Note from the Author: This story is set roughly, very roughly, around the end of the Third Era, basically on the stage of the game Oblivion. However, this is strickly for reference to certain characters from the game and general settings. It is taken in as though Kvatch has not yet been destroyed, and the Emperor still lives, basically before the unknown hero escapes from the Imperial Prison. The difference is the order of events, as certain side quests (such as the order of the Virtuous Blood) have already been completed. All spoilers are extremely minor and irrelevant, and will be specifically pointed out beforehand. If you have not played Oblivion, don't fret, this is just a disclaimer so I don't get complained at if I mention something.

Prologue:

The cobblestone street of Chorrol was quiet that night, with barely a flicker of light from the lamp-posts lighting the way. Hildor wandered home now, wearing his simple mage apprentice robe, exhausted from a long day of training. He felt unable to think properly, his mind still recycling hundreds of lessons on the proper technique to cast a fireball. He didn't even notice the figure cloaked in black along the edge of the Chapel. His home was a long way across town, and he much preferred the short way through the cemetery, though it was lonely and frightening and there were no guards posted nearby, he was too exhausted to pay mind to paranoia at this point, so he gave a heavy sigh and opened the cemetary gate. A second figure in black dropped down from the Chapel roof, joining the first.

Hildor turned around in unplaced suspicion, but there was nothing, he couldn't place what it was that brought upon all these sudden feelings of anxiety. Perhaps it was that the cemetery gate took an unnaturally long time to close. After just a few minutes, Hildor found himself far too deep into the cemetery to turn around, but this suspicious feeling grew heavier. He attempted to muster a bit of light but his magicka was far too drained. Perhaps, now that he thought of it, taking the street was not so much a longer walk, all this worrying was surely more trying on his energy than a nice walk close by the guards.

Hildor's foot hit a hard rock, and fell forward, an elven short blade sweeping directly above him. He turned, seeing just the silhouette of some figure before him, holding an elven shortsword.

"Guards!" he shouted, "guards!"

The first shadowy figure stepped back a bit as Hildor unleashed a grouping a wild kicks. The second, more nimble one leapt over the first wielding a steel dagger, but was suddenly pegged back by an arrow. His body clobbered over the other assassin, while as guard at the end of the cemetary restrung his bow and fired again, pegging him a second time, killing him. The assassin with the elven blade rolled under a tombstone, dodging the arrows that seemed unlikely to miss their marks. Hildor rolled to his belly and attempted to crawl as to avoid getting shot by the guard's arrows.

"Oh no you don't!" shouted the assassin, flinging forward, forgetting himself in succession to his goal. A torch knocked him upside the head as a second guard, wielding a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other, just arrived. Within seconds the assassin was dead.

"All clear over here!" one guard said to the other.

"Any idea who was attacking you, kid?" asked the guard with the bow as he approached.

"No, I have no idea at all," admitted Hildor.

"Perhaps the dark brotherhood?" suggested the guard with the sword.

"Have you done anything to piss anybody off?" asked the guard with the bow.

"No, nothing! Nothing at all!"

"Then that rules out the dark brotherhood, they're employers act out of greed and revenge, nothing more," said the guard with the bow.

"Well, you're a mage, aren't you kid? Perhaps they were necromancers or some other general sort of enemy," suggested the guard with the sword.

"Unlikely," said the guard with the bow. "These guys were good to get through out defenses, this city is well guarded, who would spoil the ability to infiltrate a city for the sake of a mere apprentice? One of those assassins threw his life away to kill that man, there must be a reason." The guard pondered it, "Perhaps it was that Vampire following that's been rumored of in High Rock and the Colovian Highlands?"

"No," said the guard with the sword, "They always attack in groups of three. Anyways, I'll escort him home, and strike at anything that lay in wait there, you should head back to your post."

"I'll inform the captain of this matter, and put them watch on high alert tonight."

"Very good," the guard said before grabbing Hildor by the shoulder and leading him off.

"I don't know what it could have been at all, to be honest that alone has scared me half to death, I've always lived so comfortably and securely, thinking as long as I stayed within the city walls and... oh it's just so dreadful..." Hildor sobbed as they reached his home, unlocked the door, and invited the guard in.

