Author's Note: Obviously I don't own Oblivion. I own Nhiilaa and that's about it. Oh, and the text from the quests themselves are totally made up.

--

The Bloodworks thoroughly epitomized the word 'putrid'. The days were hot and muggy due to the incessant training of the fighters of the Arena, while the nights were frozen. A person could wake up cold and go to bed drenched in sweat, and then count themselves lucky if it didn't freeze over the next morning to perpetuate their misery by starting out soaked to the bones. Orders and curses constantly flung at anyone less than the Gray Prince himself, Agronak gro-Malog. Baths were almost unheard of to those of the lower ranks, as the fighters hogged the baths after their fights, cleansing themselves from the stink of battle. Someone was earning themselves a new bruise almost every moment, be it a fighter in the ring, grappling for their very lives, or an orphan picked up by Owyn in a rare merciful mood to become a servant in the Bloodworks.

It was there that Nhiilaa Ijorta wanted to be right now. Instead, she was stuck making her way through the mist towards some out of the way miserable old fort off the coast of Anvil. Worst of it was she had to walk all the way from the Imperial City to Anvil in just six days; she had been denied the luxury of her slow, slow paint horse that she had taken to the City in the first place by that lovely orc who ran the stable. Claimed that the horse had gotten out and had run away, but that horse was approaching twelve years old. He couldn't have run off even if he wanted to.

Due to this little set back, she had to wear all her armor as she walked to Anvil, and it was steel armor at that. In addition, she had to carry her shield on her arm and have her sword at her belt at all times. Though, she had to admit, it did keep the bandits from attacking her at first glimpse. No, they at least had the decency to wait until she was good and closes and then attempt to slit her throat and rob her of her money.

Currently, the sun was obscured by a thick layer of clouds, water condensing from the mist onto her armor, cooling it so thoroughly that even her skin turned to ice underneath a layer of wool clothing. Her teeth were chattering to such a degree that the visor kept slamming down, narrowing her vision. Finally she caught sight of the old fort, and she made her ascent up the hill, silently praying to Ysmir that whatever was in that fort was already dead.

Nhiilaa took a moment to fumble in a little satchel she kept at her belt for the old fort's key that was given to her by Agronak. It was a curious thing, as it was shaped in a rather odd manor. Instead of it being completely straight, it zigzagged, and it was strangely heavy for such a little thing. The Nord placed it in the lock and turned it, wincing as the bolt slid out with a heavy thunk. The door groaned in protest as she shoved it open and Nhiilaa stepped inside. A dank scent greeted her. She frowned, for it smelled heavily of death but at the same time, of a death not natural at all. If she wasn't mistaken, the air reeked heavily of… blood.

--

"Hey, Nhiilaa, could I speak with you a moment?"

"What do you need?"

"I need you to do me a favor. Have you heard of a fort called Crowhaven?"

"Not in particular. I told you before; my mother wasn't interested in any fort that wasn't Ayleid."

"Could you go there for me? Before my own mother died, she told me about my father. He was a noble, and he lived in a fort called Crowhaven. I need to know if he is my true father. Look for proof, a journal or something. Here's the key. It's a little northwest of the city of Anvil."

"Alright, no problem."

"Thank you." Agronak grinned from ear to ear as the confused Nord girl took the key and went off to scrub the floors.

--

Something wasn't quite right. Something evil was here. Nhiilaa could feel it in her bones, and it wasn't just the chill. She risked a small illumination spell, just until she could get her bearings. The fort had a few rats, but that wasn't what was bothering her. Nay, she had expected the rats. She had, in fact, expected bandits to be in the process of ransacking the place and for to have to fight them all heroically in order to gain some priceless medallion with Agronak's name carved in it or something. The specific lack of bandits was what worried her. What if they had already come and gone, and taken said heirloom with them? It certainly wouldn't do to return to the Prince without a shred of evidence of his lineage.

It was the feeling of absolute worry that she couldn't shake. She searched random crate upon crate and chest upon chest. Hell, she even dug through the barrels of spoiled meats and fruits for just one random piece of something she had no idea of. After four hours of combing the fort thoroughly, she sat on the floor outside of a large wooden door. She removed her helm, and attempted to smooth her bright blonde braids back into place to no avail. Her pale skin seemed to glow from the light of her torch that she had lit; she grew weary of casting her illumination spell over and over again. By her calculations, it was about three hours until midnight. Her stomach growled angrily, for she had neglected eating a proper meal before she left the Anvil inn in order to retrieve whatever the hell she was looking for. In her hip-satchel she found a bruised and discolored pear. It would have to suffice until she got back to the town. She ate quietly, her sword and shield sitting on the cold floor next to her.

--

"Before I leave, what is it that I'm supposed to be looking for?"

"I have no idea, honestly. A journal, a medallion, anything that remotely would give me a clue as to who I am."

"You do realize that I'm going on a hunt for I don't know what in a place that I've never even heard of that's most likely a home to bandits or large furry animals waiting to feast on my innards, right?"

"Yes, I do. And I appreciate it."

"Well as long as you know that and are totally willing to risk my life, I suppose it's alright."

"That's what I thought. Better you than me."

"Oh, you're so caring."

"I know. It's one of my many good qualities."

"I'd hate to see your bad ones."

