A/N: Good evening and welcome to chapter two. Won't bore anyone with a long note so here we go.

Nierembergia

Summary: She hated vampires after the Hall of the Vigilants burned. Joining the Dawnguard to eradicate every last bloodsucker made sense. Finding out that there was more to the vampires' schemes wasn't part of her plan for revenge, but they'll burn just the same.

*Chapter 2*

If anyone asked Elise what she thought of a quaint little village like Ivarstead, she'd have answered that it was smelly. Not the stench of disease or the downtrodden like the aroma that strangled Riften's streets, but the smell of farm life. Simple, honest working men and women who didn't much care for the bustling life of one of Skyrim's hold capitals. For many in their later years, this was the ideal lifestyle to relax after years of serving the army or living as a bounty hunter.

That also made it the ideal village for a vampire to stalk.

Elise was aware she was causing a commotion in town; most of the people here were farmers or woodsmen, not used to seeing travelers as heavily armed as her. Ivarstead sat at the foot of the tallest mountain in Tamriel, the Throat of the World, and the only visitors were those who made pilgrimages up the Seven Thousand Steps to the monastery of High Hrothgar. As the only one in town walking around in heavy steel armor designed to shrug off a troll, she did draw attention to herself.

Damn it all to Oblivion. The blond Breton glared at those who stopped to point and whisper. If the people are aware, then the vampire stalking the village will know as well. I need information. Anyone suspicious seen entering or leaving. Innkeepers and carriage drivers were good sources of information and always eager to spread the latest news, for a price. Nothing in Skyrim came for free.

The local inn in Ivarstead was owned by an old Nord man with a bald patch right on top of his head, the rest of his greying hair just touching his shoulders. His face was wrinkled and weathered, tiny scars flecked around a pair of shadowed eyes. The old man looked up from serving another patron as the Breton entered and his worn gaze took one look before dismissing her. "Let me guess, another pilgrim slumming it up to High Hrothgar?"

A few patrons laughed drunkenly.

Elise rolled her eyes and took a seat, the chair groaning under the weight of her armor. Her crossbow rested on the bar and she pulled her armored gloves off, reaching for her coinpurse. "I'm looking for someone. I'll pay well for any information." Every merchant listened to the call of gold and the old Nord grinned, revealing many yellow-stained teeth.

"Well now that changes things." The old Nord accepted the gold and sent a flagon of mead sliding across to her. "What can I provide you with?"

"Has there been anyone new to Ivarstead in recent weeks?" she asked, raising the flagon to her lips. She could catch just a whiff of jazbay grapes mixed in, giving it a smooth and more refined taste. "Anyone who's come up from nowhere and just made themselves at home?"

"Not that I can think of. Why? Is there a criminal here?" The old man's eyes hardened. "If so, it's best to let the guards deal with it." He snorted dismissively. "Not like they'll be able to do much, with the war going on."

"I'm afraid the details of this operation are a little sensitive for the general public."

"That's just a polite way of saying it's none of my damn business, girl. You may think of yourself as a fighting type, but you need to remember one thing, lass. This is Skyrim, not High Rock. Everyone here is armed in some way or another." He held out his arms proudly, grinning as several patrons raised their flagons with roars of approval. "We're Nords. We fight for what is ours."

"Raaargh!" All at once, the patrons roared and took healthy chugs of whatever alcoholic beverage they had. Bloody Nords. Even though she rolled her eyes at their responses, Elise couldn't help but smile a little bit. Life here in Skyrim was much different than it was back in High Rock. She couldn't remember much of her childhood, but she would have been able to recall if the normal folk took up arms to bring justice when the guards were occupied. Here, the people had to fight for their right to live. The harshness of the land carved out a person's true self.

The Nords of Skyrim were nothing like the Vigilants, who exercised extreme caution to the point of coddling. Maybe I'll fit in the Dawnguard after all. Elise smirked and leaned in to prevent prying ears from listening in. "Then allow me to be perfectly frank. There's a vampire stalking the town. I'm here on behalf of the Dawnguard to kill it."