The guard just stood there.

"Well, aren't you going to look around, to be sure they aren't inside?"

The guard smiled, "You can be quite sure, we are," he grinned, "Don't scream for help, I could kill you in a moment. Now then, on to business, you should have a family heirloom, correct? I need it. I need the Ring of the Vampire Hunter, where is it?"

"I... I don't have it," Hildor offered.

"Liar, my superiors went through a lot of trouble tracking it down. We know you have it."

"No, no a thief took it, I don't have it, I was um... robbed this morning! I swear!"

"You have one more chance," he said, as the guard persona disappeared and a young dunmer woman in a black cloak took his position. Her voice was sweet, and her face beautiful despite the bright red, bloodshot eyes. "Where is the ring?"

"A thief!" He yelled, "A thief!"

"Thief you say?" a patrolling guard asked from outside the house.

"Damn!" the dunmer woman shouted, a cutlass already pulled at a moved against his head.

M'Orik sat up from his bed roll and looked about frantically. His dream was terrible. Feeling a little worried, he tore the ring from pocket and gave it a quick run over. He dared not put it on, first chance he got he would sell the cursed thing off to a fence.

Chapter 1:

Two vampire guards stood just inside the entrance of a good sized cave, well obscured just within the border to Elswyr. One was a Khajiit, carrying a mace. The second was a Nord, carrying a giant warhammer across his shoulder, seemingly far too large for even a nord to carry.

"Gronnud, To'grae," said a third vampire, an altmer, walking through the corridors to greet them. In the blackness, they saw each other normally.

"Yes Crannus?" asked Gronnud.

"We hunt again tonight, it's been far too long since we last preyed."

"But Crannus, To'Grae is not so sure that's a good idea. A far older vampire clan has caught our scent."

"Thirty years ago when I came to you guys with the proposition I told you we'd become the strongest vampire clan in all of Tamriel didn't I? I still believe it. Go get some rest, you'll need your energy by the time to sun sets."

"Very well, Crannus, but who will keep guard? There are still eight hours," asked Gronnud

"Never you mind that, we'll be fine, only three times has an invader every been in here," said Crannus. "I go now back to sleep, join me shortly."

Crannus left the lair's foyer, leaving Gronnud and To'Grae alone to be evaporated only moments later, their dust collected, the assaulter remaining veiled in shadow, his means unknown.

One by one the rest of the nest was murdered, each member had their coffin opened, and some weapon obscured by shadow stapped into them. How long he had waited was unknown, only his goal was clear.

Crannus was attempting to go back to sleep in his private chambers when something caused him to stir. He looked around, but everything seemed normal. He knew it was off.

"Who are you?" he questioned the void.

"My proper introduction has been completed. I am here at the request of the ransacked village that pains in due to your predation. Your brothers and sisters lay dead, weaklings in falling to an empty promised, souls sacrificed by your vanity to feed your ambition, useless creatures used by you as minions, not as true brothers. I believe in looking at you, you have the talent and tenacity but are similarly cursed by the ever dire naivete that has struck so many young upstarts like you, fearful of their mortal life, stretching their fingers onward into immortality. I cannot blame you, knowledge of one's mortality can cause men to do quite insane things, but stronger than that calling is a calling to justice, for me at least. My name is Grindley, dear beast, Iago."

Crannus stood up, and cast detect life, suddenly able to sense the position of the figure in front of him. He felt heavy, at the realization that he could not sense any of his compatriots.

"You will die for that, mortal!" yelled Crannus, summoning a daedric longsword.

"Doubtful," said Grindley, removing his masque, a white facial one seemingly made out of simple clay, which covered both eyes, the nose, and partially the left side of the forehead and cheek (think phantom of the opera). In his hand, he held a long, thin scimitar, easily shifted up to block the daedric weapon. He wore a long black leather coat, black gloves, and a black broken-brimmed hat that covered the light brown hair that draped along his shoulders. His eyes couldn't be properly described as green, eyes that pierced like those were only suitably called malachite. He had rather dark skin for a breton, but it all fell into background to clash of his weapon against the daedric sword.

"You [censored]!" Crannus screamed, unleashing a shockspell at Grindley, causing him to jump back a bit, a small spark shooting back at Crannus.

