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ROË

Night Eyes

City of Solitude

She had to admit to herself, she was somewhat tipsy. But it wasn't like she hadn't earned it. That last damn assignment had been pure misery, slogging through the marshes for two days to find a dragon that hadn't even been there. What kind of gullible halfwit believed in dragons anyway?

She'd been spared the frostbite to her toes unlike Gethor. Skyrim wasn't really a place for Bosmer like them, but when your parents move to the coldest reaches of the world to join the Penitus Oculatus at the Emperor's invitation, you had no choice but to come along. And no matter the blood in her veins, she'd lived in Skyrim most of her life, so she was used to the climate. Gethor, who'd only arrived two years ago, never stopped complaining. Still, for all his curmudgeonly behaviour, she'd bonded well with him. They were the only two Bosmer in the Solitude guard, so they naturally gravitated towards each other, and she'd gotten to know him well enough to smile every time he went off on another complaining spree.

The cold air drove the buzz from her mind, but only a bit. It wasn't like she was staggering, but the mead had flowed freely, and even though she'd gotten used to the high alcohol content in Skyrim's preferred drink, enough had been enough. There'd be a slight hangover tomorrow, but things had remained dignified, and even if they hadn't, no guard's uniform meant no need to mind the exemplary function.

"You going to be alright, Ro'?" Kunod, like most of the guard, had never bothered to pronounce her name correctly. Like most of them, he pronounced her name "Roh" instead of "Ro-ay." Roë didn't attribute it to a lack of respect, just the typical easygoing nature of the people here. "Want me to uh… walk you home?"

Oh, sweet Kunod. He'd been rather taken with her from the start, and not made a secret out of it, in his shy and clumsy way, but she hadn't reciprocated. Not because she had anything against the man, but because the feelings he hoped she had were simply not there. Sometimes she'd wished they had been, because Kunod was attentive and kind, if a bit awkward, but she couldn't change the reality of it.

"No, Kunod, thanks, I'll be fine." Letting him walk her home would cause all sorts of complications. Complications she didn't really need or want, she was perfectly happy just doing her job with the guard and coming home to an empty house.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Go on, get some sleep, didn't you have day duty tomorrow?"

He gave an embarrassed grin. "Yes, but it's at the gate. No one will notice if I'm tired and hung over."

Gethor stumbled out of the tavern, almost crashing into them. Unlike Roë and Kunod, he'd been really going at it, downing one goblet of mead after another. "Ro-ayyyy," he slurred. "When are you and," hiccup, "K-Kunod finally huh… hooking up?"

Oh dear, this was uncomfortable. "Gethor," she said, holding him up, "you need to go to bed, come on."

"I'll take care of him," Kunod said, taking the ailing guardsman from her.

"You twuh…two would make a gr… eat couple," Gethor mumbled. "The struh… strong, powerful Nord buck!" he practically shouted the word, "... and the fruh…hail delicate El… Elven beauty!' He made an animalistic growl, accompanied by a randy fist pump.

And here Roë thought this couldn't get any more embarrassing.

"If you two don't get together soon," Gethor garbled, pointing a shaking finger at her, "I'm m… marrying you mysuh… myself, Roë."

"Shush, Gethor. Kunod, make sure he ends up in his bed, alright?"

There was a strange expression on Kunod's face, but she was pretty sure what it meant. "Sure, Ro', I'll get him home safe."

As Kunod half-dragged the drunk-off-his-ass Gethor down the road, she heard drunken off-key singing. "Ro-ayyy! With her silky pale bl- blonde haiiirrrr! Ro-ayyyy! Guardswoman oh so," hiccup, "faiirrrrr!"

"Gethor," Kunod's irritated heavy voice came from down the road. "Knock it off."

Smiling to herself, she hoped the mer didn't recall anything in the morning. If he didn't ask, she wouldn't tell, and Kunod was a firm believer in the holy secrecy of drunken evenings, so with any luck, Gethor would be spared the embarrassing recollection.

Taking a breath and letting out a quiet, dignified burp, Roë set off towards home. Her parents were part of Emperor Titus Mede's close protection team, so they were rarely in town, but even then, she'd bought her own house as soon as she'd been able to, a small but cosy corner cubbyhole with not much more than a bed, a table and a chair, but since she only used her home for sleeping, eating and composing, she needed little more.

Noticing her tread wasn't completely straight, she chuckled to herself, admitting quietly that maybe she was a bit more drunk than she'd thought at first. Still, her mild hangover would be nothing like the rabid horse Gethor would have in his head tomorrow.

