Greetings, I have been a fairly longtime reader of the Fan Fiction section of these forums (back when it was still W4O) as a guest. I thought it was about time to get out of "veil" per se. Hopefully, this Fan Fic will be enjoyable for you guys as your fics have been enjoyed by me. Criticism is always appreciated. Anyways, here it is!


- Bloodlust -

The knife slashed through the man’s throat with ease, causing an eruption of blood to pour out the gaping tare. A shocked gurgle escapes the man’s lips as he begins to pale. The only warmth he feels is the body that is holding him up and the bodily fluid running down his chest. His eyes finally cloud over, still locked in their state of shock. The body is then silently lowered to the ground.

The killer stares down at his latest handiwork. What a rush! The sound of the blade tearing through skin and flesh, the sudden burst of blood spouting out the wound, even the sickly sweet scent of the man’s life force intoxicated him. He inhaled the scent deeply as he bent over to clean off his knife on the man’s shirt. This was just another stepping stone in order to prepare himself for his main goal.

Vengeance, he thought, I will have it soon. I just need to make sure my skills are up to par to get away with this. Hopefully this gets you quivering in those expensive boots of yours as well.

The figure cloaked in darkness exited the alley where he committed his crime, casually integrating with the night’s pedestrians. As he passed a homeless man and his fire barrel, he casually tossed his bloodstained gloves into the flames. An experienced killer will not leave any incriminating evidence. Fortunately he didn’t get any blood on his clothes this time.

After handing the homeless man some coins, he continued on. The journey home was uneventful after that. No one paid any attention to the moderately well-dressed man walking down the street. No one knew the chaotic thoughts running through his mind at the moment. No one knew the pain and suffering he has gone through to get this far, or the lengths to which he’ll go to achieve what he wants. All they see is an average man who prefers black colours and cloaks. No one would suspect he was the one behind the current string of murders that have been happening.

The killer arrived at his home, located in a quiet, peaceful part of Kvatch. As he hung up his cloak, he contemplated his next move. The best approach would be to wait a couple of days before initiating his next murder. There was no need to be hasty and become careless. The point was to get away with his mission in the end; suspicions must be avoided at all costs.

As he climbed into bed, his thoughts were still running through his actions of the night, reliving every beautifully bloody moment. He closed his eyes and knew what his dream was going to be. It has always been the same recently.

Sweet, bloody revenge.

Wow... This is a story to rival ... ummm... (blankspace)

I wonder where has the sudden rush of sadistic story writers come from?

From me!!!... but seriously this is a realy good story... it is such a discriptive story... I have not read a story this discriptive in a very long time... so keep the good work coming man ....

mmm... well you've got me stuck , I wait with anticipation for the next update

Sadistic am I? Well that could certainly change, for all you know this could all be a dream and the killer actually loves to snuggle bunnies and chipmunks and such.... Oh who am I kidding! The character himself is sadistic. On with more!

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A small ray of sunlight splashing across the eyes of Count Vernon Goldwine causes him to wake. Muttering curses, Goldwine rolls over and tries to fall back asleep. After a few moments he throws off the sheets and sits up. There was no point. Once he was awake, he was awake.

Goldwine drags himself into his washroom to prepare himself for the day. Ideally, Goldwine always wants to look his best when taking care of Kvatch’s daily procedures. While splashing water onto his face, the Count stares at himself in the mirror.

“You’re not the young and handsome man you used to be are you, Vernon?” Goldwine asks his reflection. The only remains of his youth are contained in his eyes. They still spark and cackle with the power of his youth. Unyielding, determined, and sharp. The rest of him has followed his age; his stomach protrudes, his once lush brown hair is now thinning and flecked with grey, even his face has become creased and saggy.

A rapping on his bedroom door causes the Count to choke on his toothpaste as he was brushing.

“Sir, I have some mess-”.

“Dammit, Brixley! Just leave my messages down in front of the door! You know I don’t like being disturbed in the morning!” Goldwine yells, cutting off his butler.

“Certainly, sir,” comes the humble reply from the butler, his footsteps all ready receding.

A few minutes later, Goldwine steps out of his bedroom dressed in an expensive robe and cloak. Today he felt formal. He bends over and picks up the messages Brixley left then begins to stroll down the hallway, reading the messages.

Tax reports, town coffers reports, wage schedules for his employees, an upcoming court case that needed to be held, all seemed like usual daily messages. The next message was an article taken out of the Black Horse Courier. Scanning the headline alone stopped the Count dead in his tracks. He looked up, hoping the next time he looked down at the article it would change. He looked down, and reread the headline:

MYSTERY KILLER SLAYS ANOTHER TOWN GUARD

All of Kvatch Castle could hear the yell of fury that came from their beloved Count.

“This is the fourth time! The FOURTH!! What does Savlian thinks he’s doing!? Brixley!”.

Almost immediately, Brixley appears, “Yes sir?”.

“I would like my Captain of the Guard to attend lunch with me today. We have things to discuss”.

“I will see to it, sir” the humble Breton replies.

“Good. Things are beginning to become unsettling around here…”.

Well, I won't call you sadistic.
But I have to agree that lately stories seem to have gotten a bit bloodier and more destructive. Still, I like your story.

Well, lets just say that the fanfic reflects the ESRB rating of the game. Though I purchased it while it was still rated Teen. I'm trying to keep it at a Teen level content because the forum suggest that. So if I do go overboard, just give me a heads up and I'll get to editing. Thanks for the comments so far!

Ohaha......cruelty, thy name is The metal Mallet!!! Well written story, I´ll keep an eye on this one!

your still going on strong, Mallet keep it up!

It's always nice to have an ego boost when a moderator comments on your fic! Hopefully it won't go to my head too much.... I RULE HAHAHA!!!.... Oops, sorry. Anyways, back to the story!

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Captain Savlian Matius expected the message to attend Count Goldwine’s lunch this afternoon, considering what happened the previous night. Another one of his men were found dead in an alley with their throat slit. This would be the fourth guard taken out by, most likely, the same person who murdered the previous three. All of them were identical, and they were all found in the same vicinity. Obviously, this person had a personal grudge against authority. The scary part about the situation was that the murderer was skilled. No witnesses, no fingerprints, no suitable evidence whatsoever. The person was a ghost.

His thoughts were still troubled as he entered the dining room of Count Goldwine’s castle. The Count was all ready helping himself to his venison, but Savlian still snapped a salute to avoid insulting Goldwine. He knew about his short temper. Goldwine waved him over to a chair by his side, chewing his venison the entire time. Supposedly, the Count does not need to show the same courtesy as Savlian.

“So,” Goldwine begins, still working on the meat in his mouth, “I think you know the reason why I asked you to come see me today, correct?”.

Savlian knew he had to choose his words wisely to avoid further anger on the Count’s part. “Yes I do. I now have some ideas to help us out”.

“Oh, so “now” you have some ideas. Good job. It only took you four murders!”.

Dammit, thought Savlian, I all ready have him on his bad side… “Sorry sir. Sometimes it takes drastic events to spur one’s thoughts. The plans I have should work effectively”.

“Okay, lets hear them,” Goldwine says dismissively.

“Well, all of the murders were done in secluded spots and the man was obviously alone at the time because we don’t have witnesses. So, if we just keep the guard away from these secluded spots, they won’t fall into a trap. Also, if we keep the guards in pairs, at the least, then that should deter the killer because you can’t silently kill two men. One of them will notice what’s happening, then, being the trained fighters that they are, they should be able to apprehend or kill the murderer. Once the element of surprize is broken, the murderer more than likely will give up”.

“Sounds effective enough. But I warn you now, I’m not pleased with your progress on catching our culprit. I want someone to hang for this, not laugh about it once they’ve had their fill of killing since it has become too dangerous for them,” Goldwine scolded Savlian as if he were a child, “Now go see to your duties”.

Savlian snapped another salute as he rose from the table and left. He didn’t even had a chance to have at least one bite of that venison. Damn that greedy Count.