"Nice trick," said Grindley, "Want to see mine?" He released one hand from his scimitar and held it into the air, snapping the fingers to form a little flame seemingly coming from each individual finger. He shot forward, grabbing hold of Crannus with the burning hand, little ripples of the flames erupting all over his body. Crannus shot back, a barrage of fireballs following him wherever he attempted to dodge. Eventually he simply disappeared.

"Be very wise on your choice of a hiding spot, vampire," Grindley suggested, listening carefully to be sure the vampire did not get too close while he recovered his energy. When he was finished, he began his hunt through the caverns. Eventually he stopped, and closed his eyes, increasing his breathing. "That was a powerful spell you used earlier, vampire. It probably would have killed someone if the circumstances were different. Likewise I assume it drained you, and now you wait in silence, hoping you have something greater at your disposal. During your run of invisibility, did you by chance find a weapon of some kind to defend yourself with? Hm, don't think I require a spell of detect life, I can smell you."

Grindley leapt forward into the darkness, his scimitar clashing against a regular steel sword. Crannus fell back, and pushed forward again, content on killing the Breton. Grindley waited patiently, fighting defensively, using his body weight to block all the heavy attacks despite the strength of his foe.

Finally Crannus grew impatient, and stepped back, unleashing another heavy shock attack. Again, a small bolt fired back, and again, Grindley seemed to grin in satisfaction.

"You have an enchantment on that resists magicka, I assume it's your amulet, it's what kept you alive. I'm afraid it's not going to work any longer," said Grindley as an orb flew from his hand and struck Crannus. Falling in toe came a caravan of fireballs, putting the Altmer to rest. Iago collected his dust and left the cave, bringing with him twelve pouches full of vampiric remains. "The Order will be pleased that the job is complete," he said to himself as he greeted the sunlight.

Chapter 3 and 4 by tuesday.

Wow, a vampire hunter. I like your story. The assassins in the cemetery were scary.

Sweet! I feel sorry for the Vampires, but I know whats happening (I'm just that good) Jack, they weren't assassins it was a way of introducing the 1st Vampire Clan.

Chapter 2

Iago Grindley knocked on an old door in the Temple district of the Imperial City. He had been riding home from Elswyr for a day and a half, staying at an Inn in Bravil on the way. His horse, an albino black from Cheydinhal, was across the river from the Waterfront, as Grindley didn't trust the Imperial stables.

"To whom do we owe the pleasure?" answered a male voice from the other side.

"To a humble servant," responded Grindley. The door opened. He was greeted by Cylben Dolovas, sporting full ebondy armor with a large ebony claymore strapped across his back. He was a handsome looking dunmer, with a smooth face.

"Grindley!" he smiled. "You've been gone for nearly two weeks on that assignment."

"They were difficult to track down," Grindley admitted.

"Well Gray-Throat has some far more pressing news in the headquarters anyway. Roland dismissed him, so he wants to talk to you personally about the matter. You know Roland, unless you carry the dust he doesn't trust anything."

"Very well, is it a private matter?"

"Yes," said Cylben, "But Roland and Gilen went on an expedition to Skyrim in an attempt to track down a few Volkihar."

"Silen is still after a clan that can produce cure-adequate dust commonly, is he?" Grindley snickered. "Well, good day."

"I was wondering, Grindley, if we could spot some lunch on Tirdas," suggested Cylben.

"I'll probably be out of town by then," said Grindley.

"Oh very well, next time."

Grindley headed down to the basement. The room was well lit, with some nice tables. The entry walls were covered in books upon books, mostly about or written by vampires. On the wall at the far side of the entrance were dozens of rows protected by glass casing, storing hundreds upon hundreds of brown clay jars, vampire dust. It always made Grindley sick to his stomache, to know each one was a another vampire slain by the order. On the left end of the cases was a collection in black clay jars, the exceptional vampire remains were left there.

On one side of a table, reading a book, was Gray-Throat, and older looking argonian. He looked up and noticed Grindley, who removed his hat and sat down across from Gray-Throat.

"It's very good to see you Brother," said Gray-Throat. "There is extremely pressing business I think you'll take with more open ears that Roland."

