Orthjolf looked across at the blood sucker and smiled, his green eyes catching its movement. In one swing of his blade, he sliced its head clean off, leaving nothing but a stumbling body. Vampires, despicable and terrible creatures, filled with corruption and deceit. They were merciless and had no morals. As the only vampire hunter in Skyrim, he planned on killing every last one of them, no matter what.
The monsters had tortured and killed his family, but he had managed to escape. Luckily, he made it out with no scratch, and that was a gift given by the gods, but they weren't feeling all too nice to the rest of his town. The vampires killed the townsfolk and the guards, the livestock and they even burnt down every last house. He couldn't totally remember his escape plan; in fact it was hard to remember that night. The last and most vivid thing he remembered was how a priest had taken him in and healed him.
It was hard times, especially when he lived with a man who was against violence.
Anger often took over the young Orthjolf and he started to take it out on animals; he hunted every day, ignoring the Jarl's law and the priest's warning. He began to realize that he hated vampires with a passion, and when he turned sixteen, he left his adopted father and gave way to killing.
It started with the stray ones on the road, and then he started raiding their caves and dens, slaughtering them all until her could quench his lust. Many had called him a lunatic, but more called him a hero. He was the death bringer, and was feared by thousands of vampires for his skill and ferociousness, no mercy was ever given. Many would vouch and say that he was a man of pure heart, but that was false, because purity meant mercy, and Orthjolf was unfamiliar with that.
He was a one man army, and an army of five thousand. His skill was unmatched, many believed that he was a werewolf, due to his anger, but he was human. Some would say he was Meridia incarnate, but she merely watched Orthjolf in Oblivion. Skyrim would call on him countless times, and when it came to vampires, he always proved worthy.
In this case, this is Orthjolf's last record.
The cave was dark, cold, and reeking of the smell of spilt blood, a smell all too familiar with Orthjolf. He pulled out his sword, holding it with two hands behind him. He approached farther and farther into the cave, his feet crunching on bones of the dead, his eyes still adjusting to the black cave. He felt the air around his neck move just an inch and his red hair tickled his spine. In less than a second, he flicked a torch alight and threw it right into the snarling face of a vampire, causing its scream to fill the cave, bouncing off the walls.
As the beast stumbled, he brought his sword to his throat and thrust it deep into its throat. As the monster shrivelled to the floor, it reduced to ash, and Orthjolf shook his head. He learned not to make too much of a description of vampires; to him there was no gender. Blowing out his torch, he placed it back on his hip and continued once again in the cave. His boots crunched on more bones and anger radiated in his chest. How many did they kill? Tens, hundreds, thousands? He had tried to recruit hunters, but to no avail, for the Nords have never even tried to help him.
Some have tried, and died in the process; mostly men in over their heads, hoping that they can prove themselves as warriors. It was a shame to see so much death of human life, but he was trying to help lower it, by doing this.
A sob escaped the tunnels and Orthjolf listened to a familiar voice talking to the crying creature. "What is wrong?" More crying, Orthjolf began to move faster, recognizing the Jarl's son's voice. "Are you hurt?" The sobbing started to end and Orthjolf began to sprint, his feet making no sound.
Finally the woman spoke up, "No, I am fine...now!" and Orthjolf threw his sword as he rounded the corner, but the deed had been done. Even as the vampire fell to the floor, blood gushed from the heir's neck. Grabbing some cloth, Orthjolf wrapped the boy's neck, but he knew it was too late, and the boy fell limp in his arm. He lay him down and picked up his sword, disappointment and anger clouding his vision.
He shut the boy's eyes and stood up, full height. His anger rippled in the room and he flew through the cave, somehow finding his way around. He heard the vampire coming to his right and using his right hand, cut diagonally down and heard the scream as two halves fell to the floor. He turned right, then left, cutting through another and another, blood dirtying his sword. He rampaged through the cave, his red hair flying through his face and his mouth snarling.
Finally, he entered a huge room, his eyes scanning the snow covered walls. There he heard clapping, and slowly, Orthjolf looked up, his sea green eyes landing on blood red ones. A scream filled the air and his head whipped to the side, and a woman with what looked like Nordic armour was tied to a stake. Her eyes were filled with pain and Orthjolf looked back at the vampire and hissed. "Let her go, and I may spare you," and the vampire laughed.
"Odd coming from a man who has never spared a vampire in his life," and the pale man touched the female on the cheek and sniffed her neck. She whimpered and he laughed again, and then caressed her cheek.
"Mostly because they never listen," Orthjolf called out, and the vampire stopped. He turned around and a wicked sneer was plastered to his face.