Buzzed or not, her trained guardswoman instincts didn't fail her, and as she walked through the narrow alley leading to her house, her senses alerted her to footsteps behind her. It was an unholy hour, and whoever was roaming the streets of Solitude now was either a mead-appreciator like her, or a criminal.

Walking on, pretending she hadn't noticed, she listened intently to the footsteps, trying to count how many there were. Her teeth clenched when she realized there were at least three pairs of them. Even if they were drunkards out too late, she didn't think they'd have good intentions, stalking a lone woman in the middle of the night.

Her hand on the grip of her shortsword, she stopped and spun around. "Whoever you are, and whatever your intentions, I'm a squad chief in the city guard. If you have any ideas in your head, now's the time to reconsider."

There were three, indeed, dressed in expensive finery, two male and one female. Drunk or not, she would have given a lot to have Kunod and Gethor with her now. The man in front gave a shirt, icy cold laugh. "Adorable," he said in a voice that sounded as if it came from a frozen grave. "Thinking it can impress us with threats of being in the city guard."

Usually, those threats did the trick, but these three didn't seem fazed in the least. Her breath speeding up, Roë repeated, "Whatever you're planning, reconsider while you have the chance."

The man in front came closer, and when the moonlight hit his eyes, the reflected colour made Roë's breath briefly stop. The pale cold moonlight reflected on red eyes with sickly orange pupils, the eyes mirroring the light like a cat's, except in a blood red colour.

"Whuh… what the shit are you?" Roë breathed, her fingers tightening their grip on the hilt of her shortsword.

"Never you worry, little she-elf," the leader of the stalkers whispered in a cold voice. "Soon all pain and fear will fade."

That removed what little doubt still remained in Roë's mind. These creatures – because they weren't people, not anymore, she didn't know what they were, but they weren't people – were intent on killing her. With a snarl, she unsheathed her shortsword, and in the same movement, swiped it across the leading creature's face, the blade briefly sending a shock through her hand as it thudded into the thing's features, tearing the skin and breaking the bone beneath. The creature shrieked and staggered backward, but the two figures behind him leapt at her. She briefly saw the moonlight reflect off sharp claws at the ends of their fingers.

Time slowed to a crawl, Roë's brain going into overdrive as it always did when she fought for her life, banishing panic from her mind, cold certainty guiding her hand and pure instinct making her body move to avoid injury. The female reached her first, and Roë side-stepped out of the claws' arc, bringing her shortsword down in the back of her attacker's neck, breaking the vertebrae with a wet thwock. The remaining male came at her, but her boot shot out, catching him between the legs, briefly lifting him off his feet. The creature howled in pain, but pulled its claw back for another murderous blow. Roë was faster though, and her shortsword cut the air, the blade's edge finding her attacker's throat and half-decapitating him, tearing through carotid, jugular and larynx, sending a black arc of blood flying from the ruin of his throat. He clawed at his gullet, fruitlessly trying to stop the blood spurting from the tear.

The leader, incredibly, rose to his feet again, his face half-split. So fast Roë's eyes couldn't even follow, his body uncoiled like a spring, launching him at her and bowling her over, her sword knocked from her hands.

They came down on the flagstones, the creature's weight knocking the wind from her. One clawed hand came down on her face, pressing it down against the stone. Kicking and thrashing, Roë rained blows on her attacker, but she only succeeded in striking his shoulders and back. Claws flashed in the moonlight as the thing's other hand rose to deliver a terrible blow, and Roë's thrashing wouldn't be able to stop him.

But just as the claw reached its apex, a loud zzzip sounded, followed by a wet thud as the iron tip of a projectile burst out of the creature's chest. It sat on top of Roë, its chest pressed forward and its claws spread, shoulder blades pushed together as the muscles tightened around the projectile that had impaled it.

Then the thing fell over and was still.

Roë scrambled for her weapon, but the man coming toward her lowered his strange contraption and raised his free hand to show he meant no harm to her. "Are you alright, young lady?" he asked, running towards her.

"Uh... yeah, I think," she said back, checking her body for injuries and finding none.

"Good, good. You faced three vampires and lived to tell of it." As he came closer, Roë noticed he was Orsimer. Maybe it was bigoted of her, but she always found it strange to see an Orc wearing human-styled armour and using weapons more complicated than a big club.

"Vampires? Is that what they were?" She'd heard of them in legends and myths, but had always thought them to be an old wives' tale. Apparently not.

"Aye," the Orc said, turning the leader's body over with his boot. "Damn vampires have been a real menace lately."

