Its… ALLLLIIIIIIVEEEEEEEE! Yes, this fanfiction is not dead. It's undead! (See what I did there?)I know I have been gone for so long you had probably all given up hope, but I am back with a very loooong and awesome chapter. I have lots of excuses for my absence, but instead of writing those out I'll just write the next chapter! In case any old readers care, I edited the hunt from last chapter by adding a little dramatic lighting description. Maybe check it out. Also fixed some minor flowing and grammar issues from earlier chapters. That would be tough to spot but it should be good to know that I care lots about my work!

Ok so, before everyone launches at me all like "Wtf is he a werewolf too?" NO! The concept of the beast form came to me when I was thinking about how a vampire's appearance changes as he hungers. In Skyrim you eventually look so inhuman that everybody just freakin attacks you. So what would happen if a vampire fully gave into that change? Voila you have beast form. Ok now that we have that out of the way, why a wolf? Wolves and bats have always been the animalistic representative of vampires. Dracula had the ability to turn into both. Seeing as the Vampire Lord form is more of a bat thing, I thought this should be a wolf. If you think this is too far deviating from Elder Scrolls… just remember how awesome it was when they killed those Giants :D Well now we visit Isran again because this intro is getting long…


Chapter 7:Of Monsters and Men

Even when Isran was a part of the Vigilants of Stendarr, Keeper Carcette had been an insufferable bitch. Time had done little to change this. The fact that Isran and Sorine went to the Vigilants at all spoke volumes about the seriousness of their case. Not only did she almost wholly disregard the threat that vampires posed, she consistently mocked him openly about his concern. One day she would fall into the pit she was digging out around her, and it would not be a pleasant experience. Until that happened Isran would use her resources to the best end possible.

While Isran and Sorine were far more effective than any Vigilant alive, not to mention more driven, they simply lacked the vastness of the organization. The Vigilants of Stendarr had hundreds of agents stationed across Skyrim. With manpower like that, locating people was a much easier task for them. Isran hoped to use them to that end, and have them lend support when the actual fighting came.

The Vigilants stronghold in Skyrim was hardly an impressive building. Basically it was an oversized lodge located south of Dawnstar. The location wasn't key, and the position was hardly defensible. Overall it was a less than impressive base for such a vast operation.

Isran and Sorine approached The Hall in determined silence. Both were aware that it would take a lot of well reasoned explaining to get Carcette to commit to their plan. They drew up on the building and were blocked by two guards.

"Oh... Isran," said one of the men. He didn't sound very happy to see him. "What is it now you crazy old man?" the guard asked. Isran growled threateningly.

"Just get out of my way, pawns," he told them as he brushed them aside and made for the door. As it closed behind him he heard one of them mutter something about a lunatic. He and Sorine were immediately escorted to Keeper Carcette, who eyed them with unmasked contempt.

"Last I remember you were no longer a part of this organization. You walked away on account of our weakness I believe," she accused Isran. "Ringing a bell?"

"It does," replied the redguard. "But I come to you with a mutual interest, and the chance to bring Stendarr's mercy to a king among the horde of abominations in Tamriel."

"Go on," Carcette told him.

"I have tracked a vampire lord who I believe came into Skyrim from Cyrodiil. He is responsible for at least four deaths within the first day of his arrival, and more bodies are sure to pile up," Isran predicted.

"Let me guess. You would have me grant you an entire legion to answer to your beck and call? Are you sure they wouldn't be too soft?" She asked mockingly. Isran didn't seem to get the sarcastic humor.

"They would. That's why I'm merely asking you to have everyone on watch, and notify me when something comes up," the chiseled old veteran requested.

"If you think coming here and insulting my men is going to get you what you want, you're wrong," flared the Keeper.

"It wasn't an insult. More like… constructive criticism," he defended.

"Could've fooled me. Now, thanks for the heads up but I think the Vigil can handle this issue on its own."