"Good to see you, too, Gray-Throat, now what is this business?"

"You've heard of the Vampire following rumored from Southeastern Highrock and Eastern Hammerfell?"

"Yes, we had a Brother investigating that a month ago didn't we?"

"You are correct, the Khajiit."

"Right, Da'Rudo."

Gray-Throat looked curiously at Grindley for a moment. "That is correct, an investigator native to High Rock, attempting to gather information from this most fearsome of followings. He has told us very little more than what we know from rumor. They select their targets in advance, always with reason, as though there is some goal behind their workings. They always attack in groups of three, two acolytes and a master. It's was believed to be a Vampiric form of the Dark brotherhood, selecting their pray for monetary gain. Those are the rumors, what Da'Rudo has informed is... they have been spotted in the Colovian Highlands. Specifically their targets have been found in the Colovian Highlands."

Grindley leaned back in chair, narrowing his eyes. "It's befuddling to learn they've grown so bold. How many victims in Cyrodiil, where were they found?"

"One, in Chorrol."

"Chorrol?!" Iago sounded incredulous "Who?"

"It's not proven, as they left no marks, but one of the guards claims he is sure they used deceit and trickery to hunt down a local member of the mage's guild. A guard heard him shouting for help from his home, and by the time the guard broke in, he was dead, so it's probable the vampire felt the mission far too urgent to go through the usual ritual. What's unknown is who would want them dead. Da'Rudo has not confirmed for us whether they are an assassin clan for higher, or if there's some other ambition we haven't noticed yet."

"My place is in Chorrol immediatly, then," Grindley stated, picking his hat up.

"Not yet brother," Gray-Throat croaked. "The guard has requested a meeting, as I do not like talking to the Guard, I told them they could see you when you returned, so you'll want to go tell Servatius Quintilius you're present, inform him you're representing the Order."

"And pile through some beaurocratic mess while the Following grows in territory? Very well."

"There's one other thing, some information I have kept until your return. You've read the book, "Immortal Blood," correct?"

Grindley nodded as he stood up from his seat.

"I have uncovered the diary of Movarth Piquine."

Grindley gave Gray-Throat a harsh glance. "Where is it?"

"In a safe place."

"That's important news, indeed, you were right not to tell anyone, keep it hidden." Grindley left the basement, heading back up to the first floor, where Cylben sat eating some Lunch.

"Still up for Lunch of Tirdas?" Grindley asked as he made his way for the door. "I'll be stuck in town for a while."

"Unfortunate, but yes that does sound good. I'll be seeing you. Err... blessings of Akatosh and all that nonsense."

"You too," said Grindley on his way out the door.

Great story you have here Doomed, interesting start to it. I'm looking forward to future updates.

Exellent! I see how this is going (I was partly wrong the first time) it should be very insteresting even if you don't use any plot twists

It wouldn't have been a very good plot twist for him to immediatly kill off the people from the prologue in his introduction. No, you have to be smart about it, it's far too early for twists. Don't you worry though... there will be twists >=D

Excellent story! Can't wait to read more!!!

Now things are getting interesting. Go ahead and write more.

Oh aye.....intriguing really, so please keep up the good work!

I'd like to request that if you begin picking up on certain things in this story that you do not post about them, as it would spoil it for other readers. If you think you know what's going to happen or what information is going to be revealed, and are bursting about it, just PM it to me.

Chapter 3:

"Sir, sir? A man from the Order of the Virtuous Blood is here to see you," said a messenger to Servatius Quintilius, a tall, strong Imperial with a short forehead, who wore a simple green shirt and some white pants. As he sat behind a desk that day, there was no need for his armor.

"Finally," said Servatius, "Send him in."

Iago Grindley stepped in a few moments later, sporting his classic broken brimmed hat and long black coat. The silverish hilt of his scimitar jutted out the front of his coat, with a half-moon counter-weight.

"Well," Servatius chuckled, "If you weren't from that group of yours I'd swear an assassin just walked in here."

Grindley gave a polite smile, removed his hat and sat down across from Servatius. "So what manner of business does this extend to?" he asked.