"A vampire!?" The old Nord's eyes widened and he hissed. "Now that you mention it, things have been a little odd around town. There was some Imperial who came into the town about a week ago. Said he's a traveling bard, looking for a place to stay, but he didn't even have a damn lute on him. Said he lost it. I told him I already had a bard, but he was quite insistent. I let him stay at the inn as long as he paid his dues. Creepy fellow. Black robes and paler than freshly fallen snow. I asked if he was scared of sunlight and he laughed it off, saying he was from Bruma. So that's a vampire, then?"

"Yes. Has there been any activity? Any bodies shown up with bite marks or drained of blood?"

"Three victims in the night. Two women and one man, all of them barely old enough to join the army. No one's caught the killer, but the townspeople are beginning to take notice of something."

Dammit. The creature was already beginning to enthrall the town. Elise's grip on her flagon tightened and her blood boiled beneath her skin. For the briefest moments, the sight of the burning Hall of the Vigilants flashed before her eyes and she swallowed back the anger threatening to spill out like a tidal wave. "Where is he? Has he done anything suspicious?"

"He goes out for a stroll late every night, just after everyone goes home to their beds. Likes to spend a lot of time at the bridge on the other side of town. If he is in fact a vampire, be careful lass. Better men and women have died to those cruel monsters."

Elise stood up and plucked her crossbow from the bar, tossing the innkeeper a few extra gold coins for the information. "Keep it." She was out the door before the innkeeper could even protest, and patrons moved out of her way. They might have been regular citizens without a lick of formal combat training, but they could sense the aura of bloodshed pouring out of the angry Breton woman.

With a glare carved onto her face, she put some distance between her and the rest of Ivarstead. The Nordic burial mound on the other side of the hill where the main half of Ivarstead sat was isolated from the town, most of Skyrim's Nords knowing better than to try and disturb the resting places of the dead. There was a very good reason for that, as Nordic burial tombs were filled with hazardous traps and draugr to keep out ignorant treasure hunters.

The vampire is smart enough to grab its prey alone. While there is a very good chance it hides away in the tomb during the day, it could also have a den somewhere else. Rushing in blindly won't do me any favors.

She remembered how the Vigilants mocked the vampire threat, believing they were more than a match for them. The burning of the Hall proved otherwise. They were clever hunters, luring in their prey with sweet nothings and draining them dry before the victim's mind could process what was happening to them. The blood loss would knock them unconscious and the vampire would feed away until all that was left was a dry husk. Carcette treated the vampires as if they were nothing more than mere daedra worshippers, and look where it got her. I won't make the same mistake.

Elise needed a plan.

Vampires are smart enough to avoid confrontation. They won't directly challenge a fully armored combatant unless they have no choice or want to send a message.

Her lip curled up. Maybe I can use that. Lay an ambush. I just need my bait.

Elise looked over at the inn in town and grinned as a pair of happy drunks stumbled out. And I think I know how.

Night had fallen.

The cold crispness of midnight assailed his nostrils and he breathed in the delicious scent. Rain, grass, the blood of mortals, and just a hint of nightshade. He smiled, a wet tongue slowly dragging across razor sharp canines that yearned to pierce soft flesh. His magic flowed from his body and the illusion was cast once more. These mortals and their frail minds were so easy to warp to his desires.

He walked throughout the quiet little village of Ivarstead confidently, smiling at the guards on their nighttime patrol. The moons were hidden behind thick dark clouds and in the distance he heard the faint rumble of thunder. A storm was coming and he picked up his pace, hungry golden eyes rapidly searching for a mortal to place under his spell. The need to feed burned the back of his throat and his sharpened eyesight easily pierced through the darkness to single out a hapless young maiden leaving the tavern. She was drunk, stumbling down the steps and swaying precariously. The smell of alcohol mingled with her blood and he inhaled deeply. His stomach growled. Saliva drooled down his fangs.

He grew all the hungrier.

