there.” A guard said grimly as he passed, nodding to a body a short distance away. It looked more like a pin cushion. “and his second in commands dead too, got one in the face. Looks like we’re gunna have to wing it.”

“What’s your name?” Almerion asked, pausing with the man as he bent double to pick up another wounded child. His face filled with sadness that Almerion appreciated. These boys shouldn’t be fighting in a suicidal war. They should have been evacuated, everybody should have been.

“Artus.” he said gruffly, “Billial Artus, people call me Bill.”

“My name is Antus, Antus Pinder.” saying the first name that came to his head. He thought it better not to use his true name, he wasn’t supposed to exist after all. They moved together, joining a rabble of men dragging wounded into the chapel. “Do you have siege weapons?”

He heard a laugh from Bill, but the reply was less than amusing. “Yeah, two trebuchets, for all the good its worth. Nothing to [censored] launch from the bleedin’ things is there?”

“Not to worry. I’ll think of something.” Almerion muttered as they made it into the hall of the chapel. It had been over two hundred years since he had set foot in one, he was pleased to see he was still allowed entry. “Do you have any flammable liquids?”

“What good will fire do in this rain?” A guard said to Almerion as he passed, dragging a comrade by his arm pits. “It’d be put out in seconds in this!”

Almerion ignored him, turning back to Bill who was now headed back out into the storm. He couldn’t help but admire the mines courage, a lot of the soldiers who had brought wounded to the chapel hadn’t dared set foot back outside it, preferring instead to start ripping fixtures from the walls to make a barricade from.

“Second volley!” A man cried from some where as the sickening whistling noise returned, Almerion was ready for it this time. He ran forwards and forced Bill to the ground as his body glowed bright blue, the light shot out in a shimmering dome around them, catching a few other guards in its midst.

Each man in the bubble flinched visibly as the arrows hurtled straight for them, only to be deflected off the shield spell, falling into the near flooding ground or off into nearby buildings and walls. Once the men around Almerion realised what happened they each turned to him, faces sporting jubilant smiles.

“We’ve got us a bloody battle mage!” One of them shouted, a small glint of hope in his quivering voice. Almerion thought it better not to correct him as he helped Bill up from the ground.

“What did you say you needed?” Bill asked as Almerion began to walk off toward what he could only assume was the towns tavern, the few men he had managed to save hot on he heels.

“Rope, a few barrels of any liquid that ignites easily and a very large, very heavy object.” Almerion said before shouldering the door of the tavern open, the smell of old mead and dry sweat was an almost welcome normality compared to the reality they where living. “Do you have any?”

“Oil, for the street lamps. We have a load of barrels in the guard house and a few in the chapel.” On guard said, nodding his head back toward the tavern exit. Almerion nodded in recognition as he searched for the entrance to the cellar.

“Go, get them, arrange them around the city gate with whatever dry wood you can find leave two barrels by the trebuchets.. Bring others from the chapel to help, anybody who isn’t wounded. Send a few men to the tavern as well wont you?” Almerion said, the guard left without a word, just a look of relief at the fact that some one was finally giving orders. “Heavy objects?”

Bill and another guard looked at each other, neither one wanted to answer him. Almerion glared as he found the trap door to the cellar, crouching down to yank it open. A cold draft blew upwards as he did, bringing the smell of sawdust with it.

“Well…” Bill said slowly, as if really struggling to meet Almerions question with an answer. “There’s the statue of the count.. We only received it a week ago -- a gift fro the Imperial Cities greatest stone mason. Its still on a cart, we haven’t had the chance to fit it to the plinth in the town square.”

“Perfect, fetch it, bring it to the trebuchet. Find some rope too if you can, the longer the better.” Almerion said before ducking down into the cellar. It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, it never did now, after over two centuries of being a vampire Almerion could see easier in the dark than he ever could in the light of day.

He was surrounded by large heavy looking barrels, the scent of cheap brandy and whiskey elated Almerion, as well as, he noticed, the subtle almost unnoticeable scent of Nordic spirits.

