Hello! Here's the second chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Shealyne felt her chest clench in a grip of iron fear as her eyes scanned the darkness, pupils reflecting in the dim light, cutting through the blackened mirk. She had seen nothing with her vision, and had slowly backed towards the dirt mound, warry.

She had heard a troll. She knew that blood curdling screech all too well, for she had heard them many times throughout the centuries. Trolls were something the vampire had always fled from. Swift, powerful and merciless they were. Unrelenting, fearless and savage. That was how she had described the trolls, and the imprint of her first encounter with them had scarred her mind with cries in the night.

Shealyne had been a girl during her first encounter-just eighteen years of age. And just beginning to develop the signs of vampirism. Though the cold steeled fangs of hunger did not spare her, no. Yes, it was a night the woman had remembered well, for that night was her first kill.

The Breton had remembered the memories, awakened by the cries of the beasts down below. The young girl was plagued with nightmares, and had a hunger she could never sate no matter what she seemed to consume. Exhausted, starving, plagued with visions and hallucinations she had wandered the Imperial City. Its cobble stone walls had seemed cold, lifeless and unfamiliar to her-for once in the distant past she had been a noble in the courts of Daggerfall. But that may as well have been another life, for the young girl had gone from a respected familiar background, to being a shadow among the mighty stone walls of the Imperial City. No one had cared for the young girl; lost, fearful and alone. Did not care that she did not know the land, or its people. Did not care that she was unfit to survive on her own. And did not care if she were to pass from the world.

Starving, and ill from lack of feeding, she had returned to Wawnet Inn-the same inn where her plague had begun. She had arrived by night, for she dared not travel in the sun-she seeming to have developed an allergy causing painful rashes when the sun would touch her flesh. A man had noticed her vulnerable state, and had approached the girl, beckoning her to him.

Shealyne had obeyed the man, naive and inexperienced nature allowing her to become easy quarry for one such predator. Outside of the inn he had ordered her to go, and she had submitted, thinking him kind and sincere. He had led her, like a lamb that was blind, deaf and dumb to its imminent slaughter towards the north, Wawnet Inn just in the distance, illuminated by night.

The Nord-for she had remembered that clearly-had then lunged at her, as if a wolf breaking out of sheep's clothing. She could not fight the Nord, for he was far too large and she too small, too frail, even though she had tried. Feeble were her attempts at self defence, though terror, rage and hunger had drove to an even greater action. In fear of her own life, she had become a creature less than man, and had tore the flesh from his throat. And she did not even realize it as she suckled the man's torn jugular, as if his blood was the sweetest of nectars.

Only after she had had her fill did her senses finally return, and in her horror she had seen what she had wrought. Tears streaming down her gaunt face, the girl had fled, terrified of herself and the creature she had seemed to become.

In panic, Shealyne had ran, desperately trying to outrun the lucid flashes of a gorging creature that ran rampant in her mind. Desperately trying to outrun the Imperial Guards that would eventually find the body. Desperately trying to outrun herself-which she had feared the most.

Shealyne had ran until she had reached the woodlands, gasping for breath. Calming down, and wiping the blood from her mouth-which had completely stained her tattered shirt and leather pants, clotted blood and dirt clinging to fur boots-she had realized something was wrong. She could not feel her heartbeat.

Cold fear had spread throughout her chest-though the realization was cut short as she had heard a cry, shrill, and almost mournful. She had turned towards the direction of the cries, and had seen a creature-hunched and furred, looking upon her. Shealyne had looked upon the small creature in curiosity, for she had never seen a creature such as it before.

The creature, however, had released a shrill wale, and had charged at the Breton girl. Upon realizing the hostility of the creature, Shealyne had turned and fled in terror, running as fast as she could through the trees and brush. She remembered how unnaturally fast the creature had moved, and how she could hear the pounding of its weight against the ground, as well as the deep breathing of the creature behind her as it got ever near her person.