"Oh, yes well you know as Captain of the City Watch, my duties, err... well it's very beaurocratic, which I despise. I'm no beaurocrat, but I got this formal complaint, you see. It's from the Fighter's Guild, they're pissed off about something or another. Here, read this." Servatius hunted through a stack of papers, and handed one to Grindley. He read it over, then dropped it on the desk.

"They claim we're stepping into their territory?"

"Well, you know, not everyone in Cyrodiil can just step up and begin a little vigilante organization, friend, oh, what did you say your name was?"

"Grindley," he said. "And yours?"

"You haven't um... heard?"

"I'm bad with names," Grindley said sternly. "I don't even remember the last guy."

"Oh, yes well I am Servatius Quintilius, Captain of--"

"Yeah, I know that part," Grindley cut him off. "This Fighter's Guild thing is ridiculous. We're not competition, because we do not require rewards for hunting down Vampires, occasionally they're given to us out of the goodness of the hearts of the people we help in our cause, however all of our funds that we use to pay people off for donating Vampire Dust is given to us by rich individuals who would like to promote our cause. Therefore, we are in no way an illegal guild."

"Okay, I just needed to touch base with one of you, you know how it is, I mean what with you using the late Seridur's Manor as your headquarters, which is bad enough."

"It could not be put to better use," Grindley argued.

"Look, I know the threat vampires have in this province..." Servatius attempted to respond, "I just think the fighter's guild does suitably enough, there's no need for you people, vampirism does not oftenly extend much farther past their dwellings, occasionally a traveller who drifted from the road--"

"How many Vampire Clans do you know of in the entire Province on Cyrodiil?"

"I wouldn't have that information on me but if I were to ask my--"

"One, just one, one of the oldest in all of Tamriel," Grindley went on. "They say this clan originally migrated from Valenwood, the father clan of the Telboth. This clan outcompeted all Vampires in Cyrodiil after Talos made it a much more dangerous place for Vampires, only they managed to hold onto their niche and survive. Their name was lost, no longer needed they had become so good at concealment. So good that they have infested every orifice of the government and the military. They use their powers of charm and persuasion and their sudden lack of care over the well being of men and mer to make themselves rich and decadent, honing to the highest tastes. They have ensnared every cyrodiilian citizen so deeply that if I were to even begin to strike at the real threats I would find myself crossed with you and your entire watch. The most powerful ones you hear of in history, are no such thing, they are the ones that made a claim for fame and got themselves writ into legend as ghosts. The truly powerful Cyrodiilian vampires walk among us today the same as they had in the beginning of the Third Era, claiming many different names and faces, and most of all claiming many different cattle."

Servatius stared at Grindley for the longest time, frozen with a molested expression. "And how do you know this?"

"Oral traditions, tales passed around certain vampire circles and followings."

"And, how would one like yourself manage to gain an ear into such oral traditions, Mr. Grindley?"

Iago narrowed his eyes, "That's my business."

"Well," said Servatius, "This is a far fetched idea, that vampirism is such a large problem in Cyrodiil. I mean, personally I'd rather this all went away, everything, the Order of the Bloody Virtues and the whole idea, and I'd like Seridur's Manor cleaned up so the office of Imperial Commerce can sell it."

"Then I'm afraid I can't comply, we're well invested in that place as our headquarters."

Servatius began eyeing Grindley's scimitar. "You'll have to comply, Mr. Grindley, frankly I'm sick of it, complaints that your group has murdered innocent men in their homes, Fighter's guild whining that we have another group of blades for hire who play dirty..."

"I don't know what metal it is," said Grindley.

"Excuse me?"

"My sword, you were looking at my sword. To be honest with you I don't know what metal it is."

"Oh, oh interesting, a gift was it?"

"Perhaps, perhaps it's just been stricken with so much tainted blood it gave up it's old skin, which was erased from my memory. It's called Ensis De Lunes, perhaps that's a hint."

"Right... well I think I have another appointment, but I'm not such an arrogant man that I won't grant another one of these meetings, not in my office though..."

"Lunch on Tirdas," said Grindley.

"Sounds good."

"Sleep tight Captain."

Very, very good! Keep on writing, i wanna see the end.

