You made it through that boring first chapter eh? Sweet. Now things start to get killy! You get to see a little of our dear vampire's playful side. Although super fans of the Thieves Guild may not like that… Don't worry no character with a name in the game of Skyrim will die in the story, only randoms! Besides what can I say? The main character is just an evil son' bitch….
Chapter 2: Old Friends and Older Enemies
Aleister Zachaeus had always held a fondness of the sewers beneath Riften. The residents knew it as the ratway, but he knew it as something far more ancient. Dark things had stirred here once, and these warrens held ghastly secrets. It was no small wonder a settlement had been built atop the sinister stone halls. The vampire breathed the air in deeply, feeling traces of dark magic electrify him. As he moved silently through the tunnels, he thought of his last feast.
The blood had been good and pure. His victim had a certain fiery vitality to her that gave her blood exhilarating qualities. After quickly cleaning up he had cast a simple Illusion spell, gathered his things, and stole away covertly. Lady Mjoll would wake in the morning feeling sluggish but contented, and with absolutely no memory of last night. Initially he had cursed his lack of restraint after his outburst, but now he grinned savagely at the thought of all the children curled up in their beds, frightened for their lives. Besides, he hadn't slaughtered a band of witch hunters for centuries and he looked forward to the possibility.
In minutes he had made his way to the entrance to the Ragged Flagon. The place had never been luxurious by any means, but he could already tell from the door that it had fallen in recent years. The wood was molded and weak, the iron rusted, and the locking mechanism clearly broken. Shaking his head, he flicked a simple muffle spell onto the hinges and strode silently inside. It was nearly one in the morning, but of course the ill-bred denizens of the bar were still wide awake drinking away their woes. None noticed Aleister as he stalked through the shadows. Where he walked, light simply did not exist. He was nothing but a shadow. Nothing but darkness itself. It was a handy magical trick he had picked up from a masterful Illusionist named Massitha several centuries ago in the land of the dark elves. It required less concentration and effort than true invisibility, allowing him to simultaneously muffle his steps. It was essentially the perfect tool for one who sneaks around in the dark.
A cursory glance for his contact proved futile. The dank and poorly lit room held only drunks and the barkeep, Vekel. The latter was busy telling his customers how assuredly he could kill them if they started trouble, which was a likely prospect. Water dripped at a steady pace from several points on the ceiling, and the whole room smelled like sewer. Although that was hardly a surprise given the large pool of sewer water that dominated the chamber…
The vampire shook his head in disgust and moved on to the cistern. Despite being the true home for the infamous Thieves Guild of Riften, the place seemed more like a rundown bunkhouse. This was not what Aleister remembered, and he wondered idly what had changed in the short period of time he had last been here. He quickly eyed each of the small clusters of thieves milling and chatting about, the largest of which was playing some raucous and unruly game of cards. Again, no luck in locating his quarry. He sneered in frustration. Time to try another tactic: showmanship.
He approached the center of the large circular chamber. Simultaneously, he broke his Illusion spells and exploded into a massive chittering swarm of bats. Hundreds of the small black creatures screeched and flew in aimless circles, gnashing their fangs in a frightening display. The few clusters of guild members immediately ceased their chatter and drew arms in shock. They looked nervously at each other, unsure of how to proceed. They were given no time to react. All at once, the bats themselves burst into an insubstantial black smoke. The smoke drew in, blowing around in circles as if caught in a gale. Finally it came to rest, giving form to a human figure. Aleister smiled under his hood as he took in the stunned expressions around him. He loved to show the cattle how truly insignificant they were.
"Where is Gallus Desidenius?" Aleister boomed through the chamber. Mercer Frey was the first to shake off his astonishment, and answered assuredly.
"He's dead," he stated dryly. "Now identify yourself or be killed." Aleister merely chuckled.
"Mortals," he muttered softly. "I am afraid your late master owed me a great debt in life, Thief. As I assume you are now in charge, that debt falls to you," Aleister explained tersely. "I intend to collect."