These were the first vampires she'd encountered. "I can't say I've noticed."

The Orc became somewhat irritated. "Then you haven't been paying attention."

"Alright then."

The Orc didn't know what to make of that reply. "Hmph. The Dawnguard is always looking for new members to combat the vampire menace. Perhaps you could bring yourself to care enough?"

"I don't think so," Roë said. "My place is here."

"Feh. You want to be a guardswoman all your life, be my guest." He pointed his chin at her shortsword, emblazoned with the crest of the Solitude guard. She wasn't wearing the clothes, but that didn't mean she couldn't carry the weapon. "Anyway, there's more of them, at least six in this town. You got three, that leaves at least three more of them to find. Can't waste time chatting with you."

A feeling of dread gripped her throat. "Wait, you said there were more?"

"Aye, but they're my concern, not y – "

"Cack," she swore. "Kunod and Gethor!"

Without waiting for the Orc's reply, she broke into a run, darting toward the street her two companions had staggered into. Behind her, she heard the boots of the Orc thudding into the cobblestones. "You have friends out on the street this late?" he panted.

"Yeah, two."

"If they handle themselves as well as you do, there shouldn't – "

"They would if they were sober," Roë snapped at him. She was running as fast as she could, and couldn't waste her breath on pointless chatter.

Rounding the corner, she saw them. Three humanoids, wearing noble-looking, old-fashioned clothing. One large figure still stood, his war hammer out, keeping them at bay. Kunod.

Roaring, she got a new burst of energy, charging at the three vampires, her shortsword held high. But before she could reach them, they noticed her and bolted, dragging a prone figure with them. Kunod no longer had the strength to give chase, falling to his knees.

"Kunod!" she called, skidding to a halt beside him.

"I'm fine," Kunod breathed, "just completely out of breath." He raised his head. "Ro', they've got Gethor, go after them."

"Cack," Roë cursed again, her legs springing back into action, carrying her forward despite screaming muscles and burning lungs. The vampires had fled through the alleys, and in the pitch darkness, Roë tripped on something soft and fell forward, barely getting enough time to break her fall with her hands.

When she tried to get back on her feet, however, her ankle screamed in pain and gave out, sending her to one knee. She tried again to put her weight onto her twisted ankle, but again it buckled out from under her. With a scream of pain and frustration, she had to abandon her pursuit.

"What the Hell is going on h - … chief?" Two guardsmen stumbled onto the scene, holding a lantern. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, go after those vampires, they've got Gethor!" she ordered.

"Uh... sergeant?" the other guardsman said hesitantly. "I don't think there's anything we can do for Gethor anymore."

"You don't know that!" she shouted. "Go after them, damn you!"

"Chief... I don't think running after them... well..." He lowered his lantern. "... will do any more good for Gethor."

Not understanding, she turned her head to the lantern and then realized what, or better who, she'd tripped over. In the yellow light of the lantern, she saw Gethor's face, his eyes wide open, his skin stretched over the skull, as if it had shrunk. His lower jaw hung open in a terrified grimace.

"Is that..." Kunod's out of breath voice came nearer, "... Gethor?"

"Yeah," Roë said, defeated. She turned her eyes away. "Damn it."

"They got him alright," the Orc said. "Must have drained him for strength as they ran. I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't help him anymore," Kunod said, breathing hard but sounding determined. "What in Frostfire did this? He looks... sucked dry." He sighed. "I should have protected you better, Gethor."

"Vampires did this," the Orc said. "If you want to help your friend, help us combat the Vampire menace."

"Who's 'us'?" Kunod asked.

"The Dawnguard, my friend. The ancient order dedicated to wiping out the Vampires. We're always looking for new members."

Kunod stood looking down at Gethor's body for a moment, then said, "Alright, sign me up."

The Orc grinned broadly, baring his sharp teeth and two lower tusks. "Good man! What say you, blondie? Maybe seeing what these creatures do to people might change your mind? The way you handled those other three shows me you're cut out for the job."

"Yeah, but the guard…"

"Who cares about the guard now?" Kunod snapped. "Did they ever care about you? They even told you to your face you'd never get past squad chief because you can't keep your opinions to yourself. And look at Gethor!"

She hated to admit it, but he was right. The guard was corrupt anyway, her own superiors working against her, telling her she had to look but she wasn't allowed to find, and telling her straight out they'd stop her from getting promoted for as long as they lived. And seeing poor Gethor lying there, drained as if by a giant spider, she decided she couldn't let this go unavenged. "Fine. I'm with you."