"Carcette please listen to me," pleaded the vampire hunter. "We are not talking about just any vampire. This is a powerful creature, not to mention sadistic. One screw up, one moment of indecision, and you are dead. Most likely so is your family. You have to let me do this my way," he urged.

"We are not new to hunting abominations, despite your opinion," Carcette declared.

"Spare me," interjected Sorine. "This is not some mindless gang of daedra fanatics!" Isran held up a hand for silence, and she reluctantly held her tongue.

"Leave," Keeper Carcette commanded coldly. Several guards stepped in to escort them out. Isran began his exit but Sorine lagged for a moment. One of the men was eyeing her closely. When she noticed, he licked his lips provocatively and blew her a mocking kiss. Jurard turned as if she were going to leave, then quickly spun on her heel and rocketed an impressive right hand into the lusting Vigilant's jaw, knocking him out cold. Then with an icy flip of her hair, she followed her mentor out the door. None of the Vigilants blocked her path.

Their horses were roped up to a tree just out of sight from the hall. They made their way there in silence, as was Isran's custom. The rough old hunter was a man of action not words, but when he did speak it was important. Sorine had found that when he did speak, it was wise to listen. He did so as they mounted their steeds.

"You should mind your emotions, Sorine," he asserted.

"Give me a break Isran. That scum deserved what he got."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But be that as it may, it was not your place." Sorine quickly soured at his response.

"Why, because I'm a women?" she asked defiantly. Her voice was raised almost to a shout.

"Oh please," rumbled Isran. "No! Because you are supposed to be a professional. And that kind of reaction is exactly what I'm always telling you about! You let your emotions get in the way, your dead. We react based on our chances of survival and success, and nothing else," her mentor cautioned. "Your fire may be admired among some rabble of idiots, but it will do little when a bloodsucker's draining your corpse," he finished solemnly. Sorine gazed humbly at the ground from atop her mount. Isran did not wait for her as he spurred his horse down the hill and away from the Hall.

The pair of hunters did not speak for a long while after they'd left the hall. They rode hard due West without Isran telling where they were headed, finally dismounting upon reaching Morthal over six hours later. The two of them walked their steeds through the silent streets of the settlement. The air was unwholesome in some way. Tainted by darkness and death. The horses whinnied and shied away from going further into town. Isran didn't like the place any better, but the sun was already gone from the horizon, and a night spent in an oppressive inn sounded far better than camping on the haunted marshes of Hjaalmarch.

Isran paid the innkeeper, Jonna, for a single room, and ordered Sorine to bless and salt the place while he checked their gear and provisions. As she finished her tasks Isran called her to sit with him in the common area. They ordered two ales sat silently for a few minutes. Only three others occupied the room, including the innkeeper. A large Nord warrior who seemed to be finishing a late dinner shouted at the Inn's bard.

"Dammit Lurbuk, can I pay you to shut up?" he cajoled. The Orismer bard merely grunted and wandered off to his room, assuring himself that everyone would come around eventually. Across the room Jonna chuckled.

"I try to tell him, I really do. Goodnight Gorm," she said to the warrior. Next she approached Isran and Sorine saying, "If there's anything you two need, just knock on my door. I'll be happy to help." With that, she retreated to her own quarters. Only a few minutes later the Nord she'd called Gorm finished his meal and left quietly. Sorine took the opportunity to finally break the silence.

"About earlier today…" she began, but Isran just waved a dismissive hand and shook his head.

"I know I'm hard on you, but it's for your own good. You know that. No need to apologize, or to talk about it at all, really," he explained. Sorine bit her lip and nodded in agreement. "What we do need to discuss is our next move," Isran continued.

"I assume you have one, considering you riding us to the bone all day," Sorine replied.

"Indeed I do, and you can expect more of that tomorrow. You remember when that traveller told us of vampires in Pinemoon Cave, just outside Dragon's Bridge?" Isran asked.