It was then that she heard a second cry in the distance, and to her horror had seen another, larger creature attempting to flank her. Shealyne knew she could not outrun them, yet knew she could not stop. Desperately she had searched for an Imperial Patrol, yet knew she was too deep into the wood to be seen.

She had ran as fast as she could, but t'was not enough, for a powerful blow of nail and calloused skin had struck the small of her back. Shealyne had fallen, and tumbled down a sloped hill-for she had been running downhill at the time-and had landed within a natural pond. Within the water she had waded for sometime, face down and unconscious, ragged nails having cut open her flesh and shirt.

After several seconds of stillness, her body had twitched violently, the young girl confused and startled by the water as she flailed, head breaching the surface. She had coughed, gasping for breath, though found sharp pain when she would inhale, and felt the deep scrapes upon her back, though numbed by the cool water.

Wading in the water, Shealyne began to wonder why the creatures were not attacking her, and had noticed them upon the very edge of the muddy earth, barking and crying. They would not go into the water.

The woman had remembered feeling immense relief, though shortly realized that the beasts would not leave her be, for they were drawn to the scent of blood. It was then the girl had thought to cast a destruction spell, and summoned a weak ball of flame to be casted from her hand. She had missed, though the sight of the mere flare had startled the creatures, and they fled into the safety of the darkness.

Yes, that was a memory she had remembered well-and until now had merely pushed it to the darkest corners of her mind. Now, cutting through the darkness with her vampiric gaze, she had seen no sign of the troll that had ushered a chilling cry, though that did not mean it was gone.

Suddenly her gaze was drawn to faint wisp of light, gentle swirls dancing through the rock. The swirls moved, and grew brighter and stronger with its pulses until she realized that is was no wisp-but a heartbeat. The heartbeat was moving through the rock. The troll was moving through the tunnels. The troll was running to her position.

Shealyne's eyes had widened ever so briefly in terror, for she knew she was cornered. Unwilling to face a troll in its own domain, the Breton had turned on her heels and took a running shot towards the mound of dirt. Climbing the mound, she had jumped towards the opening to the sky in an attempt to escape, and had barely managed to grab hold of the earth above. With great strain and fear of the fragile earth collapsing around her, Shealyne had quickly pulled herself up, eyes being blinded by the harsh sun as she entered the open field.

Breathing deeply, Shealyne had calmed herself, though made a quick retreat to her home, not wanting to stay in the troll's territory and provoke an attack.

What she did not expect, however, was the soil behind her to rupture in a shrill scream as a large troll broke through to the surface.

"Damn it..." Shealyne muttered, turning around and focusing upon a massive fireball as the troll charged towards her, waling. Yet upon seeing the earth rupture as another troll emerged from the underground lair, her focus was shattered.

Seeing her vulnerability, Shealyne retreated into her home, rushing inside as she pushed passed the tapestries, moving towards her bed. Focusing once more upon her magica, flame had built up within her palm. Yes, she prefered this position much better. They could not flank her now, and the narrowness of her home would only allow one beast to enter at a time.

The sound of her door breaking seemed to shake the very foundation of the small cabin as a troll screamed. Shealyne flinched and backed towards the railing as the large beast shattered her vases and flipped her desk and chair. The silhouette of the troll could be seen just on the other side of the tapestries, the animal attacking her furniture wildly and sending objects flying.

The silk barrier dividing the Breton from the intruder was torn down and shredded by a powerful swing of the troll's arm, the beast rapping its chest as it reared upon its hind legs, towering over the woman. Shealyne had wasted no time in launching searing flame at the beast, the troll whimpering as the thick, suffocating scent of burning fur filled the shack. The troll clawed at its face, eyes seared by mage fire as it blindly struck at the woman, Shealyne barely dodging as her dresser was knocked onto the floor.

However, she was not fast enough to dodge the second attack, the blow having struck her abdomen with such force that the Breton was thrown back towards the railings, which had snapped under the combined force and weight. Shealyne had the wind knocked out of her, the woman falling to the ground below her home and landing roughly upon her back. Dazed from the sudden fall, she had barely noticed a small troll charging towards her, saliva flying from the creature's open maw, large canines eager to tear into flesh.