Later on...

The soldiers within the barracks could tell by the loud bang of a slamming door that the Captain was in a bad mood. Throughout the day, all conversation was about the previous night’s murder. Now they were about to hear the backlash from the Captain.

“Men, gather around. Right now,” Savlian ordered the men. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. He knew he shouldn’t take out his frustrations out on his men. They were doing the best they could, considering the situation. So was he, but they needed some headway in the case. If he didn’t, for all he knew the Count would put the rope around his neck. Therefore, the sooner this killer was caught, the better.

“How did the meeting with the Count go Cap?” one of the soldiers asked ignorantly.

“He isn’t pleased. For the most part that’s my fault since the investigations have not been doing well and preventative measures haven’t been made. But the latter will be fixed as of this moment. From now on, while you are out on your patrols, you will remain in groups of two at the least. I suggest three but I’m leaving that up to you. Also, use extreme caution when entering the alleys, I would even go as far as to avoid them unless it is absolutely necessary to investigate them. You all know that has been where this person strikes so be smart. I don’t want any heroes,” Matius says, looking sternly around the room, making sure each man understands. He then smirks, “Leave the hero stuff to me”.

His small joke brings a few chuckles from the men, or a couple of smiles. One must do things like that during trying times like these. Everything can’t just be doom and gloom. There needs to some light for which someone can try to hold on and pull themselves out of the darkness. Or else, how can hope exist at all? Without hope, there’s nothing to strive for, and then all is lost to our own personal darkness. Yes, sometimes just lightening up the mood with a laugh reminds someone that there is still some light to cling to.

“In light of the new patrol procedure, I will have a new patrol schedule set up. These changes are immediate. It works just like the old one, the only difference is that you include who is patrolling with you,” Savlian states and he takes down the old schedule and posts the new one, “Oh yes, and it’s first come, first serve for timeslots”.

With that statement, the entire barracks decides to hurry over to the schedule and Savlian Matius decides to take his leave of the barracks to visit the latest crime scene.

If I were to guess I'd say Mazelure.

Anyways its the first time I'd seen this story man so I was pretty surprised to see how many updates were here...so much content and its filled with violence and drama...very interesting, please continue.

The first thing Savlian noticed about the crime scene was the acrid scent of decaying blood. It was nauseating. As he finally stepped into the alley, the smell was nearly overwhelming. Surveying the scene, Savlian noticed the Breton resting in a pool of his own blood. Looking around, Savlian could tell that it would’ve been nearly pitch black in the alley; it was likely that the Breton was relieving himself just before the attack happened. There obviously wasn’t a struggle, as the only wound was the deep cut into the throat.

Savlian took a closer look at the Breton. He was young, definitely too young to have this happen to him. Upon seeing the small scar above the right eye, he realized who the victim was. It was Ramone Damaclus. Savlian had given him that scar in a training accident. The fool was trying to show off his sword skills during sparring practice. Ramone tried a risky move on Savlian which led to Savlian smacking him above his eye, opening it up. This brought up the lovely topic of technique versus flashiness. After that event though, Ramone straightened up, he showed some initiative. He had potential, but it was now lost due to carelessness on Savlian’s part. Savlian looked away from the corpse in pained frustration.

I can’t let this happen again. I need to find something. They can’t be perfect. Something must be here…, Savlian thought as he looked around the crime scene, paying careful attention to avoid keeping Damaclus’ corpse in his view for long.

With any case, a profile of the perpetrator can start to form upon studying the crime scene. With the first murder, the death of an Imperial, it was thought that the motive was a personal vendetta with the victim. But new conclusions were made once a similar murder happened. This time a Dark Elf was the victim so now a crime of racism could be excluded. There was also no affiliation between the man and mer, so the personal vendetta was now out of the picture. The only conclusion that could be drawn from the crime scenes was that the killer didn’t like guards. But who could have a vendetta against the whole town guard?

Then it clicked. Former criminals.

Most people when they are arrested aren’t happy about the situation. They often feel they didn’t deserve their sentence, which leads to anger against the guards. So, what if someone was so upset with their sentence that they felt they should punish the guard for what they did? It sounded like the best reason so far. Sensible and it fit the crimes, especially if the crook was arrested for a violent crime, like assault, or attempted murder. All that needed to be done was to monitor released prisoners and see if they were up to anything suspicious. Then act upon the ones who were suspicious. It seemed foolproof in Savlian’s mind.

In the next few days, I’m going to catch you and end this madness, thought Savlian as he left the scene to set his plan in motion.


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I'm surprised I've been able to keep these posts a day going so far. That'll probably change in the future, but it will still be quite frequent over the summer hopefully, I don't see why it shouldn't.

Till the next post.

I dont know about you guys but I think that Savlian has the potential to rival Sherlock Homes... Great job Metal Mullet and keep up the good work...




That is so sweet Kiln... but I could not have possibly drawn in all this artist by myself... or did I?... I dont know... thats for you to answer... but thanks anyways...

I suppose this guy IS sherlock holmes... Of TES!

My hair might grow long in the back, but I hope to avoid mullets at all cost! I think they would look terrible on me. Of course, this is all in good humor.

The Sherlock Holmes comments are quite flattering But I do see the relation, forensics can't really exist in either of those times. And right now, I can't see cases being solved with magic. So logical deduction would fit the best in TES.

Anyways, thanks for commenting so far, on with more!


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With Captain Matius dealt with for the day, the Count could now continue with the rest of the day’s more… rewarding duties. Tax collections. Oh how the Count loved collecting his money. He had a nice comfortable sum locked away in the town’s coffers. Sure, he had to give some of it away due to the provincial laws for pension plans, widower funds, and orphanages, but he could control how much he gave out. This left some people unhappy, angry even, but the Count had long since developed a method to keep these people from voicing their feelings to the public.

It just so happened that his method needed to be invoked today. The proprietor of a local bank was beginning to raise complaints about the insufficient amount of funds to provide for his customers, according to the Count’s observatory network. With situations like these, it is best to have it taken care of before it became a problem. The Count planned on using his problem solver. Seemed logical enough. A problem exists, who better to solve it than a problem solver?

“Brixley!”

Moments later, a soft pattering of feet lets the Count know that Brixley has arrived. “Sir?”

“I need to speak with Hlodir please. Let him know it’s rather urgent.”

“As you wish sir.” With that, Brixley quickly vacates the Count’s room. His footsteps quickly fade away.

Goldwine slides into a more comfortable position in the cushioned chair. He stares intently into the flames in the fireplace, as it was a chilly day in Kvatch, and takes a sip from a vintage Tamika wine. He could all ready hear the septims spilling into his hands.

Meanwhile, in town...

A cry of anguish rises out of the Bosmer as Hlodir nearly breaks his opponent’s hand against the tavern table. Laughter erupts from the rest of the patrons of the tavern as the Bosmer silently sulks away, clutching his injured hand, and Hlodir scoops up his earnings from the “friendly wager” of an arm wrestle. Strangers were always so gullible to Hlodir’s tactics. He enjoyed playing up the stereotypical Nord; a drunken, slow-witted people from the cold, harsh north. Unlike some, Hlodir had brains. Sure he was a drunken brute at heart, he was a Nord, but he enjoyed using his cunning to take advantage of people. Generally strangers, as they were generally ignorant. When they meet Hlodir, they see the massively drunken Nord they expect to find at a tavern. In reality, Hlodir wasn’t drunk, he knew the feeling well enough to put up a showing of being drunk, but his mind was as clear as a Skyrim river in the spring. Once a challenge is made, the stranger thinks they can win a large sum of coin, taking advantage of Hlodir’s drunkenness, but they soon find out that Hlodir is indeed, not drunk. Today the unfortunate Bosmer found that out.