"Once again, I ask you simply to identify yourself. You are in my home. You will show some respect, or I will kill you," Frey spoke through gritted teeth. He raised a hand as a signal to the two archers around the Cistern. They quickly drew back their bows. "And in response to whatever bullshit you're spouting, you can go to Oblivion. I'm not some lackey to be pushed around, understand?" As he spoke Mercer grew more and more worked up, raising his voice and stepping slowly towards Aleister, hand still raised. "Gallus may have been weak, but I'll not take this nonsense!" he continued. "Now tell me, who are you?!" The vampire could not help but grin. He couldn't remember what emotions such as frustration and anger had felt like, but he found it slightly amusing none the less.
"Very well," Aleister answered, drawing back his hood. "I am Aleister Zachaeus, Lord of the Night and leader of the Cyrodiilic Order of Vampires. I come to Skyrim in search of an artifact, and I have come here strictly for business," he hissed venomously. "After all, your guild has a rather infamous reputation for its ability to acquire objects of value," He finished. Frey visibly relaxed, though his hand remained raised, and the archer's bow strings remained taught.
A cocky smile found its way onto Mercer's face as he responded. "That's more like it. Now-" The vampire cut him off with a swift step that brought him within inches of the man. Mercer's expression wavered.
"Bastard cur," spoke Aleister softly.
Frey barked sharply and dropped his hand. Aleister didn't even flinch. The two arrows hurtled blindingly fast towards his cold heart, crossing the small room in less than half a second. The ancient vampire's reactions were far faster. With a flick of his hand the shaft of each arrow detonated in flashes of crackling red lightning, leaving them to clatter in splinters to the floor. He then plowed into the first assailant in a cloud of smoke and bats, crossing the distance between them faster than the human eye could follow. At the moment of collision, blood red lightning sparked through the smoke. When the conflagration dissipated, nothing was left of the thief but bones and ash. Even as Mercer Frey gazed slack jawed at the skull of his pupil, the vampire materialised behind the second archer. With a feral snarl, the beast sank his teeth into the elf's throat. She gasped as her life was drained from her in mere seconds, drawing Mercer's gaze to this next horror. He watched as the fluid was drained from her body. Her skin became pale and tightened over increasingly frail bones, looking as thin and worn as old parchment. Her eyes sank deep into their sockets, and her skin wrinkled as it stretched thin over her face. She looked as if she had been dead for months before her corpse even hit the ground.
In the next instant Aleister had returned to where he was only moments ago: inches from Mercer Frey's shocked visage. "As I said, I am here strictly for business. So allow me to enlighten you as to how I prefer to conduct my business," he snarled. "You do as I say, and hope that I don't kill you slowly," Aleister finished with a cruel smile. Frey was still in shock, his eyes torn between the monster before him, and the grisly remains of his former guild members. The others in the room that remained alive either stood in silent panic of averted their eyes completely. "Now, what can you tell me about a dwemer artifact called Keening?"
"Never heard of it," piped Frey. Aleister Zachaeus grunted.
"I can smell the lie on your putrid breath, mortal." The fingernails of his right hand grew into razor sharp talons, which he placed at the master thief's throat. "Do not tempt me with your life, wretch."
"Alright, alright! I heard of a shipment going to the College up in Winterhold a few weeks ago. It was addressed to some guy, Arniel I think. Had all sorts of Dwemer crap in it, maybe even what you're looking for. We tried to hijack the caravan but the thing was better guarded than the Imperial throne room," he explained. Mercer Frey paused, unsure if he should continue. "What's all the fuss about this thing anyway?"
Aleister mulled over the news. The College of Winterhold had no love for his kind, and their last interaction with The Order had been a deadly encounter. One of the few places in all of Tamriel where he had no influence and they knew his identity. Wonderful. Mercer Frey waited intently for his answer.
"Leave that to me," Zachaeus said dismissively. With a wave of his hand he hurled Mercer across the chamber, where he smashed into a pile of useless clutter with startling force. The other guild members jumped and readied themselves for a fight.
"No!" coughed Frey. "Leave him."
As if they had a choice, thought the vampire. With a charming wink in Saphire's direction, Zachaeus burst once more into smoke, this time with a flash of red flame, and disappeared into the night. It's good to be dead, he mused.