He took out a long blade and lifted his hands to the ceiling, "Let the game begin!" Orthjolf listened as steps rang into the air, sounding like thousands of bodies. The torches that aligned the walls suddenly blew out and the area grew darker than before. With complete confidence, Orthjolf readied his blade, eyes adjusting to the dark. He relied on his ears now.
He kept circling where he was, ready on every side. Red eyes struck out and he heard the whistling of a sword and ducked, feeling the blade lightly touch his scalp. Wincing, he jumped and spun in a complete circle, slicing into the vampire. Oddly, his blade was blocked and he stumbled back, surprised. These ones were different than before, stronger and smarter. He started with another tactic and when a vampire struck out, he dodged and then struck.
He parried the blind attacks, and soon, dust circled the hero. Orthjolf lit his torch and caught eye contact with the vampire, who was seething at the balcony above him. "You need to try harder than that to kill me," he yelled, his voice still strong and hard. The undead man clenched his fists and jumped down, landing softly on the ground.
"You killed my family," he hissed and Orthjolf smirked.
"That's the idea," and the leach struck. His sword arm was fast and hard, coming in Orthjolf's weak spots, but the vampire didn't realize that Orthjolf, unlike many other Nords, didn't try to strengthen his weak spots, but he protected them. So as he played the part of weakened, allowing weak hits to get his arm, he watched as the vampire's confidence grow.
As his tactics became sloppier, Orthjolf began to move closer and closer to a wall. The vampire raised his arm to strike and Orthjolf struck fast and quickly, slicing into the beast's belly. Surprised, the pale man looked at the hunter with surprise, and Orthjolf gave off a wicked yell and charged the vampire, sword still in his gut and impaled him to the wall. The man's last words were, "No mercy, you are worse than us," and he coughed and looked to the sky. "Shor have mercy."
Dust flew into Orthjolf's face and he coughed and spat out the dreaded dust. He ripped out his sword and walked to the woman. She didn't seem to register him and he waved his hand by her face, oddly enough, he didn't see it. He felt his hand, but he still couldn't see it. Then as he thought that the vampire did something to him, he saw his hand again.
The war maiden screamed and he put his hands up and she eyed him wearily. "Who are you?" she asked and he cut her loose from the spike she was tied to.
"An enemy to these monsters," the warrior replied and the war maiden smiled. He watched as she leaned on her tippy toes and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. He blushed and then placed his sword back into its huge sheath.
"Thank you," and he nodded, walking towards another door that he hoped was leading out. He put his hand on the handle and she called out, "Wait!" and he instantly took his hand off the handle. She jogged towards him and leaned down, grabbed a knife and ripped a rope located under the door that Orthjolf hadn't noticed. A loud bang rapped behind the door and when she allowed him to open it, a huge mace head was hanging where his head would have been.
He looked at the other side of the door and a huge indent was imprinted on it. He gave the maiden a grateful look and she beamed. "What's your name?" he asked her and she gave a shy smile.
"Matilda," her voice whispered and he repeated it and smiled, liking the way it sounded.
"Beautiful and strong," and at his compliment, she blushed.
They reached the Jarl's longhouse, and Orthjolf advised her to stay out here, but she refused. "No, I'm going in there. It is my home." And she stormed past Orthjolf who was gaping at her. As he entered the warm area, he placed his heavy gauntlets on his waist. Then he took off his helmet and kneeled by the Jarl's throne.
"Father!" he heard and saw Matilda embrace her father who was staring in disbelief at her. He slowly hugged the heavily armoured girl back and then pushed her away, taking a good look at her. Confusion filled Orthjolf's mind, he had said nothing about his daughter? Matilda's smile slowly began to dissolve and the hunter immediately stood up, anger pouring through his veins.
"You never spoke of your daughter's abduction." He spoke and the Jarl glared angrily at the bloodied man. Matilda, though, backed away from the man before her.
"You would rather have one child than both?" she whispered and the Jarl straightened his back. "You sent Orthjolf, a man who is by all means the best, but can't even send anyone for me. You could have even told him about me...but why?" Her lower lip quivered and the Jarl stood.
"Leave, Orthjolf, for you have failed me!" and he stormed into the back doors, with a shocked daughter staring after him. Angered, Orthjolf stormed out as well, heading to the inn. His hatred for the Jarl spread, for how could one do such despicable things with no consciousness. He blatantly admitted the favouritism, oblivious to Matilda.
"What would you like?" A barmaid asked and he asked for water, no need to celebrate for the failure of recovering the heir. He waited for her to come back, his eyes starting to drift shut, his bones tired and his cuts still slightly burning. He had taken a potion to cure any diseases that could have come, but that didn't stop him from feeling any pain.
His looked around his satchel and found a few bandages, he started covering the major injuries, and soon he was patched up, mostly. The woman came back with his water and he guzzled it down, and set it on the counter of the bar, three septims in the glass. The woman working the counter took it and smiled. He then set out twenty septims and asked for a room.