“A round for me friends dear barkeep!” cries Hlodir, which is quickly followed by cheers from the patrons of the tavern. Hlodir returns back to his mead; since his fun for today was done, it would be fine to get drunk now. He downs the large mug quickly, gulping loudly. Upon completion a large bang is heard from the mug being slammed onto the table. A hearty belch follows shortly after. Hlodir sighs happily. There’s nothing better after a fine amount of winnings than a large mug of mead.

Around 3 or 4 mugs latter, Hlodir never was one to remember how many mugs he drank, a tap on his shoulder turns him around. A sneer began to spread across his face from noticing the rags and dirt that covered the fellow, beggars were always bothering him to spare his coinage, but it stopped short once he saw the face. It was Brixley, his employer’s butler. “What do ya want, lapdog?”

“Our employer wishes to speak with you; he said it was rather urgent,” Brixley meekly stated.

“Well you go tell him that I’ll show in the next half hour, I got a drink t’finish,” Hlodir said, all ready returning back to his drink. He knew that Brixley was all ready on his way to the Count. He also knew the limits of Verny’s patience. At least it looked like his fun for today wasn’t going to end. Goldwine always had interesting duties for him. Good thing he wasn’t too drunk yet.

Hlodir the Nord finished off the last of his mead, sat up, fixed his collar on his expensive shirt, then proceeded out the tavern. More earnings were to be made today.


Later on...

Adamus Prophilis, proprietor of the Kvatch local bank was glad the day was about to end. Today had been exceptionally busy; many customers wanted to make transactions but most were left disappointed. He simply couldn’t give out so much money anymore, the town taxes kept pulling money out. It was rather frustrating. Having to deal with complaining customers each and every day made him wish to do something violent. Just something to make them quiet. Anything. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that to a person. What he could do though, was question why so much money was being taken from him. Taxes normally do not cost that much. Many other establishments seemed to be doing just fine, so why was his business nearly bankrupt? No matter, these were thoughts to think about for another day. For now, Adamus just wanted to get home.

Adamus was just about to lock up the front door and leave out the back when the door popped open. Adamus groaned inwardly. The last minute customer, how I despise you, thought Adamus as he put on his best fake smile for the well-dressed Nord who walked in. “Hello sir, welcome to the Kvatch Bank! How can I help you?”

“Greetings t’ya good sir, I would just like t’make a small deposit this evening. Sorry about arriving so late, am no trouble am I?’ asked the large Nord nicely.

“Absolutely not good sir. Like I say, ‘any business is good business’,” Adamus replied, “Now lets see how much you’re going to deposit.”

The Nord pulled out a rather large purse of septims. Adamus had never dealt with this much money before. This was definitely good business indeed. “Ya see, the situation is that I’m making sure the damn town doesn’t take my money. Taxes have been killing me lately. It almost seems as if they’re trying t’rob me,” the Nord said, looking rather upset about the situation.

So, this poor fellow has the same problem as I do. Maybe I should share my sentiments…

“I know exactly how you feel. I think the town is doing the exact same thing with me. I was actually thinking about complaining to the Count. I now have more incentive to if other people are suffering from this like me,” Adamus said eagerly, hoping the Nord would think it’s a good idea.

“Well that does sound fine and dandy but I gots a better idea. Since the town has been messin’ with you, I think it is your turn t’mess with them. Sounds good, no?” rumbled the large Nord.

“And how would I do that? Do you all ready have an idea?” asked Adamus. He couldn’t believe the good luck he just struck. A way to screw over the Count! It was perfect. It would only take the information this Nord could provide. His wife would be overjoyed!

“Well…,” the Nord looked over at the front door, “I want t’avoid anyone hearing about this. Do ya have a way to make this more private, lad?”

It took a second for Adamus to catch on. “Oh! Sure, it’s past closing time anyways,” he said, attempting to cover up his moment of stupidity. He locked the front door and tugged on it a few times to make sure it was locked. This was a bank, there’s always a chance criminals would want to attempt to break in. “My office is a nice quiet place we can talk about this. Follow me.”

Adamus led the Nord into the back of the bank, where his office was located in a quiet corner. He loved that his office was windowless. There are just too many distractions outside when you need to get work done. Lamps work perfectly fine for light.

“Okay, so what is this pla-” Adamus said while turning around before abruptly being silenced by a mound of flesh compacting with his face.

Flashes of light and darkness filled Adamus’ mind when suddenly he realized he wasn’t standing up anymore. Somehow he had fallen. It was rather confusing; so much that his head hurt. A sudden coppery taste washed upon his tongue. It took a moment for Adamus to realize it was blood. But whose? Surely it couldn’t be his. How could that happen?

He was about to ask that question aloud when suddenly he felt nothing but air between his feet as someone was holding him up. The flashes and fuzziness stopped for a moment to show Adamus that it was his new Nord friend holding him up. How nice, he’s helping me up, I must’ve fainted or something. Work has been so hard on me lately…, he thought.

His thought process began to change when suddenly no one was holding him up anymore, yet there was still air between his feet. He first felt the bone-jarring hit against the wall before he felt his feet crumpled against the floor. Pain racked up and down his body.

“Ya know, ya shouldn’t say things that could get a man hurt in front of strangers. Ya never know who might be listenin’.”

Who was saying that? It sounded familiar but Adamus couldn’t place it. The flashes had returned and the coppery taste in his mouth was making him feel sick. A slap jarred his senses and left the right side of his face numb. A quiet splash of blood hitting the floor was heard.

“Hey! Look at me lad when I’m speaking to ya!” the familiar voice said harshly.

Adamus tried to focus his eyes, he didn’t want to get hit anymore. Everything hurt. What did he do to deserve this? “Please… no more,” he said weakly.

Adamus’ eyes focussed to reveal that it was the Nord who was looking down at him. It wasn’t the same person though. His face was covered in darkness and his eyes burned with hatred. Adamus was petrified.

“Ahhh, so ya want me t’stop, eh? Well the Count does not want to hear anymore talk about your money problems then. Ya see, me job is t’make sure people keep their traps shut. Next time ya see me, I’ll make ya disappear. Understand?”

Adamus nodded slowly.

“Good,” Hlodir said as he brushed himself off, straighten his collar, and headed to the door. Just before exiting he stopped and looked back at the bank proprietor, “Next time ye be careful when going down the stairs, ya hear?”

With that, he was gone.

Corruption, horrible. That count is going down someday. Great update like all the others before.

Woot! Corrupt the World.. I mean.... good story.

WOW! AMAZING STORY!!! I like how you fill the couple of days that the murderer is waiting before his next victim with information on what other people are doing! I hope your next instalment is another murder from the umm...well...murderer (he's my fav) keep up the good work!!!

I just want to mention something for my piece. For some reason I think I'm having tense issues with some of my paragraphs. I'm not too sure myself, but if anyone notices any tense issues, I'd be grateful if you pointed them out.

For someone with English as their native tongue, it's weird that we can still have problems with this kind of stuff. English, what a fickle language!

On with more!


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Over the last few days, an eerie silence had fallen over the town of Kvatch. The patrons of the town hurried about with their duties. They very rarely stopped to converse with each other. Doors were often locked during the day; even when the residents were still inside. None of them wanted to tempt the “Kvatch Killer”. Just because whoever it was has only been murdering guards, did not mean they wouldn’t move onto the citizens of the town.

Savlian did not like the current situation at all. His guard and the killer had seemed to have reached a stalemate. While Savlian’s new patrol method seemed to be working, his spies for the released convicts had yet to report any suspicious behaviour. It was a stalemate that the killer still had the advantage in. Savlian still had no idea who this person was and until he did, the killer was free to do as they pleased, so long as they kept up the effort of leaving no evidence.

Frustrated, Savlian continued his patrol. Living up to his own plan, he had the rookie, a Redguard by the name of Ferrik, on patrol with him. He was the younger brother of one of the veterans of the force, Henrik. What Savlian intended to do today with Ferrik was teach him the ropes of being a town guard. He wanted to show him what to look for while on patrol, how to take care of situations in a non-lethal matter, and how to follow up on leads given to the guard by citizens. Standard stuff. Ferrik didn’t really need any pointers on how to defend himself. Like most Redguards, his swordsmanship was extraordinary. He still needed to know that the responsibility of a guard is to prevent violence, not provoke it. If a situation could be handled without drawing your weapon, Savlian expected his men to solve it without violence.