Chapter 4

The Waterfront had an old stench about it. Several ships tied into the docks, few among them looked sea worthy. Because the only guard in the Waterfront district of the Imperial City kept homeless from sleeping on the streets, there were many make shift bedrolls made on these ships while their owners were off in the city or elswhere. Grindley made his way to the Bloated Float, a ship converted into an Inn, and his favorite place to stay, mostly because of the good food and the atmosphere, and because the owners tended to turn their heads from shady figures.

He paid for a room, and went to his bed to get some rest.

"String of murders continue in the Colovian highlands!" yelled a distributor from the black horse courier. Iago awoke gripping his chest, panting heavily.

"Damn you dreams, go away!" he whispered, clamboring out of bed and throwing on his clothes.

"What did you say about murders in the Colovian Highlands?" Grindley called as he ran up to the main room of the Inn.

"Here, take a copy," said the distributor. Grindley accepted one and began reading through it.

Murderers loose in Chorrol!

To join the murder of Hildor Veseras two weeks ago, just two days ago there was a second victim, an old monk named Javen Porter, who was well known by Chorrol citizens by his kind disposition and his ritual of sitting on the ridge outside of town during sunset. He was found on that ridge the next morning, dead. The Chorrol Town Watch has assumed control of the investigation, and has given absolutely no information about possible suspects or anything else. All they have said is that it's almost definite the two murders were linked.

Grindley dropped the paper, running for the door, "When Gray-Throat comes tell him I'm in Chorrol!" he yelled to the Inn Keeper on his way out. He was on his horse in ten minutes, and well on the road in twenty, getting in a good day's ride to Skingrad before stopping at West Weald Inn for the night.

He arrived around 10 at night. Upon entering it seemed like it was a quiet night, completely undisturbed aside from the snoring inn-keeper sitting in the corner on a chair. Grindley dropped ten gold coins on her lap, and went behind the counter to grab a room key. They were on a rack, each key labeled with a number, one, two, three, four, five, six, etcetera. No key was missing, telling Grindley no one was staying at the Inn that night. This wouldn't have been so strange, and Grindley ignored it until he turned back around. He noticed on a table in the center of the room a very old, very good bottle of wine was prepared with two glasses.

It was at this moment the door handle rotated, and the door creaked open. Grindley could barely stick his white clay half-mask on his face before two men in robes and hoods entered, very quietly. The Inn-keeper stirred, opening one eye to see them enter, before quickly closing it an snoring again. The two men seemed not to notice.

"Count, I promise you this place has been secured, there is not a safer place in all of Skingrad tonight for what we are about discuss," one man said to the other.

"I still say we should have headed out of town a ways. But, well, nevermind. Ugrok, take a walk," an older looking dunmer called to the Inn-Keeper as he sat down and removed his hood. His hair was charcoal and slick. His face was a little pale, but not unreasonably so. The startling feature on him were his piercing light red bloodshot eyes. Grindley knew instantly what he was.

The Inn-Keeper grunted, picking herself up. A few of the coins dropped on the ground, which she picked up curiously but not ungratefully, before leaving.

"Alright my lord, the situation is simple. The Following of the Three Fangs are making you an offer," said the second man, a redguard with insane, bloodshot eyes and large fangs. Fangs were a trait the Count did not carry.

"What could you possibly offer me?" asked the Count.

"We've done our research, Janus, we know what we can give you, what we have in our power to give you," smiled the redguard.

Janus stared at him harshly. "Deals with the Following are deals with Clavicus Vile, I do not accept."

"Please, please please Count Hassildor, I beg you to reconsider. Skingrad will be used in our plot whether you accept it or not, but because you're... one of us, we decided to offer you a deal, a deal none of the other target cities will get. We were willing to give you something in return."

"You are a fool, Branlid, your entire Order is one of fools and idiots to think you have the power to--"

"Hold on!" the Redguard stifled Count Hassildor, "We are being watched."

Count Hassildor stood up, giving a quick glance around the room. "A spy? Who do you work for?!" he shouted, jolting forward, unleashing a barage of paralysis spells. Iago Grindley found himself struck by one before he could move. He face fell back, and the mask flew off, revealing him to the two vampires.

"Is he dead?" the redguard asked.

"No," said the Count. "He'll be right again in just a few minutes. Ugh... he has a reflection on of some kind, I can barely move."