"Yes, but that was months ago. You think they would even still be there?"

"Aye," he responded "Bloodsuckers aren't known to relocate unless they're forced to, and I ain't heard of any other hunters up in those parts. I'd like to get there while we've still got some light, which means we're getting up early," the grizzled old redguard pronounced. Sorine sighed lightly. "Get some rest, I'll take first watch." Jurard put up no argument there, and was quickly fast asleep.


By midday of the next morning, the hunter and huntress had arrived in Dragon Bridge. It was nothing but a small settlement built around the key location of the Dragon Bridge itself. Normally the town saw little but wanderers and pilgrims coming to cross the ancient bridge, but in the tumultuous days of the civil war things were never so regular. Now both factions were constantly scouting, guarding, and assaulting the bridge. In Skyrim, control of the bridge meant easy military access to and from Solitude. As it stood both sides were considering attempts to destroy the bridge in the typical stubborn Nord fashion of denying the enemy what you can't have. Isran and Sorine cared little for any of the military and political goings on. Their mission was for the destruction of far more sinister beings.

"I have a good friend in these parts," Isran told Jurard. "His name's Azzada Lylvieve. Known him since we were young boys. He's a simple man these days, but damn good in a scrap. We'll rest up and eat with him, and head out while we still have a few hours of daylight." Sorine acknowledged him with a nod as they dismounted and made for the Lylvieve house.

Azzada greeted his long unseen brother warmly, and welcomed Isran and his companion inside. The house was simple, the beds and table sharing its one room on the ground floor. Other than that there was only a basement for storing food and goods. All the same the meal was good and the food was fresh off the farmland. Isran and Azzada recounted tales of their youth in Markarth, the first Sorine had heard of it.

"Remember that one boy at the orphanage? What was his name? Always saying the strangest things in his sleep, and eating anything he could find," Azzada asked. He and Isran laughed heartily in remembrance.

"Gerardus," Isran answered, sharing another laugh. "That boy was the size of a house," he finished with a chuckle. "By the divines those other boys teased him day in and day out."

"Till you had something to say about it, Isran" Azzada said more seriously "I'll never forget the beating you gave those three bullies. Though I must say, when you told me you were going to teach them a lesson, I figured you'd wash up in the gutters," he admitted.

"Really?" asked Isran somewhat incredulously.

"Well there were three of them!" Azzada defended, but Isran scoffed. "And they were all older than you," he added.

"Yes well, their age certainly didn't make them any wiser. It's the strong's duty to protect the weak. Not to subjugate them. Take advantage of them. The lesson needed to be taught," proclaimed the old hunter.

"Indeed," agreed his friend. "You taught it damned well, I should say." Isran nodded wistfully in agreement and took another sip of his ale.

Not an hour later they were outside and retrieving their horses and gear. Azzada gave them another week's provisions and made Isran promise to stop by again sometime soon.

"Be careful out there old friend," the farmer cautioned.

"That would be a hell of a lot easier knowing you had our backs," Isran offered. Azzada shook his head staidly.

"I put down the sword a long time. You know that," the farmer responded. "My duty now is to my wife and children." Isran agreed begrudgingly.

"Farewell Azzada. Take care of yourself." Without another word, Isran and Sorine rode towards their destination under the bright tundra sun. Before long Sorine voiced her inquiry. She'd remained mostly silent during their visit to the Lylvieve's, but could no longer resist.

"You never told me you were an orphan," she remarked subtly.

"I wasn't aware you needed to know," her mentor responded sternly.

"Fair enough." For a moment Isran was silent as they journeyed across the country side. The two horses threw up clods of dirt and vegetation with every galloping step. Suddenly he slowed his horse to a trot, and Sorine followed suit. She raised an eyebrow in confusion, but his gaze was cast downwards.

"That boy Gerardus..." he began, but paused. Jurard waited for him to continue. "Never hurt a fly…" He paused again. "He was killed when he was just sixteen by some thief. Tossed his body in the river for a bag of coin," he spat. Sorine waited for a moment, wondering how to respond.