It hadn’t always been that way. Before Savlian became the Captain of the Guard, there were many accounts of unnecessary violence of behalf of the guards. After enduring his previous occupation as long as he could, the Captain of the Guard position called to him. He needed to atone for the deeds he committed in his past…

So lost in his thoughts was Savlian, that he didn’t notice the person walking around the corner of the upcoming street and walked right into him.

“Are ye blind lad! Why don’t ya-,” began Hlodir but then noticed who he was talking down to, “Well, would ya looky at this. It do be Savlian! How are ya?”

Savlian’s eyes darkened.

“I’m fine. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

Savlian attempted to continue on but a muscular arm blocked his way. Savlian followed the arm up to Hlodir’s grinning face. “You do know it is an offence to lay your hands on a town guard, correct?”

Hlodir lowered his arm but kept his wide grin. “Well that’s no very nice t’say t’a friend. You must be stressed from this murderer thingy. Have ya caught ‘em yet?” Hlodir asked, faking concern.

A cold stare was the only answer Savlian gave.

“No yet then? Ohwell, I guess ya have things t’do, so I best be leavin’ ya,” Hlodir finished before continuing on his way down the street, chuckling the whole time.

“Umm … sir? What was that about?” Ferrik asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Let’s keep going,” replied Savlian coldly.

Savlian hated everything Hlodir represented. He knew about Hlodir’s duties as a “problem solver”. In fact, he knew them quite well, as he first started his work with the Count as his “problem solver”. At first, he thought he was punishing criminals. They payout was excellent, and it was easy to rough up criminals to try to straighten them out, so why not do it? Once he did find out though…



Savlian slammed the scrawny Bosmer onto the table, causing the table to splinter loudly. That wasn’t a problem though, the Bosmer’s farm wasn’t close enough to anything for someone to overhear the “business” that was taking place.

“Okay, you scum, the Count knows what you’ve been saying about him, and he wants your slanders to desist. This is your warning, if we happen to cross each other again in this situation, no one is ever going to see you again. Got that?”

“What are you talking about?” sobbed the Bosmer, “I haven’t said anything criminal. I just said I was being overtaxed…”

“You dirty liar!” Savlian yelled as he grabbed the Bosmer’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him into the wall violently, “Now admit your slanders, or more pain is going to happen…”

“But I’m not lying! I’m not lying! It was just the taxes! By Talos I swear! Stop please!” wailed the little Bosmer.

Dumbfounded by the Bosmer's outright swearing to Talos, Savlian slowly released his grip on the Bosmer and backed away. He stared at the Bosmer intensely, “You’re not lying are you?”

“Why would I!? I’m just a farmer, what could I do that’s possibly criminal? I can barely afford my home, that’s why I’ve been saying that I’m being overtaxed…”

Speechless, Savlian quickly vacated the small farm. He needed answers from the only person who knew the truth…



The truth from that pained memory was that the Count had lied to him about his “problems” being criminals. They were merely people who were catching onto his money scam on the city who needed their mouths shut. It tore Savlian up inside that he did such horrible things to innocent people. In order to try to make up for what he did, he requested to the Count to be his Captain of his Guard. The Count granted that request and hired Hlodir to take over the “problem solving business”. Unlike Savlian, Hlodir knew exactly that he was hurting innocent people, he relished it. That made Savlian sick to his stomach. He couldn’t do much about it either. If he were to arrest or kill Hlodir, he would be only killing himself as the Count would likely charge Savlian for treason. Savlian now tried to fix things indirectly. He tried to convince the Count to give back more of the money, and lower the taxes on the residents he was overtaxing. He hoped that the little effort he could do would be enough to keep people from openly voicing their complaints.

Savlian sighed. There’s only so much I can do for this town, and it’s still not enough for what I’ve done…

Savlian, now silent continued down the street with Ferrik, who was now concerned about his Captain. But being the rookie that he was, he didn’t know if he should voice his concern. He shrugged inwardly. There must be a lot going on in his mind right now…


Later that night…

The sensation was building up again… “Blood!” it screamed, “Give me blood!”

The pounding of the sensation was beginning to give the killer a headache. This was the worse this sensation had gotten for him so far. Never before had the feeling of reckless… violence been so strong within him. He desired to release his fury upon his enemy immediately. To bathe in his blood, to inhale the wonderful fumes of his life force. He wanted to witness the spark and cackle in his enemy’s eyes fade away to nothingness.

But in order to do that successfully, he needed to wait. He needed to make sure he was ready. He needed to be calm…

“Blood!”

Remember your training…, he told himself, void your mind…

“Blood! It calls! Don’t you hear it!?”

A flash of anguish crossed the killer’s face. Patience! He thought, the time for blood will present itself shortly. Hopefully then this pounding will leave…

The killer strolled casually along the streets of Kvatch, eyes always searching yet not appearing so to the passer-by. Something seemed… different tonight, as if the atmosphere of the town had morphed into something more uncomfortable for him. A hint of reluctance was beginning to creep into his mind. But the raging pulse taking up the core of his mind fended it off into the dark recesses of his mind. There should be no reluctance at all. He was a trained killer. What he ran into, he should be able to deal with. Tonight he would further his conquest.

I can hear the blood spilling all ready, he thought as a smile broke across his face.

Hee hee! Sadistic, Insane and carefully planning... perfect enemy. Too bad about the hero having emotional problems...

Bah! My daily update schedule ruined! Ohwell, it's not a huge deal. As long as you get material some of the time my readers will be happy right? RIGHT!?!?!?

Well, I'll continue and find out...

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Patience is a necessity if a killer expects to work on their craft for a long time. Any fool could just approach their target and behead them before they realize what’s going on. Unless the victim isn’t a fool, and guards are naturally suspicious, so the direct approach would definitely cause problems. Even if the target was a fool, the direct approach still can lower the lifetime of a killer just because there are the chances for witnesses. Witnesses tend to tell guards what a killer looks like, therefore the length of a killer’s career is substantially lowered.

The killer knew all about this. That was why he took his time to find his target for the night. He needed to be as inconspicuous as possible, and keep his eyes open for the right opportunity to rise. He was constantly peering into the alleyways, his amulet resting underneath his shirt allowed him to see in the darkness. It seemed the guards were smartening up their act; not a single guard was lurking around in the alleys this evening.

Looks like tonight is going to be more of a challenge, he thought as he thumbed at the scar above his right brow, I hoped it was so. Preparation is key for what I need to do…

As the killer progressed down the streets of Kvatch, he quickly noticed that the guards were no longer alone, they always had a partner with them. Some even had parties of three or four. He quickly decided to focus on a party of two. Given the right situation, he could take both out before they realized what was going on. Hopefully the sensation pulsating in his head didn’t drive him into anything too hasty.

“Blood! I demand it! Can’t you feel it? It’s calling…answer it!”

I will, I hear it too. I just have to maintain my control, one mistake and I could ruin everything.

“Yes… his blood calls the loudest. I want to see it sooo much! The sound of it spilling will sound better than any symphony ever created. I can picture it so vividly… the sound of ripping flesh… the geyser of crimson… the fear in his eyes before the life fades away from them… beautiful, picturesque isn’t it?”

It is… I want it now… No! I mustn’t be tempted right now! I have work to do, the blood of two men will satisfy for now. All I need is to figure out which two…

Raucous laughter suddenly erupted from around the corner ahead of the killer. Instantly, the killer made his way in the direction of the laughter, intent on who was behind this boisterous laughter. A rush of excitement began pulsating in union with the odd sensation that had been travelling with him.