He stepped forth to approach her, beginning to place his victim under vampiric seduction, and sharpened steel tore through his chest, piercing through his thin black robes like a hot knife through butter. Before he could so much as scream, a heavy gauntlet of leather with reinforced steel clamped over his mouth and he was yanked back into the shadows. Thorns scrapped along his flesh as he was dragged through the bramble bushes, and he was ungraciously dumped at the feet of a human. His lip curled back in disgust, wanting to die from the shame. Even if by some miracle he could dispatch his foe, his master would banish him from the coven for such a failure.

His captor was a young Breton woman with light blonde hair tied in a bun. An enormous hammer was resting in a sling over her shoulder and a crossbow dangled from a belt across the front, her gaze cold. He opened his mouth to snarl out an insult, the words on the tip of his tongue, and a cruel foot smashed into his jaw to shatter it. He would have screamed from the pain, but all that could come out was some pathetic gurgle and a bubble of blood. So brutish. He hadn't even been outsmarted, his terrified mind helpfully added. It had been his own stupidity that led to this.

He didn't hear the snap of the crossbow's string, or the soft whistling of the steel bolt. All because he could only hear the heartbeat of the wench who should have been his prey. Caught in the middle of a hunt, like a bear in a trap. Cleverly, she had used the woman as bait to lure him in. He would have laughed at the stupidity of it all, if he could ignore the mammoth in the room. He was not in fact sitting around a dinner table with his coven feasting on the finest mortal blood; he was under the heel of a brutish woman who glared down with the coldest gaze he ever saw. The hottest fires of the Deadlands would be snuffed out by those cold chips of green ice and he couldn't help the shiver of fear that ran through him.

This wasn't a mere human. And it was not because of the golden sun embroidered on her armor marking her as a vampire hunter. It was the way she looked down at him, like he was nothing more than an insect to be squashed under her heel. His claws grew from his fingernails and he swiped at her, only to harmlessly scratch off of steel. Magic sputtered and died at his fingertips and the boot on his chest pressed all the harder. The heel dug into his ribcage and twisted, shattering bone and he gurgled in pain again. He was wrong. He was so, so wrong. The one looking down at him with a lack of empathy was a killer.

The terror running through his veins made him want to crawl away as far as he could from the demon pinning him like a helpless animal. The covens needed to be warned. The rules had changed and the hunters had become the hunted. The blonde woman unclasped her hammer, hefting it and pressing all of her weight onto him to keep him buried in the dirt. The head of her hammer was cylindrical, with a small rune of a sun carved into the steel.

The sight of it crashing down on his head was the last thing he ever saw.

The sickening crunch of a skull being crushed like a melon echoed throughout the forest clearing Elise dragged the vampire to, brain matter and blood showering her legs. The blonde woman removed her foot from the corpse and watched as it began to crackle and burn. It burst into flame, hungry flames burning away at flesh until all that was left of the vampire was a pile of white ashes. The bodies of vampires disintegrate?

Her warhammer seemed to vibrate in her grasp and Elise slung it over her shoulder. The vampire stalking the town was dead and Isran would like the good news. For now, Ivarstead was safe. It was already a target. That means it might be again. Kill one vampire and another could take its place. The Dawnguard should keep an eye out here just to be cautious.

With her hammer secured, Elise left the pile of ashes where they lay and headed back into town. It was the middle of the night, and she doubted that a carriage driver would be willing to take her to Riften at such an ungodly hour when everyone else was most likely fast asleep, save for a few insomniacs who were just naturally more active once the sun fell. The inn was still open, thankfully, and everyone needed their sleep. Even new vampire hunters.

A short walk later she was back at the inn, and a tired young Nord woman greeted her with a weary smile. "You look like you're in need of a strong drink and a warm bed."

"You assume correctly." Elise forced a smile back. She tried for a face that suggested she was tired and sociable but judging by the shudders from the other late-night patrons, she failed spectacularly and had a face that begged for more violence. The blonde woman was more bemused by it than anything. All she did was kill a vampire, not break into a temple and slaughter innocent priests.

It might have had something to do with the bloodstains on her armor. Oh. Right.

That explained it.

"You're not looking to cause any trouble, are you?" the woman asked warily.

