» Fri May 13, 2011 2:24 pm
I debated on responding to this, because my response is VERY long and, rather than providing specific advice, tells a story that may spark some imaginative ideas to enrich the experience of playing a vampire in Cyrodiil. Although I have taken significant license with lore, a great deal of this is firmly based in the game.
The following is taken from Episode 25 of Buffy's Journal. It is the text of an ancient journal that appeared to be written in blood. She found it in the bowels of Gutted Mine after completing a task for Lady Azura.
The Journal of Dratik
I was born Dratik, at the dawn of the Third Era when Tiber Septim ruled the newly united provinces. As the son of a wealthy noble in the Court of Cheydinhal, I was privileged, and wanted for nothing. As I grew to maturity, I was blessed by Arkay to capture the heart of a raven-haired maiden with flashing ruby eyes and silken blue-emerald skin. Sadene and I were soon joined, and rendered each other complete.
As time passed, our passion intensified, and any separation became intolerable. We became obsessed with any threat to our togetherness, including untimely death or even the natural expiration of our long Dunmeri lives. We grew determined to conquer mortality.
As word of our inquiries and research traveled, we were not surprised one morning to discover a parchment had been slid under our door. The cryptic invitation was accompanied by a map to Redwater Slough, well to the south.
It took several days to reach the cave, but behind its bloodstained door we found our answers.
We readily accepted Hindaril's offer, and joined the Altmer's den of vampires. The clan included almost a dozen, but Sadene and I were the only two turned to darkness by Hindaril himself. He gave us the full gift of his ancient line - eternal life.
Hindaril explained that the immortality we enjoyed was not absolute.
Ancients were well-advised to deal cautiously with Daedra Lords, for should they direct it, we could be destroyed by their followers. It was, after all, from the loins of Malog Bal and his forced union with a Nedic virgin that all vampires originally spawned - at least according to Hindaril.
The only other threat to an ancient was to suffer defeat in combat at the hands of a Slayer. Every vampire instinctively knew the threat posed by these mysterious women, and our keen senses recognized the scent that announced their presence. They could detect us well. How they did so was unknown, since masking our scent could not deter them. Slayers often possessed minor powers that aided them in battle. They could not be turned to vampirism; porphyric hemophilia, when contracted, simply produced severe illness until cured. Hindaril proudly proclaimed that over the centuries, he had killed two Slayers.
As Sadene and I began to discover our power, the newly heightened senses we enjoyed impassioned not only our lovemaking, but fueled a rampaging bloodlust. We reveled in the slaughter of men and mer under the stars, and for over a decade, our immortality allowed the unopposed carpeting of eastern Cyrodiil with blood.
Whispered rumors began to drift up from the wounded land that our reign of terror had attracted the attention of the Slayer, Vienele.
As Sadene and I traversed a small meadow one night, the sweet deadly scent of nightshade announced the approaching threat. The small Breton suddenly appeared in the moonlight, and lifted a glowing hand. As she opened her fist, a brief burst of sunlight burned our eyes, skin and minds. By the time we recovered, she had reappeared behind us. Flashing a pair of flaming blades and moving like a cat, she turned upon my love.
Knives of blue ice flew from the fingertips of Sadene's off hand, while her short sword parried many of the Slayer's fiery slashes and thrusts. I answered the attack with my katana, powered by vampiric strength and speed.
I paid the ultimate price for victory that night. My precious elf, along with our dream of everlasting love, lay destroyed in my arms.
I loosed a roar to Masser and Secunda that shook the very trees. My fangs tore into the soft, still warm throat of the dead Slayer to feed my rage and try to gain some of her power. Immediately, I spat her blood from my mouth as it seared my lips and throat.
I knew the approaching dawn would cleanse Sadene's body and claim her spirit, leaving only dust behind. Empty and alone, I returned to Redwater Slough.
Immortality was suddenly an endless nightmare of loneliness. From the depths of my despair, spawned hatred for Hindaril. It was he who had given Sadene and I this gift, now turned curse.
I set upon him with my katana, but a battle between two ancients could not deliver the death I now sought. His skill exceeded my own however, and I was driven from the cave.