Peeking around the corner, the killer witnessed two men stumbling around with their arms over each other, laughing hysterically. They were obviously drunk and it looked like they were moving on to the next pub. The swords strapped around their waists told the killer that indeed, they were Kvatch guards, supposedly off-duty this evening. The killer smirked, a guard was a guard, these two men were going to be his targets this evening. The real hunt had just begun.

Trailing at a safe distance away, the killer observed the two men carefully. The one was a young Redguard, who seemed to be more inebriated than his partner. It was likely that this was his first time hitting the pubs, as the alcohol was making his stumble quite often. The other was a tall Imperial, drunk, but he was able to move straight, despite having to drag his feet along to do so. The killer decided he should still be cautious with this one as with age, a man could still be dangerous while drunk. As they entered the next pub, ‘The Flying Bosmer’, the killer knew exactly what he was going to do. The maddening pulse quickened as he crept into the alley, prepared for what was to come. It would only take patience to get away with his plan. Hopefully the urges wouldn’t ruin his frame of mind…



As expected, it took roughly an hour to hear the slamming washroom door in the upper story of the pub, followed by the young Redguard vomiting into the washbasin. A sudden rush flooded the killer’s mind. “Now! Now! Bleed him now!”

Suppressing the rush took effort and the killer began to perspire. Why was this happening? Never before had this been a problem. He was so close to what he wanted accomplished and yet this madness within his mind could ruin it all. He must suppress it!

Fortunately the Redguard was taking his time emptying his stomach, his loud retching was reaching the killer’s ear from outside on the roof quite easily. It took only a few moments to flood the urges within the calm void that his training had long since created. He then waited patiently for the retching to stop. Once it did, he leaned over the roof’s edge, and tapped on the washroom window. A shift in the light emanating from the window told the killer that the Redguard was investigating.

As quickly as he could, he slammed his fist through the window, causing a loud shattering, then grabbed the body by the shirt, and yanked the body out the window. A cry of shock escaped the drunken Redguard’s lips before plummeting from the heights of the pub. A sharp, wet crack accented the ending of the fall.

The killer then slipped into the pub from the broken window, and placed himself behind the door leading out into the hallway, knife at ready. Stumbling steps approached the door and a slurred voice called out, “Hey rookie! Ya okays in there? I tolds ya, you shouldn’t drink ‘o much!”

A few moments later the door creaked open and the Imperial walked in. Noticing the window, he stumbled closer to investigate.

“Now! Do it now!”

Almost instantly the killer reacted, viciously wrapping his arm around the forehead of the Imperial and slashing his throat open in one deft movement. He held the body up for a moment, the proceeded to toss him out the window as well. This time, a faint, wet splat told the killer the body had reached the end of its fall.

Quickly he exited via the window back onto the roof of the building. There he stood, eyes fixated on the two bodies sprawled on the ground before him. It was visionary, artwork at its finest. The blood spilled across the rivulets of the cobblestone like many small creeks, but were soon flooded into a lake of blood. He finally released the void of his training and let the rapture take over. The smell of the blood became stronger in his nostrils, the crimson more vivid, he could nearly taste it. Satisfaction protruded from ever pore of his soul. It had been too long to do this.

His thumb then brushed the scar above his brow and his feelings of rapture subsided. How could he be satisfied with this? Killing a couple of drunks was no challenge at all. Sure, there was two of them, but there did not seem to be any apparent danger at all. Maybe he was ready… maybe the fear was instilled high enough to act upon his true target. To finally achieve his revenge.

No, my tasks have been too easy so far, I need something more challenging. If I don’t I WILL get caught if I try to get my revenge at the moment. Preparation will have to continue, he thought as he began to head to the drainpipe leading back down to ground level. His moment’s bliss was ruined because of a scar, a scar left by the man he sought revenge for.

It wasn’t the mark above his right brow that drove him. No, the scars ran deeper than that. They went to his very soul, the very essence within him. Those scars had changed him, they drove him away from Kvatch, his home, for a long period of time. Since then, many changes had happened, but one thing didn’t change. The one who had scarred him still lived. He intended to change that. But first, he intended to scare him half to death. Let the paranoia sink in to torment him. The killer almost hoped that he would beg him to kill him once he got his chance, almost. Begging for his life would sound sweeter to his ears as he would ignore them. Then he would reach completion as he would spill the blood of the one who tormented his thoughts for so long…

Yet again, the killer paid homage to the homeless man with the fire barrel by giving away a few coins and relieving himself of his gloves as he engaged in a short conversation with the man. The man didn’t notice the smell of burning leather at all, his own filth would’ve easily overwhelmed most other scents. The killer didn’t mind the man’s stench though, he understood what it was like to down on his luck. He had been forced to live in similar fashion for a time. Before a significant change turned things around for him. He did not want to dwell on that memory though, his past provided the skills he needed for the future. That was all he needed from the past. That, and absolution.

As he continued back to his home, he noticed something. The pulsating sensation was all ready returning. A frown crossed his face. So soon…

Exhausted, he entered his home to formulate his next action.

Rule number 1: Never drink on the job.
Rule number 2; never drink after the job.
Rule number 3: Better yet, don't drink at all.

Hmm, the killer is getting impatient. He'll start making mistakes like this.

Well I thought my readers, possibly limited as they are, I have no idea, deserve another installment from my fic! I apologize in advance for what lies ahead......


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The grisliness of the scene displayed before Savlian brought waves of nausea and frustration. The killer had indeed broken the stalemate, in perhaps their most violent offering so far. Two mangled bodies were sprawled across the street in front of ‘The Flying Bosmer’. One was Dalewin, a veteran of the guard, the force will suffer from his death. Tragic as Dalewin’s death was, the second body caused more grief for Savlian. The body of Ferrik laid smashed against the cobblestones of the road. His head was split open, blood and brain matter was pooled around his head. Savlian could barely suppress the bile that was rising up his throat.

Henrik is going to kill me…, Savlian thought, Unless the Count kills me first.

Savlian bit on his lower lip in nervousness as he surveyed the scene. It was still early in the morning, the streets were basically void of life. It was the patrolling guards that had awaken him to bring the news of what they found outside the pub. He had immediately travelled to the crime scene to look for evidence. Yet again, very little physical evidence was found. All that could be deducted was that Ferrik was killed by the fall out the window while Dalewin had his throat slit before being thrown out the window as well.

Hopelessness began to grow within Savlian. He still had no leads, people around him were dying, and the pressure the Count had on him was driving him insane. The stress was keeping him awake at night, and once he fell asleep his dreams were instead plagued by nightmares. It was always the same dream as well. He was always trying to catch an elusive object shrouded in darkness, all the while, a wall of darkness was steadily gaining on him during his chase of the object. The dream always ended with him being consumed by the darkness before catching the elusive object. Savlian could tell his mind was troubled as of late.

With a sigh, Savlian ran his fingers through his dirty brown hair and contemplated the repercussions for the night’s tragic event. Surely, the Count was going to blow his top over this. He could all ready picture the Count’s face, purple in rage because Savlian wasn’t doing his job as effectively as the Count wanted. That one of his “precious” guards was murdered yet again. Savlian knew deep down the Count didn’t care one bit about what happened to the guards. He was more concerned about how the murdered guards reflected his rule of Kvatch. People would want to leave if the situation were to get worse. If people were to leave, fewer taxes would be collected for the Count. Less money for the Count’s own use would make him furious.

While the Count could possibly throw him in jail for negligence, Savlian had a greater concern for how Henrik would react to the death of his brother. The bond between them was strong. Ferrik idolized his older brother from a young age and wanted to emulate everything about him. Henrik encouraged everything Ferrik did. He trained him, and told him about the duty of a guard. He inspired Ferrik to follow his brother’s footsteps and become a guard. That bond worried Savlian though. If Henrik thought that he was to blame for Ferrik’s death, Henrik would likely try to kill him. He still had time to try to break the bad news to him quietly. It was the best he could do.