--

An earsplitting crash coming from beyond the door ripped Nhiilaa out of her memory and onto the floor in shock. She clapped a hand to her mouth in order to prevent herself from squealing and missed, instead smacking herself in the nose. She let out a moan of pain and rubbed it, hoping the pain would dissipate. Glaring at the door, she picked up her sword and shield before standing up. She slipped her helm back onto her head and waited for a few minutes. As she pressed her ear to the door she listened to hear if whatever had caused the crash was still moving about. Nothing. Well, nothing besides scratching on what it seemed walls far from the door. Her heart jumped down into her stomach and started beating hard. Suddenly, having to combat a group of bandits didn't seem like such a good idea.

'If I die, he better stay away from my funeral,' she thought to herself as she removed the bolt that held the door locked. She leaned on it with all her weight, and the door opened slowly with a loud creak. Whatever was inside was surely aware of her presence now. She held her sword in hand and took a cautious step into the room. With the hand with the shield she pulled her visor down over her face to protect herself. Her boots made loud clunking sounds as she took a defensive stance as she moved through the large chamber. It appeared that it was some sort of bedroom, albeit it a… macabre bedroom. She could see bloodstains on the flagstones in the dim light cast from the torch.

It was at that moment that she realized what was so wrong about this scene. She no longer held her torch. She had left it on the floor outside the door. A glance up to the wall confirmed her worst fear: The sconces on the walls were lit. Someone was living in this bedchamber. And, it appeared, they had a liking for bloodshed.

Her pulse quickened, and she turned about nervously. In the shadow of a statue she could see someone- or something- lurking, whispering grisly things that she couldn't quite make out. It seemed that they were too enraptured with whatever they were muttering about that they hadn't actually noticed her. She took a step forward, squinting to see what it was. Whatever it was, it jerked upright and hissed. Nhiilaa let out a peep as the humanoid shape stepped into the light.

It was the angle of the face which caught her attention. It was haggard and worn and angular all at the same time. It was as if the flesh had dried to the skull, and red eyes protruded from the sockets, glinting with an obvious hunger. The creature was impossibly thin, almost a skeleton. Despite its hunched back, it was a tall figure, and it seemed to grow with every step. As it approached her slowly, almost disbelievingly, Nhiilaa realized that despite the long gray hair, which stuck to the skull in clumps in parts and hung greasily in others, that the creature was, at least, once a man. An Imperial, by the looks of it. Now it was a monster, a vampire, and it thirsted for her blood. She let out a scream at this realization.

The vampire lunged at that moment. In her terror, Nhiilaa threw up her sword and shield in an effort to protect her face. All thoughts of her previous fighting training drained from her body; she was relying on pure instinct in her state of sheer panic. The leech hit her shield and recoiled. Nhiilaa, with her back now against the wall, grasped for the sconce above her head. As he got up from his shocked state, she wrenched the flaming candle from its post and waved it in front of her. He cackled, slamming it easily from her hand and in horror, she watched it clatter to the floor. The vampire pinned her to the wall and hissed, "Release! Sweet Release! After all these years, these decades, I am finally free! And you! So... so fresh! I must feed!"

Nhiilaa could feel the tears roll from her eyes. Now was not the time to be crying, she attempted to remind herself. 'Stop being such a wimp, Ijorta! Now is the time to fight for your very life!' she thought angrily.

"I must feed!" the vampire said again, this time a shout, knocking Nhiilaa from her stupor. She hit the creature with the hilt of her sword in the temple and wrenched herself free from its grip. As she backed away from the wall, she lifted her sword, pointing it at the vampire. He hissed and lunged forward. With a cry of half fear, half despiration, she swung her blade, cutting deeply into its side. The vampire was weak with hunger, and its bloodlust was all-consuming. He lunged again, and this time ran himself through on her outstretched sword. His lips became bloodflecked as he sputtered, sinking to his knees. Nhiilaa watched in horror and it continued to reach for her in an attempt to knick her and spill her blood. With one hand, the vampire touched his own wound above where her blade was still thrust into his chest.

"I must feed…" he whispered, lifting his cupped hand, which he had filled with his own blood, to his lips. "I… must… feed," was all he would manage to say. He sputtered, blood now drizzled from his mouth freely as Nhiilaa wrenched out her sword and stabbed the creature again. He coughed, laughing as he made to capture a bit more of the crimson fluid flowing from his wounds. However, his laugh was cut short as Nhiilaa severed his head from his shoulders. The newly decapitated skull rolled across the floor to her feet, its sickly smile and demonic eyes staring up at her.

"Well that's just disgusting," she managed to say after a few minutes. Making a face, she picked up the head, and placed it with its corpse. She grabbed a torch from the wall and made her way back to the body. In the new light of the flame, she noticed that the vampire was carrying a small leather-bound book. Curiosity grabbed the best of her, and she picked it up and shoved it into her satchel. After lighting the edge of the creature's pants ablaze, she began to explore the chamber. She took what items of interest were there and left the chamber.

"That was a bloody waste of time. I didn't find anything!" she exclaimed. After roaming the fort for another hour, she left it, satisfied that she left no stone unturned. She returned to the inn with a broken spirit and went immediately up to her room. She shed her armor and hopped into bed exhausted. Every part of her hurt, and all for what? A few lousy trinkets and a moldy book. Oh well, she would have to worry about Agronak's reaction in the morning. Right now, well, she was just too damned tired to care.