Realizing the danger, though unable to get up fast enough, Shealyne raised a seared hand and released a gout of flame. Though weak, it managed to keep the creature at bay.

Feeling herself unable to maintain the fire, Shealyne had swiftly looked around herself, grabbing a shard of wood that had once served as her railing. She was quite lucky she did not accidentally impale herself during the fall.

The magic sustaining the crimson flame and waned, and the torrent had died down to mere smoke and embers. The Breton cursed at her own inability to sustain the spell, for it allowed the troll to advance in its assault.

Desperate to get away, Shealyne had crawled backwards, and when the troll approached she had kicked the creature in its head, causing it to whine and whimper. The small beast shook itself, a dull pain resonating through its jaw as blood and saliva flew from its ever gaping maw.

Though brief, the distraction was all the Breton needed to escape, she running towards the safest place she knew-the river to the north.

Upon realizing its quarry was escaping, the trolls had given chase.

Shealyne ran as fast as she could, cold and pale hand clutching the makeshift weapon. She could hear the cries of the trolls in the distance, though knew they were gaining. They were fast. Like before, they were too fast.

She had felt the earth tremble under their sheer strength-or perhaps that was her own legs, which were sore and felt laden with weights. But she knew she could not stop. She could not allow her legs to give.

However, in running amidst the struggle to reach the safety that seemed so far away, she had heard the scream. And it was not from behind, nor from the side. It was from the front. It was then she had seen a large, almost black troll charge towards her.

She couldn't believe it. There were never just two; there were three. Three trolls. And they have just successfully ambushed her. She had seen it with wolves and deer gone astray from their herds. However, the trolls were the wolves, and she, the deer, running into the jaws of the alpha.

She was not sure what to do. Should she try to change her course and avoid the awaiting maw of the alpha, and risk getting run down to death? Or should she continue towards the beast, towards safety, and die with sanctuary just in sight?

Shealyne looked upon the wooden shard in her hand. She may as well use it, though she was unsure if she was as capable as she was with a blade during her youth-much less a wooden stake. Perhaps her skills may had dulled over the years of toying with alchemy. Even so, she would not know until she tried.

Steeling herself, and trying to push the doubt from her mind, the Breton had readied her only weapon as both she and the black troll ran on a collision course.

For the slightest moment, she had felt a twinge of terror creep into her chest, but the fear had quickly subsided as her mind began to awaken, and remember. Remember the years when darkness ruled her life, cold and unmerciful. She did not fear death then, and she certainly would not fear death now, even with the beast's rancid breath and open jowls ready to clamp upon her throat, the creature's powerful nails eager to disembowel.

"Sithis give me strength." Shealyne whispered, and as the beast lunged to strike, so did she.

A cry was heard, followed by the splatter of fresh blood spraying through the crisp morning air, painting the grass a darker shade of crimson.

...What is this?

The thought had ran through her head multiple times-or at least seemed to. The question had echoed within the back of her mind hundreds of times.

Where...am I?

She could see nothing. Why could she not see? She had tried, though the pictures before her seemed as if she were in a haze, and were almost abstract in vision and thought.

Am I...dead? Is this Oblivion?

She felt something. Something...cold? Cold...no, that does not seem right. But it was moving. Something...cold and moving?

If I am dead...where is it?

Cold...and moving. No, no, not cold. Something and...moving. Moving and something...cold? Cold...not cold...cold and...wet? Wet. Something wet. Something wet and...moving. Flowing.

Where is my soul?

Water. It was water.

Water?...Does this mean the Waters of Oblivion await me? Await my soul? Or...await me because my soul is lost?

Darkness, and then light.

Shealyne breathed a large, struggled breath as she broke the water's surface, vision laden with water and hair as she tried to find her bearings. Sloshing in the water that was dragging her downstream, she was startled, and rightfully confused.

