This is my new fan-fiction based around Skyrim and the Dawnguard DLC. I will be adding/publishing chapters gradually, so check back to continue to story. Any part in just bold will be my comments (such as what you're reading now), and I hope you enjoy reading it.
Thank you, the Author.
Prologue
The air was cold, and the mood colder. The air seemed to whisper its sadness to the flickering lamps as it gently blew past. A town hidden away in Skyrim seemed to be bustling tonight: around the wooden platform beckoning away from the water, a crowd gathered. The temperature meant the people were well clothed, but it was only autumn and yet tonight was the first night like this: almost unbearably cold. The guards had swapped their usual protective armour for warmer clothes, and no one seemed to care – it was too cold to care.
The bustling was loud, and the animals had led to the quiet forest or the edges of the town, but now they had also fled the south end to, and through the mist and snow appeared a hooded figure, encased with leather and fur, with a strap across his chest, gloves on his hands, and a bag swaying at his side. The hood covered his eyes and hair, but the bottom of his face revealed that he was pale, like the ice he walked on. His steps echoed and reached the ears of the animals, but the crowd seemed not to notice. He was young too, only in his teen years, and it was strange that he was entering the town by himself on this kind of night. He approached the centre of the town, and as he did, a man stepped on to the platform.
The man raised his head, and glared around the mass of bodies. His eyes beckoned their attention, and they answered with uninterrupted devotion. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen." His voice was soft and gentle: it gave him an aura of trust. His eyes were warm, and his skin looked cold. He continued, "I'm sorry to have asked you to gather on such a night, but I had no choice. You are in danger. You, your families, your town, and everything else you hold dear - it is all in peril." The words spread through the crowd, now seemingly tranced at the man's voice, and all looking at his warm eyes. "You are in danger from yourselves. The human race is weak: it is prone to corruption and deceit and misfortune. I am sorry, but we must fix the problem. Your peace will come quickly, and may you rest in Sovngarde."
Men in the crowd drew their swords and removed their hoods to reveal their vampiric skin underneath: pale and cold. The guards were motionless, so too were the men, women and children in the crowd, all fixed on the eyes of that one man. The massacre began. As they hacked and slashed their way through the Nordic people, they feasted, and feasted quickly.
The young, hooded man had walked around the crowd already and had almost reached a light - a final structure before he could dash to the platform. His eyes remained covered, avoiding the magic of the man. His footsteps grew lighter, and quicker; his strides grew shorter, and his knees seemed to bend even more. The town's people continued to stand motionless as they were cruelly cut down by the vampires. Behind the man who had spoken, another had begun to raise a banner: a long, blood red flag with a black emblem sewn on – but the light was too low to make it out.
The speaker had seemed completely off-guard, and unaware of the approaching hooded man. He seemed unaware until the moment were the ash-wood stake had pierced his heart and remained there in his body, and his eyes and mouthed dropped, so too did the other vampires while the last of the town's folk perished, but now they had noticed. The hooded man dashed off the platform and towards a cliff. He was uninterrupted until the vampires manage to catch up to him and confronted the man, leading him to draw another stake and stab through the legions of vampires, turning many into just ash piles being blown by the now stronger winds.
The hooded man had reached the cliff, and looked at the unexpected shear face in front of him. He turned to the gathering of armed men behind him, and lit a torch he had held on his back. Behind the vampires was pitch black – a real night in Skyrim, and the torched illuminated only their face. The man threw the torch into the mob, and scurried up the cliff, where the full and bloated vampires could no longer follow.
He reached the top without trouble; the vampires remained below, and he looked back at the town. The lights had all blown out, and all he could see was the glistening of the vampire's yellow eyes from the slight lingering lunar light. But one pair seemed to be brighter, bloodier, and somehow even more evil. Cassius Artora stared at those eyes; he would never forget them.