Savlian finally looked over to the guards who brought him over to the crime scene. “I’ve seen enough, get a mortician and clean this up. Do a good job of it.” He than went off toward where he knew Henrik was staying.


Along the way, another guard stopped him. Horror filled Savlian’s thoughts, No, not another murder! This can’t be happening!

Fortunately, it was better news than that.

“Sir, I believe one of the ex-convicts you have me following is up to something. Do you want to follow me?” asked the guard.

The hopelessness that gripped Savlian only moments ago began to dissipate, and a drive began to grow. A drive that he could catch this monster. “Yes, lead the way.”



The place was a dive. It reeked of rotten food, soiled waste, and decay. The wooden shack was rundown, weather-beaten, and falling apart. The wood was stained with a brown substance that Savlian better thought was left unknown. It seemed as if the convict could leave prison, but the prison didn’t leave the convict. Savlian was glad he didn’t have to visit the cells very often, because the overwhelming stench would drive him insane. This place reminded him too much of that.

It almost seemed stereotypical that this was the place to harbour a homicidal manic. It was the perfect picture of a deranged mind. Savlian’s pulse raced as he hid behind a ruined stone fence, observing the house of Uragh zub-Grech, an Orc who had been charged with assault of the Town Guard. The picture fit well in Savlian’s mind, but there was something there, trying to tug on his thoughts but his anticipation pushed it away.

“So what’s suspicious about Uragh?” queried Savlian.

“She’s been lurking around town, talking with other shady looking people. I think she’s at least connected to what’s been going on. A scout maybe. We’ll find out once we question her I guess.”

Savlian just nodded. A movement caught his eye and he immediately took lower cover behind the fence and motioned the guard to do the same. He held a finger over his mouth to signal for silence. The guard nodded in understanding.

Just over the wall, a faint grumbling was heard by a gruff, feminine voice. Instinctively, Savlian knew that must be Uragh so he slowly peeked over the edge of the fence to observe what she was up to.

Uragh was large for a female Orc. She looked incredibly strong, which left Savlian to wonder just how due to the living conditions she was living in. The apparel did fit the conditions on the other hand. Her farmers shirt, once white, did not recognize its original colour anymore. It was more of an off-yellow with many brown blotches spread throughout the shirt. Her black pants were not in much better shape, they were quite tattered and mud caked.

Her grumbling was over carrying a large crate that she appeared to have difficulty carrying. The crate was closed, so Savlian could not tell what was in it, but the objects were definitely rattling loudly. His curiosity changed as a red-stained knife fell out of Uragh’s belt as she fumbled with trying to open the door to her shack. The red stain screamed murder weapon to Savlian as he sprang over the fence and rushed over to the shack.

“Hold it right there! Put your hands up!” Savlian called, placing his hand over his sword in case things were to get out of hand.

Uragh dropped the crate in shock. With a curse she went to her belt for her knife. Upon realizing it wasn’t there she cursed again and took off towards town.

Savlian gave chase. He heard his partner call out to him but the excitement of the situation caused him to ignore it. I have the killer! She ran, so it MUST be her! He thought as he leaped over the stone fence again during his pursuit.

Uragh’s speed was surprising given her size, she had a sizable lead on Savlian. Savlian was a fit man though, and he was steadily gaining on the Orc. He hoped he didn’t lose her in the crowds of Kvatch. He did not want to lose his chance at ending the madness sooner rather than later. He was not going to let her escape.

Uragh entered a rundown warehouse located on the outskirts of the city. Carelessly, Savlian followed her into the warehouse. Upon entering, he found Uragh standing in the middle of the vacant warehouse. He soon realized that vacant wasn’t the truth of the situation as he heard multiple pairs of footsteps echoing in the vast warehouse. Looking around Savlian discovered 3 other grimy looking people slowly surrounding him. Two of them were Dunmer, while the third was another large Orc male. None of them were happy to see Savlian here. All three of them were armed with knives.

Savlian had ran into a trap and his partner was no where to be seen.

Ayyye......many updates I see, getting more and more interesting......keep it up ya hear!

Well, since you often drop into my thread and give me praise, figured I'd do the same for you.

Wonderful, Bloody Wonderful! Pardon the pun.

You seriously have a way with words that I wish I had, each sentence flows with a jen ne se quias. Eloquence, yeah thats the word I'm lookin' for.

No, not the hero! Hmm, daggers against a sword. If he's better than the average guard and actually up to the level of a PC, he might get out alive.

Time to see if Savlian survives this... who knows, I might pull a George RR Martin and kill off a main character just for my own amusement. No one is safe! Hahahahaa! Ok, the power is getting to me...


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The eyes of the thugs surrounding Savlian sparkled with malcontent for him. They wanted to hurt him. Badly. A sly grin broke across Uragh’s face. “I think it’s about time the good Captain here met his maker. Kill him.”

As the three goons crept closer Savlian drew out his broadsword. While his attackers may be armed, there only possessed low quality daggers. They needed to get close to use them. Unfortunately for them, his broadsword was long enough that he could possibly keep them from getting close. The nearest Dunmer pounced first, flicking out with his dagger. Savlian easily intercepted the flick with his broadsword and pushed him off, quickly turning to parry the attack on the second Dunmer. He rewarded the Dunmer with a kick to the midsection to ward his off.

The male Orc had yet to act, he was busy talking to Uragh, obviously questioning her for the appearance of Savlian. His angered expression clearly showed that he wasn’t happy with it. Savlian put a mental note on the Orc’s position as he returned his attention to the Dunmer.

Savlian tried to keep both the Dunmer in his sights, but they were trying to keep one of themselves behind him so the effort was proving futile. Savlian opted for an aggressive attack. He made a sudden rush at the Dunmer ahead of him to try to take him off guard but his cross swing was avoided by an agile roll to the side by the Dunmer. Savlian had to quickly regain his footing as the Dunmer behind him went in for the attack. The attempt brought a small slash to the Dunmer’s arm. A quick yelp escaped his lips before he backed away again to reform his stance with the other Dunmer. They were obviously hesitant to break through Savlian’s guard. Personally, Savlian wished he brought his shield. This problem would be fixed by now if he did have it.

It seemed with the yelp of the injured Dunmer, the male Orc decided to join in the fight. This was going to make things more difficult for Savlian. His attackers now formed a rough triangle around him, trying to keep two behind him now. Suddenly, the Orc rushed Savlian, raising the dagger high over his head and roaring. Savlian was able to deflect the dagger with his sword but the force of the attack, as well as the force the Orc colliding with him, knocked him to the floor violently. A flash of light, and a brief moment of blackness enveloped Savlian’s eyes.

Immediately, the two Dunmer sprang onto the downed Captain. Amidst the tangle of bodies, flashes of blade strikes appeared, followed by grunts and groans. A sudden shriek of pain erupted from the struggle and one Dunmer was kicked away. Savlian rose out of the tangle bloodied, but relatively unharmed. His chest heaving under the effort of surviving the twin attacks of the Dunmer. The other Elf was writhing on the ground, clutching at his abdomen, vainly trying to hold in his organs. Savlian decided to spare him the pain with a stab to the heart. The remaining Elf cursed at him, then charged wildly at him. Savlian easily side-stepped the attack and swung his sword at the Elf’s exposed back. A loud thud, brought by the flat of the blade, sent the attack sprawling across the floor. Savlian mentally cursed at himself for making that small mistake.

Now the odds were back to two versus one. Savlian was not relieved though. He had used a lot of energy to avoid being stabbed to death on the ground, and the injuries he did received ached as the sweat mixed with the blood. He needed to finish this quickly or else he would tire out. With a determined set to his eyes, he raised his sword and began to engage the Orc. This one was obviously running the organization, so it was likely that if Savlian disposed of the Orc, the other would give up.