"No." Elise blinked in confusion. "I just haven't had time to wash the stains out. Ale would be fine, as would any room that's available." She waited for the woman to grab a bottle of ale and a key and followed her to a cozy little room away from the others. Elise handed over the required gold for both and the woman was all too happy to be out of her sight. The Nord moved with a stiffness and stared straight ahead as if afraid the former Vigilant would strike at her.

Elise shut the door and rolled her eyes, taking a rag from the bedside table to wipe the blood and guts clinging to her armor. She was about to undress, decided she was too worn out from the journey out into the Rift to really care, and instead wandered over to the bed and collapsed face first onto it. Bits of straw and furs smacked her in the face and poked everywhere, but it was the most comfortable bed she ever slept in.

Finding Gunmar War-Bear hadn't been as easy as Isran initially made out, Tolan discovered. The old Nord had of course made for Riften straight away; the Ragged Flagon may have been a haven for criminals, but it was also an incredible source of information if one had the coin to buy it. Little did he know that the bastards would try and swindle him out of every last septim he had. If he wasn't greatly outnumbered and in desperate need of the information, he would have long since introduced their heads to his hammer. Blasted Thieves Guild.

Tolan scowled at the smirking redhaired Nord man and reluctantly slapped another fifty septims into his palm. "Where is this tarn you speak of?"

"Clearspring Tarn is a small pool on a cliff to the central north of the Rift," the man answered with a smile, accepting the payment for what felt like the third or fourth time. It probably was. "West of Shor's Stone and east of a known hagraven's nest called Snapleg Cave. The tarn is very high up on a mountain, but a prized spot for experienced hunters. From what I understand, the tarn is also home to a troll. Not sure what your man is doing with going after a troll that high up a mountain, but I suppose that's not my business."

Tolan snorted and stood up, glaring at the man who had just cost him seven hundred gold on his way out of The Ragged Flagon. "Your information better be accurate, or they'll be problems."

The thief didn't seem even the slightest bit frightened. If anything, he looked more amused by the threat.

All the jarl needs to do is flood these stinking sewer tunnels with soldiers and your wretched guild will be destroyed. But killing the guild wouldn't solve the problems plaguing Riften; the city was rotten to the core. The other problem with crime was that it could never fully be stamped out. A new competitor will just fill in the void and maybe be even worse like the Dark Brotherhood. Leaders rose and fell. Such was the nature of the business.

Still, the information, if correct, had just given the Dawnguard one of their new recruits and someone who was considered a veteran huntsman. Tolan had never met the man personally, but every mercenary he talked to on his way to Riften spoke of the man fondly. A big brute of a Nord, but a gentle giant for the most part. Never caused problems for the locals, and only hunted down animals that were threats to civilians. A respectable huntsman like him was hard to come by, and just perfect for forming the next bulwark against the vampire menace. It would inspire others to join, but the real prize was getting Gunmar's knowledge on their side. His skills with animals was rare and made him a valuable asset worth going nearly broke for, and that wasn't even touching his blacksmithing skills. Every Nord could forge steel, since the art was so ingrained in their culture, but Gunmar was a special case even amongst other blacksmiths.

Better be worth the trip down into this rat-infested sewer. Tolan bitterly kicked the door leading back through the Ratway, wishing the damnable stench of disease and filth would go away. It was almost amusing to think that twenty years ago, the Ratway was essentially a city beneath Riften. Always bustling, open, and the Thieves Guild had free reign over most of Skyrim. Now, the guild had all but fallen into ruins. One was more likely to trip over a skeever than make any coin in the cairn now. The struggles of the guild as of late were well documented, some believing it to be just a string of bad luck or something more sinister at work following the death of the previous Guildmaster, Gallus.

Tolan had met the man on only one occasion, for Gallus was as much a scholar as he was a thief. He maintained connections throughout all of Skyrim and with his death, those connections dried up and those who once worked for the guild found others who had fuller pockets. Tolan met him while Gallus was researching the dwarven ruin of Irkngthand, a ruin that was supposedly the home of the greatest gemstones ever made by mortal hands. Gallus' fascination with the dwemer and magic in general led him to Winterhold, where Tolan was once working on a job for the Vigilants.

