This was a silly little story that came into my head while I was doing the Mage's Guild quest line, in which we get to see how sufficiently badass Count Janus Hassildor is. Not to mention that he and Vicente are totally BFF.
It was late when the Count of Skingrad finally made his return to his castle. The Mage's Guild had sent it's greenhorn recruit to spy on his actions, and had nearly resulted at the recruit's death at the hand of Mercator Hosidus and his necromancer cronies. They had been ridiculously easy for the Count to take care of, but he could not forget the look of fear that had crossed the young recruit's face when the necromancer's had revealed themselves. He had seen that same look of fear over fifty years ago when --
No, he thought to himself. They were nothing alike. Deep in his own musings, he was startled by the sound of knocking at his door. Glancing at the clock tucked away in the corner of his study, he was surprised to see it was nearly three in the morning.
"Come in," he said, while discretely glancing himself over, to be sure none of the evidence of his night's activities remained. Not that his staff wasn't used to such things. The door opened, and his retainer, Hal-Liurz, stepped in. The Argonian bowed respectively before relaying her message.
"There is someone in the castle lobby, sir."
The Count raised an eyebrow at this. An unusual time for anyone to be visiting, for certain.
"Are they seeking an audience with me?" Hal-Liurz shook her head.
"No. I asked him if he required you to come meet him, and he just told me to let you know he was here. He seemed to at least anticipate you would know who he was, though he was cloaked from head to foot," Hal-Liurz shifted uncomfortably for a second. "Shall I have the guard escort him out?"
Count Hassildor frowned almost imperceptibly. "If he is still there, have the guard show him out. If not, it is no matter." Hal-Liurz nodded briskly, and turned to leave the study, shutting the door with a heavy click. He let out a heavy sigh, fingers reaching up to massage his temples, attempting to relieve the headache he was very sure he shouldn't have been able to feel. Turning around to return to his desk, he had to suppress the half snarl, half yell that threatened to jump out of his throat.
At his desk was a figure, leaning back precariously in the chair with his feet perched on the desk, idly flipping through Janus' copy of Chronicles of Nchuleft, his gift to the Count several years ago. A warm smile spread across the man's face, as he let the chair fall back to the floor with a thud, tossing the book carelessly onto the desk. Standing, he spread his arms, and the smile turned mocking.
"What, Hassildor? No hug for an old friend?"
It was not often that Vicente had the urge to socialize with another with the Dark Gift. As a whole, vampires were savage, animalistic and uncivilized. Most lived in musty, dank caves, where they waited for any unfortunate soul who happened upon them. Morrowind's vampires were not much better, organized into their clans, but just as depraved as the cave dwellers of Cyrodiil.
Yes, it was a rare day when Vicente voluntarily left the Sanctuary for something other than a contract. But he had a friend to visit, one he hadn't seen in several months. Though they maintained correspondences by mail, he occasionally stopped into Skingrad to enjoy the wines, cheeses, and the company of a certain vampire Count.
It was the rainy season in Cyrodiil, the thick, constant blanket of clouds giving him a few extra hours of travel time in the morning and evenings. Despite the cloud cover, he still covered himself with a thick, black cloak, the hood tugged down low over his face. Not the most inconspicuous of attire, but the rain afforded him a rather good alibi.
Vicente nodded to the guards, who opened the gates, and he progressed through the wet stonework roads of the city. As he moved down towards the gate leading to the Castle section of the city, he felt a tug on the sleeve of his cloak, and turned with a snarl, to meet the face of a rather mad looking Altmer.
"Quick, there's no time! You must come with me," the Mer tugged persistently at his cloak, and Vicente looked about expectantly for a guard to come and relieve him of the town crazy, but they were conspicuously absent.
Vicente was in no mood to be tolerant of some poor Mer who just happened to tug on the wrong person's cloak. He allowed the elf to drag him to the rear of Skingrad's chapel to Julianos, a rather extravagant and towering building of white marble. The elf, who's name he had yet to get, finally released him, and looked around wildly behind them.
"Good, good, it looks like no one has followed us. I am being followed, you know. It's a conspiracy, they're-"
The elf's inane chatter grated at the vampire's ear. But what he found more interesting was the faint scent of blood and death that lingered about the Altmer.
You've killed someone, mad little elf. The guard doesn't know yet, but they'll find out. They'll string you up, say 'poor fellow, he didn't mean to, he was mad', and you'll just be one more soul in the Void.
The elf must have asked him something during his musings, because all of a sudden he was treated to a face full of crazy Mer. And by Sithis, he was still talking.