Unlike Uragh, this Orc has much slower footwork so Savlian all ready knew what he was going to do. He charged at the Orc, but before reaching him, he dove down at the Orc’s legs, holding his broadsword out, he slashed his sword and rolled back onto his feet. The attack made a deep laceration on the Orc’s thigh which staggered him to the floor. The Orc roared out in pain as he collapsed to the floor, no longer able to support any weight on it. All the while, the Dunmer stared, dumbfounded that his leader was down. The Orc decided he wanted to go to his death fighting as he lunged at Savlian with his good leg. The attack caught Savlian by surprise, so his reaction to avoid the attack wasn’t fast enough. The Orc’s dagger was planted firmly into Savlian’s calf as he attempted to jump away. Savlian crashed awkwardly in pain, he quickly yanked out the dagger. He bit down on his lip to avoid yelling out in pain. At least the Orc was now unarmed.

Savlian got up, and stumbled over to the Orc, who was now yelling any profanity that came to his mind. A few quick stabs later and the string of profanities ended. The Dunmer suddenly jumped out of his shock and bolted for the door. Savlian couldn’t give chase due to his injury so he picked up the Orc’s dagger, took quick aim, and tossed the dagger. A sound of metal sheathing into flesh echoed across the room as the dagger planted itself in the middle of the Dunmer’s neck. Soundlessly, the Dunmer went rigid before collapsing loudly on the floor. Savlian knew he was either paralyzed or dead, possibly both. What concerned him now was where did Uragh go?

His question was answered quickly as a green blur began to head toward to warehouse exit.

No! Was all Savlian could think as his only lead reached the doorway.

As she did, a fist suddenly appeared from the entrance and clocked Uragh right in the jaw. The bone-jarring blow sent Uragh crashing back into the warehouse. Another Kvatch guard walked in. It was the one he thought had abandoned him.

“Sorry I was late, if I knew this was going to happened I would’ve followed you right away. I wanted to investigate that crate she dropped,” he said as he nodded to the now unconscious Orc, “It was filled with skooma. So I don’t think we’ve got the right suspects here. But I got to say, capturing skooma dealers is a very good thing.”

Savlian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But her knife, it was bloodied I saw it.”

“Sorry sir, it wasn’t blood,” the guard said hesitantly as he pulled out a rusty dagger, “It was only really rusty. This is her dagger.”

Anger surged through Savlian’s thoughts. I can’t believe how foolish I was to think that an Orc could be a sneaky assassin! I was blinded by my own eagerness to end this! Look what it got me! An injured leg, and still no suspects. At least they were skooma dealers…

Savlian wiped the sweat and blood from his face. “Good investigation work then. I’m glad to get skooma off the streets any day. Arrest Uragh on accounts of drug trafficking, resisting arrest, and attempted murder. Get word to healer, I can’t walk on this leg right now.”

The guard nodded as he picked up the large Orc and walked out. Savlian sat down on the cold warehouse floor. Hopelessness began to creep back into his soul.

What am I going to do now?

Oohhh.... What can happen? what will happen ... all right no more pointless questions.

MAN! this story is getting more compelling each time i read it. truthfully, i dont care if the heroes die. i just want the murderer to survive!

Skooma? Oops, wrong suspect. I'm glad to see that Savlian survived. He is indeed above your average guard.

Keep up the good, if not sadisticly bloody, work.

Sometimes though the murderer sounds like a vampire, but oh well.....

So far, the day for Savlian could be compared to walking in the planes of Oblivion without any clothes. Absolute misery. He had received word shortly after getting mended from his injuries that the Count wanted to speak with him. The little sense of accomplishment of capturing drug dealers were vanquished with that summons. Savlian knew he was going to get a verbal lashing, and it would get worse the longer it took for him to get to the castle. So he had immediately set off in the appropriate direction. Just thinking of the trip caused his hand to instinctively massage his sore jaw. He had ran into Henrik along the way, the result didn’t go too well. Henrik’s words still echoed in Savlian’s head after the punch to the jaw by Henrik.

“You’re failing everyone Cap. I’m going to get things done, my way, and you better stay out of it.”

Failing. That’s all he’s done so far. Fail. Sure he had made attempts to discover who the killer was, but so far all his methods had failed. His failures had cost him 6 lives of men and mer who worked for him, and expected him to succeed. They looked up to him. The best thing he could do for them was let them die it seemed. A successful leader would not have let this happened, he would’ve had this monster behind bars or dead by now. Not Savlian though, he let the killer continue his now more violent rampage. Kvatch was beginning to fear its streets. He was doing an injustice to his fair city. He needed to figure out some way to make up for it. Regretfully, Savlian entered the castle grounds, he figured that the Count would be lounging in the garden at this time of day.

Observing the scenery of the sprawling gardens, Savlian found it ironic how such a beautiful place could contain such a despicable person. The gardens were a lavish, organic, and serene place with colourful flora, towering trees, and trimmed hedges. It was truly a peaceful looking place. It just simply boggled Savlian’s mind that someone with is inconsiderate, egotistical, and brutal would spend time in a place like this.

Indeed, Savlian did find the Count in the gardens. He was lounging in a chair that was looking out over the scenic gardens. His butler, Brixley, was holding a parasol over the Count’s head so he would avoid the possibly chance of being burnt by the sun. The smug expression on the Count’s face told Savlian that he was going to enjoy ragging on him.

“Well it’s about time you arrived, Captain. It has been over an hour since I sent word to speak with you, I wanted you here immediately,” the Count said cynically.

“Sorry, sir, I ran into the older brother of one of my deceased men. It didn’t go well.”

“No less than you deserve I assume… Now has your investigation improved?” asked the Count.

“We have been following the lead that the murderer was someone who was previously in prison. This method has just recently stopped a local skooma dealing operation. I expect this method will discover the identity of the killer soon,” replied Savlian. He knew the last part was a lie. This person definitely was not a former criminal, at least not in Kvatch. He hoped that showing confidence in the investigation would lower the Count’s rebuttal.

The Count’s face contorted in a wicked looking way for a brief moment before answering. “Which is more dangerous, Captain? Skooma dealers or a homicidal maniac? Hmm?”

Savlian stood silently.

“That was not a rhetorical question!”

“The maniac, sir,” Savlian practically sighed.

“Right. The maniac. So I strongly suggest you focus on the maniac instead of the dealers from now on. I’m beginning to question my decision in making you the Captain of the Guard if you can’t keep my town safe. That is the duty of the Captain is it not?”

“Yes it is, sir,” Savlian answered through gritted teeth.

A cold expression crossed the face of the Count. “Well then, do your job. Make sure it is done soon, or else I will need to replace you. I personally think Hlodir would make a good replacement. He is exceeding beyond your capacity in the job he replaced you for previously. I’m sure he would be able to do both jobs even, if need be.”

Savlian simply nodded, snapped a salute, and vacated the gardens. He had work to do. It was upsetting that such a beautiful place made him so angry…

Who here HATES the count?.........................

well, anyway he gets his when the Deadra visit Kvatch, but whatever it was was too good for him

Eh, everyone seems to hate the guy. He isn't exactly trying to be pleasant, so that could be expected. I'm waiting4updates.

Great story looking forward to updates

A little bit of a shorter one today, surgery does be bothering my concentration. I'm expecting my next update to be a bit more interesting.


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The Count blew a sigh of relief once Savlian vacated the gardens. He now had a situation to deal with. He needed to find out if any of the skooma dealers were apprehended. If one of them were, Goldwine needed to relieve the guard of their prisoner for “private interrogation”. If the Guard were to interrogate any skooma dealers his whole operation could be blown! Even the Count of a town can be executed for dealing with the stuff. It was Imperial Law, it was above him. A sense of panic and anxiety was building up in him.

“Brixley, I want you to immediately find Hlodir. Tell him to pay a visit to the town barracks and relieve any prisoners that have been arrested under charges of drug smuggling. They are to be interrogated by the Count’s private enforcement,” the Count ordered Brixley. A simple nod confirmed the message and Brixley calmly strolled away.