The barrels were heavy, even for Almerion. He pushed them over to the steps leading to the trap door and slowly began to shuffle them upwards. He winced as some one outside shouted warnings of a third volley, though there where less screams of terror this time. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

He worked alone for some time, shifting three of the huge barrels to the ground floor of the tavern before help arrived in the form of two guards and a disgruntled looking clergymen, but together they managed to get over double the amount of contents from the basemant than Almerion did in the same time.

Once they where finished they began to push the barrels out, which was considerably easier once they got through the front door, as they could roll them on the floor -- one man to a barrel. “Fifteen minutes!” some one cried from one of the guards towers, “They’re at the foot of the hill!”

Adrenaline pumped through the vein of everyone still capable of producing it, the men helping Almerion moved faster and with more purpose -- each with a face of grim determination, even the clergymen.

Almerion broke off as he spotted a very large silhouette being dragged toward a trebuchet beyond the town square. He ran toward Bill and the statue, informing them both of how much time they had left as they each examined the large marble depiction of an extremely portly balding man. Almerion thanked whoever’s guiding hand graced Kvatch with an overweight Count, rather than a sack of bones and liver spots.

“Do you know how to use this?” Almerion said, nodding to the trebuchet.

“Every one in the guard does, we decided against dedicated operators. Saves us all loosing our heads in panic if whoever operating the thing gets taken out by a stray arrow doesn’t it? Bill said, panting and rubbing his chaffed hands together as he leaned against the heavy wooden cart bearing the weight of the statue. “here’s your rope.” he added, dropping a large heavy coil at Almerions feet.

“Set it up, aim it at the archway above the city gates. Once your done fetch whatever linens you can, blankets, mattresses, clothes -- anything. Wrap as much of them around the statue as you can and soak them with the lantern oil.” he said as he began to tie the end of the rope around the launching lever. Bill’ eyes skirted across the barrels of lamp oil, then down to the city gates, pausing on the stacked barrels of oil, alcohol and furniture around the city gates. It didn’t take him long to do the math. He set about frantically following Almerions orders as the vampire strode off back to the chapel, unwinding the rope as he went.

Aside from Bill and the two other guards now helping him with the trebuchet, everyone was now gathered around the mouth of the chapel, all eagerly awaiting orders from the battle mage.

News travels fast.

“We might not be able to defeat them, but we can buy time. Is there any way to get through the city without going through the main gates?” Almerion spoke to the group at large, trying not to make eye contact with the teenagers wearing armour and holding weapons far too big for them.

“Yes.” A light voice came, a small Breton woman, ancient and frail looking, poked her head out from between two burly looking Nord’s. “Through the chapel under croft. It leads out to the castle. There’s and entrance to the sewers through the guard house there. The sewers would bring us out five miles north of here. Though I imagine it would be safer in there than out in the wilderness with the Usurpers hordes rampaging through the province!”

No one seemed to question why an old lady knew so much about the towns inner workings, nor did they seem to acknowledge her presence. Almerion stared for a few seconds, he couldn’t quite help shake the feeling that he’d heard her voice some where before.

“Begin evacuating women and children into the sewers, when you get out the other side, split into three groups. Head to Chorrol, the Imperial city and Skingrad. Request aid from them.” Almerion shouted, making sure he was heard by every ear available. “Men, remain behind. We will fight off the horde for as long as possible before making our retreat, we need to give the others as much time as possible.”

There where many murmurings of agreement from the vast majority of the group in and around the chapel, though a few looked mutinous with fear -- not wanting to stay behind and fight. Regardless, every one began to move in unison, those with weapons gathered their mettle, those without helped the wounded down into the under croft.

“It’s ready!” A shout came from behind, Almerion turned to see Bill and the few remaining men he had with him jogging toward him. “Now what?”

“We retreat into the chapel, its our best point of defence. If we can bottleneck their numbers we can cut them down easier.” Almerion replied, quite surprised at his own planning. It almost seemed like he had this rough cut strategy floating in his mind for years.

He waited with bated breath as the men moved into the chapel, ready to die for each other -- for him. Or so he hoped, the part of the plan he hadn’t told them counted on it. The sound of the Usurpers force drowned out the relentless storm now, they had minutes left.