Cold wind blew in his face and he looked back to see Matilda, golden hair in her face, helmet at her side and eyes red from crying. She looked around the Inn and finally got in eye contact with Orthjolf. She ran at him and grabbed his arm, sobs racking her body. He pulled out a chair and she sat, sniffling.
"The bastard disowned me, and here I am," she spilled and Orthjolf grabbed her arm and asked her to repeat, anger growing back inside him again. "You heard correctly, because I made a scene he told me to leave the hold. I'm wanted by tomorrow morning."
Although Orthjolf felt terrible for her, he was needed somewhere else that day, and he was mighty tired, hungry and thirsty. "I am sorry, Matilda, but I have to leave tomorrow, but I am still a man, and I need sleep." He watched as her face fell and she looked at him again, her eyes sparkling and hopeful.
She said, "I could meet you there, I have enough gold to go by carriage and then we could..." and she trailed off, suddenly her optimism gone. Her eyes lowered to her knotted hands, a tear falling down her cheek. "I understand. You do not want me to be there."
Startled, Orthjolf grabbed her hands and she looked up at his kind and fierce face. "I will meet you at the Palace of Kings." As she left the bar, he could only think to himself, "What am I doing?"
He reached Windhelm tired and beaten, his horse was in even worse shape. Several bite wounds from wolves and he even had to get to cover when a dragon flew by. It had been two days since he had last seen Matilda, so he was eager to see how she faired. His boots crunched on the snow as he watched men and women run inside their homes for cover, the blizzard beating down on Windhelm was cruel in this season. Orthjolf rubbed his singed beard as he searched for any signs of the Jarl's daughter. Where could she have gone to? Had she stayed in the Palace of Kings, or had she gone to the Inn? Orthjolf stopped at the doors to the Inn and contemplated on going in or not. He might get tempted to stay in the warmth, but then again, she could be in there and he'd waste valuable time if he went to the Palace empty handed.
Making up his mind, he entered the warm building and spotted her right away. Her golden hair was long and in a thick braid, her cheeks flushed and a big smile on her face as she conversed with a bard. Despite himself, a smile escaped the hunter's lips and he approached the female. She turned and saw him approaching and flew off her chair and embraced him, causing Orthjolf to go rigid and stern. Nevertheless, she continued to hug him and finally lowered her hands, "I was beginning to think that you ran off on me," she smiled and he gave her a meek smile, colour lifting to his cheeks. No one had ever tried to embrace or even touch him, this was unusual, even for a woman.
"I have work to do in the morning, so I believe that I will be resting here for the night, I will pay for your room, as well," and Orthjolf started in walking to the counter, where a man was serving ale by the gallon.
A hand grasped his shoulder, "Nonsense, we can share a room," and Orthjolf raised an eyebrow and she stuttered, "T-to save on gold, I mean," and he continued to walk to the counter, ignoring her request.
"I have never had a problem with septims," and, rejected, Matilda moped back to her original seat, annoyed. Orthjolf on the other hand was flustered and partially irritated; could she not just accept his offerings? Never had he shared a room with someone, come brother to stranger, he has always been alone, and tends to keep it that way. Although many thought of him as some kind of ruthless killer who has no bounds, he drops the line at sharing a one person bed. He was tired and didn't need some warm-bodied female to be distracting him all night, unlike every other man in this bar. He dropped fifty septims on the table and downed a bottle of mead before heading off to bed, passing Matilda on the way, who eyed him with disappointment.
The large Nord shut the door to his small room and gave off a huge laugh. The bed was puny, and he settled down in it, about to fall asleep, when across the room he spotted another bed. So that was what she meant...
Birds chirped at the window and Orthjolf grudgingly rolled off of the bed, his body begged him to stay in the bed for a little while longer, but to no avail. He was sent a request from the Jarl of Windhelm, a supposed vampire issue was at hand, as usual; his guess, probably one or two vampires stirring up trouble, turning or killing innocence. Not like that was something that he would so carelessly brush off, he knew that even one vampire could kill thousands.
He grabbed his coin purse and exited the inn, running into Matilda on the way out. She looked tired and woozy, and he would soon find out, cranky. "Good morning," he greeted her politely and she grunted in response and started for the door. He followed her, which he later regretted.
"How was your night?" he asked her and she blew a strand of pale hair from her face before answering.
"Tiring, cold and very uneventful," she replied, her voice nasty and harsh. "What about you?" she asked him, but he could tell that she didn't care.
"Fine, but might I ask what the problem is?" and she whipped her head around.