"W...water?" She questioned, trying to keep herself afloat and above the current, though was finding the action difficult due to her tired body.

"I...I must have...but how?" She questioned, continueing to wade in the flowing river before approaching the northern edge, the woman crawling onto the rockbed.

Groaning in pain, her arms had given out, and for several minutes she lay there, the wound upon her stomach gently painting the grey rocks a red hue underneath her. The woman was exhausted, awaiting to hear the cries of the trolls, but heard nothing but the sound of the river and several songbirds singing amongst themselves.

Shaking herself, Shealyne rose to her feet, stiff from her wounded abdomen. Looking upon herself, she had found herself stained with mud and blood. She guessed she had slipped and fallen down the muddy river bank before ending up in the river, but for how long she had floated down, she could not say.

Waterlogged, the woman had slowly made her way to the direction where she knew an Imperial Highway ran. With any luck, she would be able to find a Legionnaire that would help her in this unfortunate event.

Once reaching the old road, her mind had then wandered, replaying the events in her head. However, the most odd thing was that her encounter mirrored with what happened to the first troll she saw. Odd, that.

The woman had continued down the road, ignoring the pain of her body and worrying about her home. She did not know what shape it was in, but what she did know was that she needed help. Shealyne had focused upon counting the cracks in the Highway, trying to take her mind off of the destruction of her home. She could deal with that later.

Unconsciously, Shealyne had begun to hum to herself, oblivious to the world around her as she once more receded into her mind to pass the time. In fact, the woman was so oblivious that she had barely noticed an Imperial Soldier-and only noticed the man due to the gleam of his armor from the sun's rays.

Shealyne had noticed the man, and attempted to call out, though could not find her voice. After several seconds, she had beckoned the soldier, hoping to gain his attention.

"Excuse me! Legionare!" She had called, waving to the man, and felt her chest swell with pride upon remembering such polite and civil greetings as the man turned to her, "I require assistance!"

The far taller man had approached her, stating his shock upon seeing the woman in such a state, "Gods!-are you alright, ma'am? That wound looks rather nasty."

Shealyne cocked her head toward the man, his accent strange, almost as if he had a lisp, "I am fine, but my home is not. You...you are a...Nord? How? Legionnaires are only Imperials." She questioned, finding it absurd that any other foreign race would join an Imperial force.

The taller man looked upon her, though she could not see much of his features due to the helmet, "Really, now? And where did you hear that? A history book maybe?" The man drawled, the slightest hint of a snide remark withheld in his tone, "Either way, you mentioned your home is not safe?"

Shealyne nodded, eager, "Yes. It was attacked by trolls-three of them. This morning, they attacked from underground, and took my home. I do not know what to do." She stated, beginning to wonder why she was even speaking with this Nord. They were all drunken, barbaric bastards, the lot of them. She was sure this one was no different. He would probably agree only to gain glory. Or tell her to stop being a milk drinker and get the job done herself.

"I see...well, I think we should get you patched up first, okay?" The Nord suggested, Shealyne looking upon his as if he were stupid.

"Pardon? My home is what needs attention to, not me." Shealyne stated, irritated and a bit shocked at his choice.

"Really? Look, the way I see it, your house and those trolls aren't going anywhere. I don't think it would hurt to patch yourself up a bit. I mean, you don't want an infection do you?" The man questioned, Shealyne crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't get infections. And the more we dilly dally the more those animals ruin my house." She hissed, frustrated. All those years of fixing up her little cabin...and it took only seconds for it to be ruined.

"Mmmhmmm." The man nodded, pausing to pull some bandages out of his satchel, "Well, anyway, here's some bandages. Go wrap up that wound there and I'll help with your troll problem. Deal?" The Nord suggested, holding out some cloth for the woman to take. She stared at the bandages for several seconds, debating before ripping them from his hand.

"Fine. Thick headed drunk...won't listen to reason..." She muttered under her breath, walking just off the road to clean her wound. Several times she glanced back, checking to make sure the man was not looking upon her, for she did not trust him nor his race.