Vicente had heard enough. In Morrowind they blamed such things on the ash storms that raged from the Red Mountain, on infidelity and faithlessness, on their ancestor's wrath towards the West, but Vicente had found people like this wherever he had traveled.
With a hiss, the glass dagger left it's sheath at his hip, and he carved the elf's throat from ear to ear. With a wet gurgle, the corpse fell to his feet, where he delicately avoided the blood pouring onto the ground. He felt the persistent twinge of hunger that plagued him constantly in his vampiric old age, but the mer's blood was rather unappealing.
After all, his madness may be contagious.
Count Hassildor sometimes wondered if Vicente did these things because he knew it made him uncomfortable. The Breton vampire, having violated the Count's personal space, had gone back to his bookshelf, where he was perusing some of the rarer volumes with interest. Janus moved over to his recently vacated desk, and sat down with a sigh, fingers moving again to his temple. He heard a low chuckle.
"Really, with that kind of attitude, one may feel unwelcome," Vicente teased.
Janus rolled his eyes at the other's antics. For a three hundred year old vampire assassin, the man could be such a child. Yet it would be wrong to say he was not happy to see his fellow vampire. For while the visit was unexpected, as were most things with Vicente, it was far from unwelcome. His eyes drifted over to the copy of Chronicles of Nchuleft that had been a gift from Vicente for his birthday eight years ago.
To this day, he still has no idea how the Breton had discovered his birth date. The book had been a delightful surprise, as he had been searching for a copy for months before. While rare in Morrowind, the book was nonexistent in Cyrodiil it had seemed. The book had arrived at his castle wrapped neatly in oiled leather to prevent water damage. Inside had been a note, consisting of a birthday greeting from "the whole family" and signed with a disturbing black hand.
When the Count finally came out of his musings, he saw his friend staring at him with something that wasn't quite concern. More of an active interest, like watching a bug squirm under a pin. Not surprising, since vampires aren't quite known for their excessive compassion.
"Mage's Guild sent their recruit here today to 'retrieve a book', as it were. Some new recruit, gullible as a child. Fell right into Mercator's trap," the Count shook his head.
" I noticed it was the charming Hal-Liurz who greeted me, and not Mercator. I assume that you retired him from his services?"
"Yes, rather permanently," Janus chuckled. That had been one of the benefits of the guild's meddling interference. He had been able to flush out the rest of Mercator's associates. And killing Mercator himself had been particularly satisfying.
Vicente shifted, and Janus noticed that he was carrying a satchel, wrapped in oilskin. He unbound the material to reveal a book, which he pushed across the table to the Count, who looked at it incredulously.
"Lost Fairytales of Cyrodiil, Vicente? That is a child's book…"
Vicente nodded with a sly smile. "Indeed you are correct. But there are several interesting stories in there. One in particular caught my attention. It was about a Count. A vampire Count."
The Count Skingrad shook his head at his friend's antics. Picking up the book, he glanced over the cover, before setting it aside.
They spend several hours talking, the Necromancer's incident moving to the back of his minds. Vicente told him of the most recent incidents at the Sanctuary, making them seem more like unruly children than the depraved and cold blooded killers they were. When Janus mentioned this, Vicente only laughed.
"Killers they may be, the one thing more frightening than an assassin is a bored assassin."
When the clock chimed at the seventh hour, Vicente tugged his cloak back on. With a promise to visit in a few days, after his official business had been completed, he tugged up his hood, and swept out of the room.
Returning to his desk, Janus Hassildor proceeded to read through several of the town council's proposals, when he caught sight of the book Vicente had left. Shaking his head, he looked back at the proposals, but he found his gaze returning to the book again and again.
With an undignified huff, he set down the proposals, and picked up the book, eyeing the cover warily. It appeared innocuous enough, and he cracked open the cover.
Long ago, in the time before history, there lived a Count, both great and terrible. He was an orc, but far more fearsome, he was a vampire. All across Cyrodiil his name inspired terror. His name was Count Drak-Ula.
A/N: There will be one or two more chapters to this short little story. Hey, they have a lot to catch up on. They can't tell each other everything in the mail! What if it was intercepted?
Dear Vee,
Killed some townspeople today who where pissing me off. Stuck them in my secret underground dungeon.
Was hoping you could do me a favor. Traven's being a jerkoff. Mind killing him for me?
Stupid vampire hunters are back in town. Mages Guild can't do anything right.
Sincerely,
Count Hassy.