The stress had been unbelievable lately for the Count. Now things had become worse. Another murder threatened the reputation he had for running Kvatch, and now there was the chance that he could get arrested for breaking Imperial law.

He needed to get out of the sun now that his parasol was gone, so Count proceeded into his castle to try to cool himself down. Unfortunately the anxiety was making him perspire intensely. He almost felt like praying to the Nine that this current situation would work out for his benefit. He knew though that his success was based on his motives and not that of the Nine. What he needed right now to calm him down was food. Food always did his nerves good. It was the most probable fact of why he possessed a little pudge with his body.

After helping himself to some cold mutton and some cheese Brixley appeared in the dining hall. The ever blank expression across his face gave no sign of what he was going to say. Goldwine hoped that it was good news.

“Sir, Hlodir has brought an Orc by the name of Uragh into your private dungeons for interrogation. Would you like to see her?” asked the butler.

A broad grin crossed Goldwine’s face as he rose out of his seat. “Lead the way, Brixley.”


The dungeons of Castle Kvatch held a special place in the Count’s heart. He had many eventful experiences within these cold, stone walls of his dungeons. Many screams have echoed across the empty halls. Many pleas for mercy have went unanswered. Many supposed “runaways” ended up here; their intelligence rewarded with their death. Just hearing the pained panting coming from the upcoming cell sent chills of pleasure down Goldwine’s spine. Hlodir had all ready started his work.

The Count entered the cell in time to see Hlodir give Uragh a solid slap across the face. The flesh on flesh exclamation echoed loudly. Fresh blood trickled from the corner of Uragh’s mouth from the blow. She cursed audibly. When her eyes glimpsed the Count, they widened in fear. She knew what was going to happen.

Goldwine sadly looked down at the Orc chained to the walls. “Uragh, Uragh, Uragh. You screwed up. You do know what that means, correct?”

Tears streamed across Uragh’s face now. “Please sir, you don’t have to kill me. I tried so hard not to get caught, just like you asked. I never told none of the guard that it was you who wanted the skooma. I didn’t tell no one!” she begged, dropping down to her knees.

“I can’t trust you back on the streets, even if I did pardon you. It would get suspicious eyes on my back. I’m doing you a favour. Would you rather stay locked up in the dungeons for the rest of your life, or just end your miserable existence, you good-for-nothing Orc!” the Count’s anger had finally snapped, “You ruined my whole operation! Now I have to find some new lowlifes to get my operation back on track. That could lead to me getting caught again and the potential chance of me getting arrested! All because you could not simply keep the operation hidden. I pretty much had the whole thing planned out, but your stupidity lead Savlian to find you!”

In the heat of his rant the Count grabbed a nearby dagger and stormed over to the now cowering Orc. Each stab accented each word, “You! Failed! Me! MISERABLY!! You! Failed! Me! MISERABLY!!” screamed the Count.

He stopped his frantic stabbings for a moment and looked down at himself. “Now look what you’ve done!” he screamed at the corpse of Uragh, “You even ruined my good suit!”

From behind his back Hlodir chuckled.

What an arrogant, self-centered, wimpy, fat son of a Cliffracer. His logic horrible and he's so.....words can't describe it. Wow Mallet, you really know how to make me hate the bad guys. If Savlian finds out.....Skooma-sweet revenge.

this story is great. needs to be a book in oblivion i dont usually hate bad guyz, but savlian sucks kwama eggs. is the bloodthirsty criminal (my fav) after savlian? i hope so. maybe, like, that one bosmer guy that died was the killers brother or something? and the bosmer that got hurt real bad is the killer? idunno...deems more like a dunmer than a bosmer, though. (hes more evil) but yea, this is a great story. keep up the good work

Things will reveal themselves in time. For instance, this post will reveal something...


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An unknown presence snapped the killer’s eyes open immediately. A shadow in the corner of his eye flickered across the room, a flash of silver flying from the folds of wispy blackness. Instantly, the killer twisted his head as the throwing knife penetrated his pillow. He withdrew his knife in a swift motion and squared off before the shadow. Two burning red embers for eyes stared back at him. The shadows around the figure receded and a robed Dunmer calmly strode up to the killer.

“It’s good to see you still have your sense of awareness, Simion,” the Dunmer quietly stated as he strode past the killer to take a seat.

Simion kept a straight face, masking his shock, and followed the newcomer to a seat across from him. “I thought testing was only for trainees, Lavos,” Simion said as he took a seat. He still kept his knife at hand though, the initial shock of the attack still clung to him.

Lavos chuckled to himself. His red eyes glowed as he looked at Simion. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I had to get you back from the time you tried that on me.”

“You didn't come a long way just to break even with a little game we played a long time ago. What actually brings you here?” Simion asked, rubbing his finger along the side of his knife.

A serious tone suddenly came from Lavos, the previous mirth in his eyes had changed to a stern, penetrating burn. “We like to keep tabs on retired guild members. Back in Morrowind we heard word of a string of murders happening in Imperial Province, Kvatch to be more specific. Since you’re here, I thought I would see what you were up to,” Lavos said, inquiry reflecting in his eyes.

“I know full well that it is against guild policy to continue my profession after I’ve retired. I’m not a fool. I would be breaking the law, writs aren’t even issued in the Imperial Province. I came here because I needed to get away from the House Wars,” Simion calmly said, staring directly at Lavos.

“Well I’m glad you still remember the rules, you did teach them to me, so I shouldn’t have questioned you about it. I have been reading about these murders though. They seem to have your… flair,” Lavos said suspiciously, fixing him with a penetrating stare as if he was trying to pierce through Simion’s defences.

“Personally, I think it’s the Dark Brotherhood. Some rich outlaw wants to weaken Kvatch’s defences so they are hiring a Dark Brotherhood agent to assassinate guards. Makes sense does it not?” Simion replied. He knew all the tricks of the trade that the Morag Tong used for interrogation. Inside he was furious that they were observing him. After all he did for the guild! They get involved with his personal goals.

“Yes, the Brotherhood is likely the culprit to this, the guild just has to make certain of these things, that’s all Simion. I apologize again for the stupid stunt I tried there, I might’ve killed you if you haven’t kept up with your skills,” said Lavos.

“It was all instinct there, Lavos. I accept your apology all the same. Would you please leave me to my retirement though? If the Dark Brotherhood knew there was a former Morag Tong member living in their territory, I could become a potential target,” Simion said as he began to usher Lavos to the door.

As they reached the door, Lavos turned around. “We must keep in touch. The guild has missed you terribly, the stories have been less interesting without you there. Why don’t you come out of retirement? You’re still young, and it seems your technique won’t take long to refresh,” Lavos asked with a dash of hope mixed in with his voice.

“I’m sorry, the killing became to much for me. You saw what happened with my last contract, I almost killed you. I need to stay away from it, less that madness takes me over again,” Simion sadly said, “Goodbye, Lavos. I will try to write to the guild though, or at least to you.”

“Farewell,” Lavos said as he exited the house.

Simion slowly closed the door. If Lavos honestly thought he fooled him, he thought wrong. Lavos was going to be sticking around Kvatch now, snooping on him, and likely vying for information from the guards on the conditions of his murders. This was going to be another obstacle to overcome, he now must avoid suspicion from his former guild member. He knew that Lavos really thought he was the culprit, but Lavos’ loyalty to him gave knowledge to Simion that the guild was, indeed, suspicious of him.

He must die! If he suspects you, he must bleed!

It has only been a day since the last murder and yet the pulse inside his head was nearly driving him mad. It was alarming how quickly the pulse had returned. It threatened his very control over himself it seemed. He must achieve his vengeance soon, or else he would lose his mind to this chaos within his mind. Yet, with Lavos now watching from the shadows, he must be more wary…

He made up his mind; he was going to hunt tonight.

niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.....this story gets better and better....hmph...he needs to just slit Lavos' throat.

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

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

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.

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

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!

Ahhh a lot of good reading here! Excellent work!

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.

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

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!