Once her wound was cleaned and properly bandaged, she emerged onto the highway.

"Feel better now?" The man asked, Shealyne twitching a bit.

"Please...I just want my home back. It is this way." She muttered, leading the man down the Highway until they had broke off into wilderness, for the Highway did not reach her home.

The pair had walked in silence for several minutes, the Nord breaking the silence, "Damn...you live out pretty far."

The Breton felt herself inwardly groan. Why was this man a chatter box? Or perhaps she was just old...

"I like my privacy. And I like silence." She added after a second's thought.

"Oh, I see. I come from a small village in Skyrim. It's a quiet little place, and not much happens, so it's peaceful." The man spoke, Shealyne twitching. He obviously didn't get the hint.

"Oh? How nice..."

"Name's Hadvar, by the way. May I ask of yours?" He asked, Shealyne thinking of simply not responding, though she knew that would not help the situation.

"My name is Shealyne."

"Shealyne, huh? Weird name, but that's 'cause it ain't a Nord's name, so to me all the names of other races are strange. Weird, huh?" Hadvar spoke, smiling a bit towards the woman.

"Yeah. Weird. You certainly are amicable, are you not?" She questioned, the taller man chuckling softly.

"Hey, I try to. Someone has to be around here. So...these trolls were underground?" He questioned, the Breton nodding in confirmation.

"Yes. I fell in a quagmire and into their lair. When I got out they started hunting me, ambushed me. I am not entirely sure how I got out." She admitted, Hadvar briefly looking her over.

"Well, I don't envy you. You must have the grace of the Gods if you survived three trolls. Though I think that if you stay away from the lair, they would leave you be. Or should, anyway." Hadvar spoke, Shealyne pausing to look at him.

"Did you ever face Cyrodilic trolls?" She questioned, the man shifting a bit.

"No."

"Then that is your problem." She stated, continuing to lead the man to her home, the small cabin in the distance.

"Oh. Then what is the difference?" Hadvar asked, the pair becoming alert as they drew near, the soldier unsheathing his sword, which gleamed in the noon's rays.

"Everything." The female Breton whispered, she craning her neck to see better, "I do not see them."

"Stay here. I'll take a look." Hadvar whispered hoarsely, the woman shaking her head in disagreement.

"No, I will go. It is my home and you never faced trolls like these before." Shealyne replied, rising only to have the man point the flat edge of his sword towards her.

"Then you should not have come to me for aid. You are an Imperial citizen whilst I am a soldier. As such it is my duty to the Imperial Legion to protect those who cannot protect themselves." Hadvar countered, the woman standing, defiant.

"This is my home."

Hadvar sighed, submitting, "Fine. But just stay behind me, okay? If anything comes, you run."

"I ran last time. I am not running again." She stated, the Nord just shaking his head.

"I give you credit, you got guts for a Breton. And a woman. Now come on, and remember to stay behind me." Hadvar ordered, the woman at least complying to that as the man readied for a fight, the pair cautiously approaching the home.

Looking around, they could see no trolls, nor could they see any inside.

"Damn it. They must have gone underground." Shealyne cursed, seeing several vases were dragged outside and smashed, as well as a chair. Inside it looked ever worse. She didn't even want to look inside. It hurt her to see her home in such a state. After all those years of caring for her home and building it up...it was gone.

Hadvar remained alert, Shealyne looking around the field, spying the dandelion from earlier. However, the once cheery flower was crushed, stem broken and yellow petals smeared and ruined.

Sighing, Shealyne kneeled upon the grasses, a gentle hand attempting to fix the broken stem, though to no avail.

"You had no heart, yet you lived, existed. And now what are you? Are you dead? Do you yet live? Where is your soul? Did you ever really have one?"

I think the dandelion will be a reoccurring motif in this story, possibly as well as water. I hope I got Hadvar right. I'm not too good at him, but once they get on better terms I think I'll get a better feel for him. I also have no idea why he was in Cyrodiil.

Well, thank you for reading and feel free to give your opinions.