"Sometimes the scariest monsters are the ones in mirror," she said thoughtfully.

Isran grunted before responding, "Maybe, but we haven't met this bloodsucker yet."


Pinemoon Cave was hardly a unique or impressive land feature in comparison to the rest of Skyrim. There were dozens if not hundreds of similar or more interesting caves scattered across Tamriel's northern province, but the cave's geological interest had nothing to do with Isran and Sorine's presence there. They were there to kill vampires, and to gather information.

The two killers looked down upon the entrance to the cave with professional interest. What looked like two black wolves prowled just inside the entrance to the cave. Even from over a hundred yards away it was clear they were not normal animals, but some massive, tainted creatures. With a few flashed hand signals, the duo leapt from their perch in a tree and sprinted the distance to the cave. The beasts guarding it noticed them almost instantly, but held their ground. At thirty yards both hunters slid onto one knee and leveled their crossbows. Isran now clearly recognized their quarry as death hounds. He curled his lip in disgust as they bounded towards him.

He exhaled a deep breath and squeezed the trigger, as his partner did the same. Isran's bolt flew true to its mark, its silver tip embedding itself between the monster's eyes before detonating in a fiery spray of blood. The death hound went limp and slid several more feet on the gravel. Jurard's aim was just as true, but her hound was faster. It managed to shift to one side in time to avoid death. Still, the bolt impacted its rear right hip and nearly blew of one of his hind legs. It wasn't enough to stop it.

The death hound leapt the final ten yards towards the huntress. She dropped her crossbow and drew her knife as it hurtled through the air. She rammed her blade into its guts as it dashed her to the ground, but the thing still would not die. She braced her free arm in its throat in an attempt to avoid its slavering maw. Isran had already ditched his crossbow, knowing its explosive rounds would kill Sorine as well, and was scrambling to her aid. Just as the beast drew back to deliver its deadly bite, the vampire hunter's warhammer swept up and into its jaw, avoiding his partners own face by inches. The force of the blow hurled the thing off of her and rendered its face a mass of unrecognizable red gristle. It continued to twitch as the two reloaded their crossbows and continued into the bowels of Pinemoon.

As they moved through the first tunnel, the stench of rotting meat and the dead began to fill their senses. They kept moving. The first room was devoid of life, or unlife as it may be. There were a few bodies piled in the corner, and Sorine wondered if it had been food for the pets or for their masters. Isran flashed another series of hand signals and he and Jurard circled the edges or the chamber as they made for the next tunnel. Midway through the chamber a woman scrambled out from the darkness of the passage ahead. She looked wild eyed and mad, her hair a crazed tangle of unwashed filth and her body no cleaner. Still, she was human.

"Thrall!" called Isran immediately. Both he and Sorine sheathed their crossbows and drew arms. Iran rushed her while Jurard circled behind to cover the entrance and provide assistance if things went awry. The thrall was no older than twenty four winters, and was obviously untrained. Isran easily dodged her clumsy swipes with a rusted dagger, despite the madness behind them. After swaying away from a few more strikes, Isran swatted her blade away with his massive warhammer. While she stumbled back, he brought the pommel of his weapon up and struck her in the temple, knocking her out cold.

"Bind her, I'll watch the tunnel," he told his apprentice. She did so, and they moved deeper into the cavern. This tunnel was longer than the last, but only had one path to follow. So while Isran wasn't scared of getting lost, the narrowness did worry him. If they were rushed in the tunnel, he could hardly wield his hammer effectively, and Sorine would be unable to help him. He pushed the thought from his mind and stayed his course. They made it to the final chamber and warily crept inside. Even in the dim torch light, it was clear the room was empty.