The redguard grinned. "Well, I'm going to go ahead and feed." He approached Grindley, who lay there, his malachite eyes transfixed on the Count, even as the Redguard's fangs buried deep into his neck and began to suck.

"Your wasting your time," said Grindley, his hand at his scimitar. The redguard retracted from his neck.

"Augh, disgusting!" he yelled as Grindley grabbed him the coller and rolled over, pinning him to the ground with one arm, slicing him across the throat with the next.

The Count already let loose another volley of various spells at Grindley, who was prepared this time, diving forward, allowing them to strike the Redguard, who lay on the ground clamping his bleeding throat.

"Who do you work for?!" Count Hassildor yelled.

"You know the rules, vampire, you have to catch me first!" Grindley yelled grabbing on his mask and slipping it into his coat.

"Dammit!" Hassildor stammered, summoning a skeleton to help him fight. "Die already!"

"Who'd have thought?" Grindley asked, squaring himself from across a table, his scimitar focused on the skeleton. "Count Janus Hassildor, leader of Skingrad, was a vampire."

"You fool, you'll carry that to the grave!" Hassildor yelled.

"Hah, don't worry I already knew. If my goal were to slur your name I would have done it ages ago."

"Then why come here?" Hassildor interrogated. The skeleton disappeared.

"I came for a room."

Janus Hassildor smiled. "Well, if that's everything, I suppose I'm dismissed. Please finish off the other one, he's bleeding all over my carpet. I suppose they think I killed their messenger, a suitable response enough..."

"I very much doubt you'll make it to the door before you're a pile of dust," Grindley stated, raising his blade with one hand, pointing the other hand forward, aimed directly at Count.

"A race is it? Very well, give me to the count of three," Hassildor chuckled.

"No."

A large fireball flew at the Count, who raised his hand that glowed purple, and the fireball was intercepted in a magical barrier. A larger skeleton with an axe shot out of the void and charged at Grindley, who gripped his sword with both hands to intercept the axe, then recoiled and sprang forward, using his sword to prop the head of the skeleton. When he turned back to the Count, he was gone.

Grindley stepped over the redguard vampire, who still bled on the floor, paralyzed by the Count's earlier spells.

"Any information you provided me would be useless," he shrugged, stabbing him through his chest.

(I'm afriad it will be a while before chapter 5 comes, as I'm moving and I doubt I'll have internet access for some time afterwards)

Excellent I'll be waiting and I was right!...

Chapter 5, while I have a chance.

Chapter 5

Iago Grindley arrived in Chorrol the afternoon of the next day. He rode his albino black horse to the stable and set foot in town. Chorrol was a cozy city, though not so much recently.

A heavy wind blew through Chorrol that day, and large clouds sailed above. Signs above merchants ricketed back, trying to escape from their fastenings. People on the streets that day fought to keep their hair straight, and they were few and far between, Grindley realized. Smiling, he headed to the Inn.

The Gray Mare, as Grindley expected, was cramped with people idling the day away. He sat down across from a somber nord with long gray hair and tiny glasses.

"Excuse me pal, I'm expecting someone," the Nord grunted.

"My apologies. Say, do you know where Hildor Veseras' house is?"

"What do you care? Bah, not my business. He's across from the well, third house down the row, big guard outside his door keeping people out, can't miss it," he said.

"Thank you," said Grindley, standing up. On his way out the door, an altmer tapped him on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, but did you say you were looking for Hildor's house?"

"Yes," said Grindley, heading for the door.

"Err..." the Altmer began, rushing after him out the door, "But why?"

"That's my business," stated Grindley, walking along the Cobblestone street toward the the Chapel.

"But, you realized he's been murdered, correct? No one's allowed in there."

"Leave me be, please, I'm working right now."

"Oh, very well," sniffled the altmer, turning to go.

Upon passing the Chapel, getting into the residential district, grindley checked over his shoulder to be sure the altmer had gone, and dipped into a corner, lifting his mask onto his face.

The guard outside Hildor's door sat on the street, half awake, pondering how long he'd been sitting there. "I don't get why they don't just keep the door locked," he said to himself for ther fiftieth time, leaning his head back to rest again the door.

