Snorri saw to it that the watch by the main gate knew about what had happened before heading back to the Winking Skeever. Paying around forty Septims, he got both himself and Durak some of the best ale in stock.

He listened, asking about what Durak was doing in town. He'd said he was recruiting for vampire hunters—some group called the Dawnguard had recently established itself in the Rift. They were led by somebody named Isran—a Redguard, if Snorri had to guess.

Then there was some disturbing news: the Hall of the Vigilant had been burned to the ground and most members present were slain by vampires.

Vigilants of Stendarr were a militant order formed after the Oblivion Crisis to combat any threats to the races of Tamriel—specifically, the Daedra. The Dragonborn had been on uneasy terms with the Vigilants, himself having been affiliated with Nocturnal, Meridia, and Azura, and yet still holding respect for the Divines.

Zealous as any worshipper of the Divines can be and more tenacious than trolls in combat, the Vigilants would not have gone down without a fight. Still, the news that vampires had won that fight…

Something was definitely wrong here; vampires typically remained huddled in caves or crypts, independent from other groups. They went out in small numbers to find thralls or cattle to live off of—never in large numbers, let alone numbers large enough to overpower the Vigilants.

Vampire clans were prone to infighting as well, so this organized attack on the hall and brazen attacks in the street—and, if Durak was right, sometimes in broad daylight—struck Snorri as being unusual.

"So, any clues as to what's stirring them all up?" Snorri asked.

"Not even a theory…but, we may have a lead," Durak said after taking a sip from his flagon.

"How so?"

"One of Isran's old comrades from the Vigilants passed me by while I was in Morthal a few days ago," Durak replied. "He said he managed to escape the massacre at the Hall, and that vampires were behind it. When I mentioned the Dawnguard, he seemed to know that Isran was in charge…and where to go."

Snorri pinched the bridge of his nose in deep thought as the buzz from the ale started to set into his mind. He sighed as he tried to piece together the sudden organization and actions of the vampires.

"Do you think he's onto something? Have the Vigilants stumbled upon something that these vampires were after?" Snorri asked.

"Possibly, but we don't even know where to look," Durak replied before firmly setting his flagon down and standing. "I'll need some rest, and then I have to get back to Isran—need to see if there's any news."

"I'm coming with, Durak…"

At his somewhat irritated stare, Snorri chuckled. "I've had too much time on my hands lately—you've already seen what I can do. An outsider may be just what the Dawnguard needs in these times."

"I guess I owe you for your help. Fine…you win," Durak said in faux-irritation. Snorri could make out amusement in the Orc's voice.

Chronicling the Dragonborn's adventures would have to wait for now…


Crickets chirped and water fell as Snorri and Durak arrived in the canyon where the fort was. The canyon was called Dayspring Canyon, and the fort was quite literally called Fort Dawnguard.

So Fort Dawnguard houses the group called the Dawnguard—what clever naming. So true to the motif of daylight—and as vapid a motif as they come…

There was little shade, save for the shadows cast by the fort itself—the canyon itself was wide open, making practically every approach visible to anyone guarding the fort. The only conceivable way anybody was going to sneak in was under cover of fog—darkness alone was not a haven.

I hate open spaces—so exposed…

He kept the thought from becoming word, though. Durak led the way up toward the fort, with Snorri in tow—eyes filled with suspicion could be felt on him. The glares were like daggers—but those guarding the fort did not draw their weapons, having seen Durak leading Snorri.

"One would find more welcome from the Ashlanders…" Snorri muttered.

"Everyone's been like that—Isran's orders…" Durak explained. "I'm sure you know that sunlight only really weakens vampire—it doesn't burn them to death. So, newcomers always get this treatment."

"Yeah, but I've never seen a vampire suicidal enough to fight in the daytime."

"Neither have most of us—we couldn't predict that they would try to attack in the day," Durak said. "And yet, they have; everyone's on edge because of it…"

Snorri gave a grunt of understanding and continued following Durak to the gate of the fort, where they were met by a Breton.

"Another recruit, Durak?" he asked.

"More like an associate, um…" Snorri trailed, his tone inquiring for a name.

"Celann," the Breton responded. "Former member of the Vigilants of Stendarr—we've been getting quite a few new recruits lately. Well, if you're here to join us—or just to offer help—head on inside and talk to Isran."

Durak parted the huge double-doors in front of them, giving passage into a large atrium. A farmboy was right next to the door, and jumped when the door opened. In the center was a man in mage robes and a Redguard in heavy Dawnguard armor. Snorri instantly made the connection: Isran.

Isran was an imposing figure with dark skin, shaved head, and a full beard nearly reaching his chest that was as dark as soot; he had cold, calculating grey eyes. More stoic than even the hardiest of Nords or even Orcs, his face betrayed no emotion, and yet seemed to radiate perpetual impatience and frustration.

Snorri overheard the conversation between Isran and the Vigilant, apparently named Tolan. He was a Nord, balding with sandy-looking mutton chops—nowhere near as imposing as Isran. And he was talking about the attack on the Hall of the Vigilant—almost all there had died.

Keeper Carcette was missing and very likely dead as well and a certain Vigilant Adalvald was also missing. There was also something about a crypt but Snorri couldn't make it out before Isran took notice of him.

"Who is this, Durak?" he asked.

"A hell of a…" Durak started.

"I will talk for myself, Durak," Snorri interrupted. "I'm a bard—the name is Snorri. I'm here to offer help."

"Help?" Isran asked. Without waiting for reply, he continued. "I'm afraid a lute is not going to help against vampire, boy. Unless you'd like to sing them all into the ground…"

Snorri felt his hands clench—this man was like a Thalmor justiciar. Quick to dismiss him, to scold—Snorri was tempted to snap at him in spite of his normally cool temper.

Condescending jackass…

"He's quite a fighter, sir," Durak defended him. "Found him while looking in Solitude—he killed a thrall and then a vampire before the body could even hit the floor…"

"That…changes things," Isran said. "You know, Durak is not that easy to impress—if he speaks highly of you, you must really know your stuff. As it happens, we have a little problem…"

Clearing his throat, Isran spoke to Tolan, "Go on and tell them what you told me—about the crypt…"

"Yes, Dimhollow Crypt…" Tolan started. "The vampires had talked about it—not too far from where the Hall was. The last time we heard of Vigilant Adalvald, he went off there."

"And let me guess: you believe the vampires that destroyed the Hall found something important, and you want us to find out what it is?" Snorri asked in a deadpan manner, not waiting for an answer. "A crypt filled end-to-end with vampires, draugr, all manner of undead, and traps that would make even the most skilled thief in the Thieves' Guild break down in terror…all by our lonesome…should be fun."

He added a very flippant question: "Anything else?"

"We're wasting time here!" Tolan exclaimed. "I'm going too."

"No," Snorri said plainly. "I work best on my own—last thing I need is an overzealous Vigilant charging into a fray and getting himself killed."

"Damn bard! My brothers and sisters in arms are dead—I plan to avenge them!"

"By charging in and getting yourself killed?" Snorri asked. "Leave this to me and Durak and focus on whatever Isran tells you to do, you stubborn ox..."

Tolan was on the verge of snapping at the insolent bard, but something about him gave his words pause. At a loss for words, Tolan snorted in begrudging agreement…