"Look for a passage they could have escaped through," the veteran hunter immediately commanded. Before Sorine could comply, all hell broke loose. Three vampires dropped from the ceiling onto their unsuspecting prey. Isran used his crossbow to block an overhead swing from one of the falling bloodsuckers, then immediately used it to hook the monster's arm and pull him in close to his side. With his sword arm immobilized, the vampire was left to scratch feverishly at the Redguard's armor. Now that his line of sight was cleared, Isran squeezed a bolt into the second vampire. It impacted his dead heart and blew silver shrapnel into his organs, turning him into nothing but a pile of ash. The hunter then deftly disentangled himself from the other beast, drawing a silver stake as he did so. He used the crossbow to catch its wrist and elbow, breaking its arm backwards and forcing it to its knees. He finished the thing with a single violent stab from the stake into the back of its neck. Isran took great delight in watching it disintegrate into ash.

Meanwhile Jurard was fending off a flurry of strikes from the final assailant. It was clearly the most elder vampire, and knew how to handle itself in a fight. The bloodsucker wielded a thin ebony blade, light enough for him to allow his supernatural speed to have great effect. As things were, Sorine didn't think she could hold the thing off for much longer with her clumsy axe. Isran quickly intervened. He swept his warhammer in a great downward arc, but the vampire nimbly parried the attack as if the weapon weighed nothing. It wasted no time sending a brutal riposte back at the hunter before spinning around to launch a wide arcing swing at Sorine with enough force to split her at the waist. The girl was quick enough to roll under the attack and bring her silver edged war axe through the monster's knee like a knife through butter. The detached portion of the limp instantly flared into ashes. While it screeched in pain, Isran swung his hammer into the beast, landing what normally would have been a fatal blow. The entire left side of its ribcage was shattered, sending fragmented bone into its heart and lungs and pulverising every inch of muscle and tissue. The vampire dropped to the floor of the cave, coughing up black blood from his ruptured organs. Isran knelt over the fallen hellspawn.

"Lets have a chat, shall we?" he said mockingly to the vampire. "What do you know of a new guy in town?" he asked

"New vampires made... every day," it spluttered back to him.

"That's not what I meant," Isran grunted. He pressed his knee into the vampire's wounded side in impatience. It wailed in pain, causing a hacking fit ending with coughing up more tainted blood. Isran released some pressure as Sorine watched, looking more than a little perturbed. "He's a big player among you vermin. Pureblood. Don't play dumb."

The vampire suddenly smiled, black liquid trickling from the corners of his mouth. "Oh, you mean the boss?"

"Who's boss? Yours?" Isran pressed.

"You don't get it," the beast said with a chuckle that sounded more like gargling water. "Not my boss, everyone's boss," he sputtered. "Your boss too, you just don't know it," it finished with a wicked grin.

"What is he, some sort of vampiric emperor?" the redguard asked.

"Bloodfather," the monster almost whispered.

"And how do I find this abomination?"

"You're in luck hunter," the vampire smiled. "Now that you know of his existence, he will find you." After the last word, it broke into a fit of maniacal laughter, only stopping to expel the buildup of fluid in his lungs. The last laugh died in its throat, as Isran rose and drove his warhammer through its skull. He stared at the mangled corpse for a moment before turning to Sorine.

"You have any more of that dwemer oil?" he asked. She nodded she poured the fluid on everything that would light, Isran returned to the previous chamber and carried the unconscious, enthralled woman out of the cavern. When Jurard had finished, she found he had already retrieved the horses and loaded the woman onto his own. "We'll make for the Temple of the Divines in Solitude. The priests there can perform a more thorough purification than we could. Perhaps they can even fully restore her sanity." Sorine listened while she retrieved an old scroll from her steed. She walked back to the line of oil that now trailed out of the cave, then quickly recited the words of power written upon the scroll. On the last syllable the scroll disintegrated in her hands and from the ashes rose a bright orange ball of flame. She hesitated before lighting the oil, looking up at Isran for permission. He nodded grimly. "Burn it all."