A bottle smashed behind the house, which sounded a lot like a window. The guard jolted up. "You there, you're in violation!" he yelled, ducking around the corner to see a bunch of broken bottle grass in the middle of no where. Disappointed, he went back to his resting spot.

Grindley removed his mask, finding Hildor's house was empty, the lead investigator taking a break. The house was in perfect order, except for the knife victim on the ground in front of him.

"Why would the Following want to kill you?" he asked the corpse, positioning himself to get an idea. 'Let's see, you feel like this, therefore the killer must have come out you from here. He stood in the door way, meaning you must have come to greet him, but then you would have been to the side of the door. This looks more like he followed you in. Why would you let someone follow you in? Well, they had a disguise of course... but... why would they go through all that trouble to kill you in your own home, and not follow through with it and suck your blood...

"They were hunting for information," Grindley realized. In the next hour, every book on a book shelf and piece of paper on or in a desk was looked through. Grindley found what he needed in a book hidden in Hildor's opened jewerly box.

"So, Kindre Monovias was a dunmer, who had two son, Galhad and Bencyl. Galhad had a daughter, Haratta Monovias, who married Scodrad Veseras, and so the direct family line continues all the way to Hildor Veseras." Grindley noticed on the two brother's family lines were on the page, Bencyl always seemingly having one son, who carried the name Bencyl II, Bencyl III, etcetera. No one his family ever had any daughters. Some of the dates were erratic on Bencyl's line as well, such that some members lived for two hundred anf fifty years, and others for just fifty, and yet each member always managed to have one son, and only one son.

Pocketing the Lineage Chart, Grindley put his mask back on and walked out the front door, not even pausing for the guard's baffled expression. As he turned the corner at the Chapel, he removed his mask again and headed for the watch headquarters.

Arthur Pralius sat at his desk, shuffling through papers, when Grindley entered the Town Watch headquarters.

"Um... may I help you?" Arthur Pralius asked, lifting his head up from his desk.

"My name is Ritharden Credieux, private investigator," said Grindley, "I've been hired by a family friend of Mr. Veseras to make sure the killer is found."

"No, no private investigators! I assure you we have this task well taken care of!" Arthur asserted.

"Be that as it may, I'm a specialist, and as far as I know no progress has been made, and there are... let's say... political influences to keep certain information under the rug. Because of that I was hired, now, just please answer a few questions and I'll be out of your face."

"Very well," Arthur grumbled.

"Okay, did Mr. Veseras have a safe box secured outside of his home?" asked Grindley.

"No."

"Was anyone under the name Monovias in town recently?"

"No."

"Has he reported anything stolen?"

Arthur hesitated, 'No."

"What was it?"

"It's not any of your business."

Grindley smiled, "Thank you."

Grindley left the watch headquarters and wandered around town until he found a homeless man napping behind a house.

"Friend," he said approaching him with a few gold coins. "Could you direct me to the fences in Chorrol?"

***

"Can I help you?" a dunmer with large eyebrows and a pale face asked.

"I heard you buy hot things," Grindley whispered to him as the two men sat down out of earshot.

"You a member of the guild?"

"I'm looking to buy, I need to take a look at all your most recent items, and you need to tell me where you got them."

"Hah, I've heard that story before, get out of my face."

Grindley sighed, "You may be involved in something you don't comprehend to the full entity of."

"Leave me alone," the dunmer said.

"Fine," said Grindley, leaving rather frustrated. On his way out the door, a khajiit practically ran right into him.

"Help M'Oric!" yelled the khajiit.

"He went in there!" a guard yelled from outside. M'Oric dodged around Grindley, running over to the dunmer to whisper something in his ear. Two guards charged through the door.

"You, thief! You're coming with us!" said one.

"No! No! They are not guards! Someone help me!" M'Oric screamed scrambling around the building. he was tackled by a guard and hauled off, the dunmer held a placid face until they left. Grindley turned to leave as well.

"Sir, I think I know what you're looking for," said the dunmer. "A ring, correct?"

"Perhaps," said Grindley, turning around. "Do you have it?"

Very interesting... Good work, keep it up!

Good work Doomey!.....Keep it coming to us..ok?