A crash resounded through the air as the city gates shook violently with the force of whatever was trying to get in. Again it struck, Almerion could feel the quake through the ground. Again, the men around him gasped. Again. Almerion took his chance -- he raised his hand and conjured up as much energy as he could, forcing it down his arm. A bolt of fire shot forth, flying through the air, shrinking and shrinking by the second as the rain molested it.

All eyes followed its progress with bated breath, hoping against hope that it would reach its target. With a sudden flash, the spell collided with the oil soaked statue, setting it ablaze. Almerion barely had time to yank the rope and launch the statue as the sound of the city gates falling erupted throughout the scene.

The statue flew -- its fat jovial form pirouetting through the air, the flames contorting and spreading with the wind around it. The sky exploded with light as it collided with the barrels and wood heaped around the city entrance. Screams pierced the night as the first of the usurpers horde where ignited and crushed.

“Prepare yourselves!” Almerion shouted, looking around at the men beside him, their jaws set, eyes filled with determination. Every trace of fear was gone now. They didn’t register his words, nor the fact that he was slowly moving back through the crowd.

He heard screams and battle cries, colliding weapons and iron piercing flesh as he moved into the under croft, bolting the door behind him. It was empty now, the women and children had long since made their way to the sewers along with the wounded, a good sign.

The Vampire ran, smashing his way through the ill hidden door at the end of the under crofts halls, breaking back out into the tumultuous rain with a rising sense of purpose and determination. His feet carried him faster and faster as adrenaline pumped through his cold body.

Eventually, he broke through the doors of castle Kvatch, not a soul could be seen nor heard in the halls. All the men where out in the town now, risking their lives to protect their rotund leader and his city. Something seemed to bolster him, fill him with energy as he got closer to his destination, tearing his way up flights of stairs, crashing through locked doors.

And then he found his target, A fat old man, quivering atop his bed. Sweat beaded on his fore head and tears welled in his eyes. He looked up at Almerion, begging for mercy without words.

“Where is it!” Almerion whispered, his voice almost serpent like, the words lashing out over his vocal chords like a many headed hydra.

“Wh-where is what?” The count replied, taken aback. He seemed surprised that the red eyes man before him hadn’t already removed his overly large head.

“You know what!” he hoped he knew what, because the mongrel hadn’t told Almerion. “Songwind sent me.”

“H-h-how di-”

“His reach is far and great, not even the Usurper can oppose him! Do you think it is coincidence I arrived on this night, of all nights!” It was coincidence, an unfortunate turn of events. Or so Almerion hoped, for the sake of his business partner.

“P-please, take it, but p-please let me live. I give up my crown, take it, just please let me live!” He was on his knees now, inches away from kissing the muddy hem of Almerions cloak.

“Where is it!” The Vampire screamed, his cold fury seemed to drop the temperature of the already cold room. He kicked out at the fat head at his feet, the scent of blood drifted to his nose as the count rolled backwards, squeeling and holding his face -- blood pouring from his suddenly flattened nose.

“There, behind the painting in the frame!” He spluttered, Almerion looked to where he was pointing to see a small handsomely framed painting of a white horse on a dark moor. He picked it up and broke the upper section of the frame away, sliding the painting out as the count panted behind him. “Please, let me live, I’ll do anything!”

Almerion smiled, pulling a tightly folded ancient looking piece of parchment from shattered frame.

“But sire, you have already done enough.” he said in a silky smooth voice, turning back to the fat old man in a flash of long white fangs.


* * *

So the next chapters ready to go up. I'll wait until I get some replies before I post it as for all I know, this could be dead as a door nail.

I also dont want to cause eye bleeding.

please post

Good to see some news of Almerion. I shall keep an eye out for your next update.

awesome stuff once again, i haven't checked this thread in a long time and the day I do there is a new chapter. Really enjoyed the lore/history that you incorporated, I can really visualize this story playing out and feel the emotions

Origionally I was going to have Almerion meet and fight with Antus Pinder -- but when playing oblivion i noticed how simular Antus Pinder looked to what I imagine a young Almerion to look like (the statue of him can be seen in Kvatch) so I got inspired and changed the chapter.

I'll post up the new chapter when I'm back from work. Good to know people are still reading this.