My night wanderings eventually yielded to permanent refuge in a ruin that had been named Fanacas by the Ayleids. I became obsessed with ending the curse of an everlasting life without she who gave it meaning. All thoughts and effort were bent to this task.
I reasoned that if cured, I could cast my life aside and join Sadene. The witches of Glenmoril were believed to know the secrets of curing vampirism. A midnight visit however, revealed they knew not how to cure an ancient. In my rage, I slew most of the coven. Gathering the books in their camp for study, I retreated to Fanacas.
A Slayer had destroyed my Sadene, so it followed that they were the subject of my next line of research. What little I knew of them was from the teachings of Hindaril and my own devastating encounter. The Glenmoril texts provided some additional insight.
All Slayers possessed Bretonic blood, be it pure or mixed, and were born at the precise moment of either sunrise or sunset. What hand of fate selected them from among women that met these criteria was unknown.
Slayers enjoyed one or more unique minor abilities, with seemingly no pattern to what those powers might be. I recalled that Vienele had the rare talents of smoothly wielding two blades at once and calling forth magic to fill the air with damaging sunlight. The texts reported that another Slayer could walk upon the surface of lakes and rivers without magic, thereby luring vampires to a watery grave. A power attributed to one Slayer was the ability to cast spells with perfect efficacy, unhindered even by the stoutest of armors.
My research in this area was for naught however. There was no information on where or how to find a Slayer. The only one I was aware of had died by my hand. I cursed the uncontrollable beast within. While insufficient to save my mate, it had managed to kill the Slayer and condemn me to eternity alone. If only Vienele had vanquished me along with Sadene. . . .
Frustrated, I set aside thoughts of cures and Slayers. I delved into the only other possibility - Daedra Lords. After much study, I sought the shrines of several. I traveled at night, spending my days in caves among rats and fellow creatures of darkness.
Malog Bal simply laughed. That I was an ancient was something to be relished, not destroyed.
Clavicus Vile responded similarly. He further volunteered that I would get no relief from his colleague, Mehrunes Dagon. It seemed the Daedric Prince of Destruction was more interested in creating creatures of terror than destroying us.
I turned to what some might consider the more noble of the Princes. One by one however, they refused to even grant me audience, as I was an affront to nature. I bitterly retreated to my lair at Fanacas.
The relief of true death continued to elude me. I bathed in self-pity, tortured by time. Emperors came and went - it meant nothing to me.
There came a time when an audacious thought pierced the fog of my despair. A known way to destroy an ancient was at the hands of devout followers set to the task by a Daedra Lord. I had failed at pleasing one of them to do this very thing. Could I anger them to it? Could I manipulate a Daedra Lord? I was emboldened by the fact that I had nothing to lose.
Within the span of a fortnight, my plans were completed and I traveled to Gutted Mine - almost within moons' shadow of the Shrine to Azura. I hoped my very presence, so near the Daedra Lord that referred to me as a foul creature, would encourage her to set followers upon me.
My intent was to imply that I had selected Gutted Mine as a permanent abode, and I put on quite the starlit show of announcing it. As an ancient, I was not without influence in the mortal world. It had taken threats and gold, but I managed to have several stone coffins and an array of supplies delivered that very night. As final payment to those who transported the items, I tore out their throats, then added the bodies to a large bonfire outside the mine.
As the smell of burning flesh wafted into the night sky, it further announced my unholy presence. I held the expectation that I had affronted Azura enough to generate a reaction.
I had influenced conditions towards my own destruction in many ways. When it came to actual combat preparations however, I discovered there were limits to my control over the beast within. Despite my wishes, the vampire would not allow me to discard my katana or add my armor to the fire. I also knew that when confronted by Azura's followers, I would be powerless to quell our vicious attack. Despite my wishes, the beast would not willfully perish.
I retreated into the mine before Azura's precious time of sunrise.
As I quill what I fervently hope to be my final entry in this journal, all I can do now is wait. And hope.
Sadene, my Love. . . . My black heart aches for you. I ask that Arkay forgive our attempts to manipulate that which is his. I trust the blessing of death to reunite our spirits.