Meeting a thief in the middle of a falmer cave was not exactly what he expected, but the two did form a good pair and cleared out the cavern to prevent anymore travelers from being abducted. The falmer could be a very cruel and unforgiving race. While they worked together, Gallus opened up a conversation about Tolan's research materials, and the two of them struck a conversation that eventually grew into an acquaintance. If Gallus were still alive, he'd probably act as an information broker for the Dawnguard and give them a fair price for any information he sold to them. He may have been a thief, but he was always a strange one. Always felt just as comfortable climbing in through a window as he did hovering over a dusty tome.

This new Thieves Guild had zero respect for those it did business with. Gallus would be ashamed to see it fall so far. Maybe I should give them a tip about a young quiet woman who lives alone in the Pale. Notoriously shy and with some hidden wealth. The old Vigilant-turned-Dawnguard chuckled to himself. Elise may have been forty years his junior, but anyone who dismissed her based on appearances alone was in for a nasty surprise. She was vicious, like a starved saber cat.

But something stopped him from going back and giving the free little rumor. That bastard I talked to knows about the Dawnguard. Isran has been subtle in rebuilding the order, too. Dayspring Canyon isn't exactly a well-known area. Perhaps the Thieves Guild could be of use. If they could act as information brokers, then Isran wouldn't care too much as long as it helped them win the war against the vampires.

He'd bring it up with Isran when he found Gunmar and brought him back to the fort.

Isran heard the great doors of Fort Dawnguard open from the dining room, and he excused himself from the table before going to see who had entered. The Redguard caught the sight of Elise re-entering the fort with poorly wiped bloodstains on her armor, though as he looked up and down to search for any injuries, he discovered that none of it was hers. As far he could tell the woman didn't have a scratch on her and she shrugged off a crimson scarf that was wrapped around her chin.

"What news do you bring from Ivarstead?" he asked.

"The vampire is dead," she answered with a vicious smile. Seeing such a look on a young woman was almost uncharacteristic, if one didn't know of her hatred towards the undead for their murder of her friends and colleagues.

"Excellent work." Isran smirked and jerked his thumb behind him. "Go and get some food and water; I want a full rotation of guards maintaining our perimeter and don't want to get caught with our trousers halfway down our legs. You're on second watch tonight."

The blonde Breton nodded curtly and made her way to the dining room to get something to eat, and Isran let a small smile form on his face when she was away. Nothing at all like those soft fools in the Vigilants. A woman of action. My gut feeling about her was right. Vicious, firm, and a part of the bulwark to grow against this threat. This is the time for the Dawnguard to show its colors.

The Dawnguard could trace its origins back into the Second Era, before Tiber Septim's conquest of Tamriel. The Jarl of Riften at the time had a son who was far too adventurous for his own good and he ended up becoming a vampire. Unable to kill his son, the Jarl built Fort Dawnguard to contain him and founded the order to keep the vampire hidden away. Eventually, the Dawnguard was forced to put him down like the animal he was, and the Jarl banished the Dawnguard from the hold. Even disgraced, they kept to their cause and hunted down bloodsucking scum wherever they hid, helping destroy vampire masters who had lived for centuries like the infamous Tomark Bres.

Tomark Bres was a vampire elder who ruled with an iron fist, responsible for murdering thousands, yet he remained untouchable. it was only from the efforts of the Dawnguard and Bres' own apprentice that Tomark's reign of terror came to an end, his remains scattered across Skyrim so he could never rise from the dead again. So much bloodshed and death occurred on that bloody day, from Dawnguard agents to regular huntsmen who were willing to die to give their loved ones a better tomorrow. One of the worst days in Skyrim's bloody history, and as the one rebuilding the order, it was Isran's responsibility to make sure it never happened again.

The Dawnguard would rise again as victors over the vampires, just as the gods willed.