"Well rejecting me to share a space with you dampened my spirits, plus the fact that you acted like I just asked to bed you, that's a starter." Orthjolf winced, remembering that he found out that she merely wished to share the room, not the bed. "Along with some tankards of ale, it's not the greatest mix," she hissed, her boots stomping loudly in the snow. A couple of tankards? She could really hold her alcohol, Orthjolf thought to himself.
They reached the massive wooden doors and Matilda whistled. "Properly named..." she concluded and Orthjolf couldn't help but agree with her, it was impressive. A guard opened the door and the duo entered, warmth blazing their chilled faces. If there was one thing about Windhelm, it was cold.
He rubbed his hands together, chilled to the bone, when a loud voice called out, "Who enters?" The two bowed, and Orthjolf spoke up, his voice bouncing from each wall.
"You summoned a vampire hunter," and when he looked back up, the Jarl was leaning back in his chair, his face grim. His hair was black and pulled into a low ponytail. His clothing were a bit larger than they should have been, but maybe he had lost weight due to the weather and all, nothing new there. His skin was pale and he looked rather sick. Oddly enough, he had a bandage on his eyes, as if blind. Odd first impression, in Orthjolf's eyes.
"Ah, and yet two enter my throne room," he replies solemnly, and he tilted his head to the side to where Matilda was, who kneeled in response.
"I am Orthjolf's partner, and that is all there is to it," she replied, her voice loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to seem respectful.
The Jarl nodded at her answer, "Very well, onto business I presume. As you may have noticed, there have been disappearances here in Windhelm. The same damn story every time; someone goes for a walk, an adventure, out to buy at the market, even just going out of their homes to harvest crops, and pfft," he flicked his fingers and leaned closer to the two bodies in front of him, "they are gone. No blood, no sound, not even an extra pair of footprints, as my steward tells me."
"How do you know it's vampires and not some man gone off the deep end?" Orthjolf asked, only now beginning to wonder if his trip here was in vain.
"Because," he replied impatiently, "They left me this note and even entered my court," his voice rose higher. He clutched the arm rests of his throne and stood.
"Are you sure this is a vampire we are dealing with, I am not unfamiliar with people condemning honest men and women." Orthjolf questioned and Matilda gave him a cautious look.
"Do you dare question me? Defy me?!" he roared and Orthjolf lifted his chin high.
"I do not, but I will not kill any innocence on some impudent accusation, I need proof, as hard as it is for you to understand that, I do not kill unless I have the truth to back me up. No matter who you are, I will not kill on the ravings of a mad man, Jarl or not." And with that Orthjolf rose and waited for the Jarl to catch his breath and let what he had just say sink in.
The Jarl paced the room, his servants watching him carefully, his steward nervously shifting in his chair. "Although it sounds odd, my steward tells me that she had glowing red eyes and pale skin, many seemed to overlook this, but he saw right through her charade. I guess due to my conditions, I would have never guessed that she was undead. She told me that she knew about the killings, but no one seemed to believe her and it grew heated. She told us that she would save us, but that she needed to know the information on where we were meeting this Harkon. Obviously, I didn't believe her, so I asked her to leave. She told us it was a mistake and now here we are, more and more disappearances have been taken place."
"Did she tell you anything else?" Matilda asked and he shook his head.
The Jarl rubbed his beard and sighed, "I fear that we let the killer fall right out of our hands," he replied and collapsed in his chair. Orthjolf ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating his information.
"What did the note say?" Orthjolf said to him. The Jarl grabbed a ruffled sheet of paper and handed it to his steward who shook as he read out. Was he scared of the blind Jarl?
"To the Jarl of Windhelm, you have taken a notice in the disappearances of your men and women, I presume. For your amusement, we have taken it upon ourselves to treat them as loyal guests, telling them of your soon arrival of salvation. Will you disappoint or achieve? If you wish to strike a deal, meet me at the gates of Solitude in a week. Yours truly, Lord Harkon."
"How long ago was this sent?" he asked, and the Jarl tilted his head to the steward for confirmation.
"About four days ago," he replied shakily and Orthjolf groaned. Could they make that journey to Solitude?
"This Lord Harkon mentions a 'we,' so I take it that there are a number of vampires. How long ago did the female vampire arrive?" Matilda asked and Orthjolf looked at her and smirked; she was good.
The Jarl once again looked to his steward and he managed to whisper, "Two days ago..." and he bit his lip and nudged away from the Jarl. Orthjolf ignored this, no need to get into petty problems when there were bigger ones at hand.
"Then we will go to Solitude," Orthjolf confirmed and the blind Jarl nodded and smiled. "Thank you for telling us this."
"No, thank you," he smiled and leaned back into the throne. Orthjolf put his hand behind Matilda's back and led her out, both of them looking back to the Jarl, who was smiling still.