Note: My first stab at writing a skyrim fanfiction. Will feature both vanilla and interesting npcs. Vampire abilities and weaknesses have always varied quite a bit from game to game, in this case I try to draw from the lore as much as possible, with my own embellishments for story purposes based on alternative sources. Feedback is more than welcome, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, all credit to Bethesda Softworks or to the team of the excellent mod Interesting NPCs.

Atoning for Blood: A Skyrim Story.

Chapter 1: Awakening

Nothing was quite permanent. Images and locations flew by, strangely yet naturally cohabitating the incongruous world. She left her childhood bedchamber, with the creaking wooden floorboards and the muffled smattering of rain on the glass, only to emerge into the grand temple to Mara in Daggerfall she had known so long ago. The golden statue of the goddess wept scarlet rivers of blood, and familiar bodies lay about the empty pews, as if stray leaves forgotten by an uncaring breeze. Feeling suddenly nauseated, she turned, suddenly finding herself cold in an alley of grey stone, great buildings looming, casting sinister shadows. Two red mesmerising eyes in the darkness, and then a searing pain in her neck. A light in the darkness, a glowing figure. No, two. A dozen. A hundred. Screaming in torment and terror, a building, dissonant cacophony, crying out for one thing. Blood.

Aelfwynn awoke.

Taking a moment to push the lingering haze of sleep from the forefront of her mind, Aelfwynn stumbled from the coffin. The other vampires who nested within the cave glanced at her with sneering curiosity. The dead rarely move with the inelegance of the living. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Suddenly the memories came into sharp focus, every feeding, every murder. It felt as if the last several months were some terrible nightmare from which she had finally emerged, yet she was unaware of its horror while she dreamt it, as if it were one eternal night of drunken ecstasy broken by the clarity of dawn. Aelfwynn quickly stumbled to an adjoining passageway, quickly glancing to make sure she was truly alone, before moving deeper into the cave.

The cavern opened into a large chamber, enclosing an underground lake. Great stalagmites erupted from the water at irregular intervals, echoing the stalactites above them. Together they looked like the broken fangs of some petrified monster. Moss descended from the moist ceiling, ferrying small droplets of water ever downwards, creating tiny ripples all over the surface. The cave rang like a thousand tiny bells, melancholy in marking the passage of meaningless time. Aelfwynn knelt by the water's edge, suddenly feeling the urge to slap handful after handful of cold water on her face. As the waters calmed she cast her eyes down to the lake, feeling empty as she peered at the absence of any reflection.

Frieda didn't know what to make of Aelfwynn's odd behaviour this evening. Up until now the short stick of a Breton had been the closest thing to a friend she had in the coven. Well, the closest thing a vampire can have if they fancy a decent life expectancy in undeath. Most of the other vampires around killed for hunger, or just out of bloody sport. It was a short, messy business, quickly over and quickly forgotten. Wynn on the other hand, was an artist. She masterfully perverted her former occupation as a priestess, earning the trust of a family with honeyed words and hypnotic gaze, before proceeding to slaughter them in ways that made the blood run hot, even through a vampire's dead veins. When Wynn left a stain, not even the sea of ghosts could wash out the blood. The guards would fumble around hopelessly whilst neighbours would openly cry out, weeping in delicious terror. The scent of fear would echo for weeks. Wynn could cause a settlement to tear itself apart in fear in a matter of days, or, rather nights. Frieda shook her head as she let out a chuckle. Her sire was a twisted fiend indeed.

Frieda caught a glance of the unique mane of white hair as Aelfwynn strolled purposefully towards the mouth opening to the world above. She noticed Wynn had discarded the typical black, sensual armour the coven wore, instead donning her old priestly brown robes, her amulet of Mara hastily bound about her pale neck.

"Going out to play?"

Wynn seemed to freeze as Frieda finished the question. "Something like that. I'll be gone a few nights" Wynn said without turning to face her. She lifted her knapsack over one shoulder, as if to emphasise the point. Wynn clambered through the entrance "Bring me back something warm!" Frieda laughed, her lips instinctually curing up into a snarl of a grin, her tongue brushing her lips in anticipation of blood.

Dusk had a particular solemn beauty. The horizon was lined with shades of fading orange and pink light, reluctantly dissipating as they were swallowed inexorably by the purple approach of night. The moons, still faint in the dimming sky, looked on with unfathomable intent. Aelfwynn lifted the age-stained map from her knapsack, running her finger along its weathered surface until she reached Broken Fang Cave. She wanted to put as much distance between her and the coven as possible before dawn. Morthal was a bad idea. The stories go that the jarl has some form of clairvoyance, not to mention the fact that a relatively ancient vampire had recently lain claim to the territory. Whiterun seemed her best bet, just to lay low and gather what could pass for her thoughts as the realisations of just how far she had fallen continued to reach new depths. Aelfwynn took a deep breath, and slowly released. The dusk air had a certain scent to it, the heather, wild flowers, the unmistakeable aroma of… blood. Sharp in the air, unmistakeable. Instinctually, Aelfwynn's head jerked towards the source, a dull ache throbbing in the back of her throat. She spotted the silhouettes of a pack of fur clad soldiers, a bright streak of blue cutting across their ragged tunics leaping out from behind a nest of boulders by the side of the cobbled road, ambushing what appeared to be an Imperial patrol. The ring of steel on steel and cries of terrible agony ripped through the calm air. Aelfwynn's fangs involuntarily buried themselves into her lower lip as a growl clawed its way up her throat. The beast was awake.