Morthal was a quiet little city, the capital of Hjaalmarch built in the center of the salt marsh that dominated the northern half of the hold. The city always fell quiet at night, not having the same bustling atmosphere of Solitude or Whiterun. And yet, as Falion strode quickly over the boardwalk spanning the length of his hut, he could tell that something was amiss this particular night. The Redguard's hood lifted for the briefest of moments, his old eyes narrowing as he saw a strange shimmer in the air some thirty or forty feet ahead. A hand slipped from under his robe and a burst of lightning shot forth from his fingertips, striking the shimmer.

It toppled with a pained shriek and Falion stalked over to where it lay, convulsing as electricity wormed through its body. A brief flash of purple and lying in front of the conjuration master was a woman with bright golden eyes and pale sunken cheeks. Her mouth was open in an endless scream, revealing the fangs she normally hid, and Falion tutted before withdrawing the elven dagger he strapped to his waist. He plunged the blade into the vampire's heart and twisted, the wretched creature disintegrating into a pile of ash in his hands.

Falion withdrew a small empty vial from his alchemy pouch and scooped some of the ashes into it. Vampire dust was a very rare and highly sought-after alchemical ingredient, useful for many potions and poisons. That's the fourth vampire attack on Morthal in the past two weeks. There's a den here and the people are too superstitious to deal with it.

He heard footsteps behind him and Falion whirled around, ready to cast a spell, only to stop at the sight of a breathless bosmer man. "I-I've got a letter for you!"

Falion's eyebrow rose in confusion and the spell died at his fingers. "Who in Oblivion would be sending me any sort of mail? Are you sure you've got the right man?" No one wanted to be in contact with him, not even his old colleagues from the College of Winterhold. They were all of Aren's toadies now.

"You are Falion, Morthal's court wizard and former Conjuration Master at the College of Winterhold, yes?"

"I am."

"Then this is for you, from a man named Isran."

Isran? He hadn't heard that name in years. Falion took the letter from the bosmer's hands, and before he could open his mouth to say anything else, the courier dashed off immediately to the Moorside Inn to grab a drink and a place to crash for the night. Wandering around the swamps of Morthal was ill-advised, even during the day. Once night fell, the already deadly swamp became even worse. Chaurus, falmer, and Oblivion knows what else lurked within.

He thumbed the letter open with his dagger to open it and read its contents.

Falion,

I hope this letter reaches you safely without anyone else's eyes seeing it. Can't be too careful now.

I'm sure you're already aware of this, but vampire attacks recently have increased in numbers all over Skyrim. The Order is being rebuilt and I need every able-bodied man and woman who will fight the fiends. Be on your guard; the recent attacks suggest the vampires are searching for something and with your expertise in vampirism's effects on the body, you will undoubtedly be seen as a threat.

Falion snorted. It was a little too late to suggest he would be considered a threat to vampires. His studies on it were much more thorough, dabbling in research the College of Winterhold severely looked down on. At one point, he considered becoming a vampire if only to see what the effects on his own body would be. A small sacrifice in the pursuit of knowledge, but he decided against it in the end, not wanting to get close to the bloodsucking scum. Wretched creatures were truly an abomination on the land.

Still, the Order?

The rumors you may have heard about rebuilding the Dawnguard are true. Find me at Fort Dawnguard, southeast of Riften in Dayspring Canyon, just to the east of Stendarr's Beacon.

-Isran

Falion folded the letter and slid it into his robes. The Dawnguard was being rebuilt? If he was correct, it was an ancient order of vampire hunters. Isran was taking the fight to them instead of letting the vampires prey on Skyrim's people. If it was a choice between Isran, a man who was ruthless but couldn't care less about Falion's dabbling in conjuration magic, and the vampires who would kill him or use him as a thrall, he'd pick the smart side any day.

I think I'll take a look around this Dayspring Canyon.

A/N: And there we are. I am creating a Dawnguard story around the Vampire Knights mod plus giving them some additional firepower. If your aim is to rid Skyrim of vampires, then you need information (Thieves Guild) and those who have an understanding of vampirism and necromancy. Falion is perfect for that.