The Gift: Chapter Ten: Discovery

A tall Dunmer in a dark orange tunic adorned with deeply colored half spheres and a matching Mohawk strode fearlessly through the moonlit ashlands.  His gray hand rested confidently on the hilt of a beautifully crafted ebony kitana, the gleam of enchantment rippling across its surface.  Many a foe had met their end on its black edge, their blood dripping from the point, and it thirsted for more.

Much like its owner.  The dark elf’s nighttime stroll was not a walking holiday.  He was thirsty, but not desperately so.  He simply preferred to maintain a regular feeding schedule.  The problem was, that food had become hard to come by recently.  Something was scaring prey off and he did not appreciate the competition.

So, tonight he was putting an end to whatever blighted creature had invaded his hunting territory and, perhaps, find some dinner on the side.  He had been craving ashlander…

His pale eyes- the color of kwama milk- scanned the landscape, the faded pupils seeing just as perfectly as any other set, better, in fact.  Where others would find the ashlands treacherously, impenetrably, dark, he found it crystal clear.  Every detail was visible to him even without the half-moon above, but such was one of the perks of vampirism.  He was a creature of the night, and was well suited for it.

As he searched his rather floppy ears where perked to catch any sound.  The gentle wind tugging at his many piercings- a traditional adornment for the Dunmer of his time.  As were the criss-crossing, segmented tattoos that elegantly hugged his face- accenting the fineness of his nose and shallowness of his cheeks.  

Oh, yes, he had been born in a time where these markings had once labeled him a fierce warrior.  Nowadays, from what he learned while digging through the possessions of his meals, his proud tattoos where common among delinquents.  

A disappointing turn of events indeed.

But he rarely dwelled on his own appearance.  After all, vampires weren’t known for their good looks.  His face inspired fear, his teeth triggered screams and pleas of mercy…  Not that he ever gave it.  When he decided someone was to die, they did.
 
And so would this creature that he hunted now.  And just because it had aggravated him, he would kill it slowly- show it the error of its way.  

The Dunmer spotted what he had been looking for, fresh tracks in the ash.  But they weren’t recognizable as anything he had seen before.  The ash was spread out and indented sporadically, like the creature spent far too much time twisting around in one spot before moving on with all the grace of a grounded cliff racer.
 
He scratched the shaved portion of his head, trying to make out what the indentions should have been.  

He knelt down to examine them closer.  Some of the prints were shallow; others were deep, like the weight distributed on the limbs changed erratically.  He pressed his fingers into one of the deeper holes.  The tip fit into the print perfectly.  

A fanged grin played across the dark elf’s lips and, indulging a playful notion that would confirm his suspicions, he took off one of his fine boots and pressed the pad of his foot into one of the shallow prints.  His foot was too narrow, but otherwise it matched.  

After replacing his boot, he followed the tracks, feeling like tonight was going to be an entertaining change from his usual routine.
 
The tracks didn’t lead far before the ground became hard and the prints disappeared completely.  But, the dark elf wasn’t concerned.  His prey was near.  He could sense it.

Ordinarily, he would have engaged his Hunter’s Sight- an ability inherent to all vampires that allowed him to see the aura of living beings- but it would be pointless.  The creature he hunted was just as dead as he was.  And, if it was as thirsty as he was, it would soon come out from hiding.  The question that bounced through the dunmer’s mind was whether the other vampire was a feral renegade from one of the local clans or if it was a fledgling abomination of one of the local clans.  

It certainly wasn’t lucid.  The tracks proved that.  But its state of mind would influence its desire to fight.  Ferals would attack anything- their methods varying according to their bloodline.  A fledgling would likely attack once, then try to flee- regardless of its bloodline.  

Either way, it would die tonight.  He couldn’t have another vampire in his area scaring off prey, and he honestly didn’t like to share.  

The Dunmer wandered around, getting a better look at the surrounding rock faces.  Jagged, layered stone almost created a perfect bowl around him- an effective trap anything not as intelligent and skilled as the he was.  

So, he mused, you’re hiding in the walls.  An ambush?

Ambushing was a trademark of the Berne clan.  The dark elf should know, he was of the Berne bloodline.  Cornering prey, however, was closer to the Quarra’s hunting method.  They backed their opponents into a wall and tore them apart with their bare hands.
 
It was starting to look like an interesting match.  The Dunmer had no doubts he would win, but a good fight always made him feel alive.  

“Come out, come out,” he called teasingly, still slowly circling the interior, his eyes and ears at the height of their alertness.  

A small stone- no bigger than a pebble- rolled down the sharp rock wall.  The Dunmer’s ears twitched and he spun instantly to face the source of the sound, his fingers wrapped casually around the hilt of his ebony blade.  

The air was still, and the dark elf grinned to himself.  The other vampire thought it had distracted him, but he expected the attack from behind.  He didn’t have to hear the scraping of bare feet and loose pebbles to know the other vampire had pounced.

In one expert move he unsheathed his blade and spun; the glittering edge cutting through air and flesh with equal effortlessness.  

The other vampire howled, the force of the blow knocking him out of the air and to the ground with a thud.  The blade had glanced off its shoulder, but that didn’t mean the ebony did not bite deep- fracturing the shoulder blade and rendering the arm useless.  The Dunmer felt energy and vitality flood through him as the enchantment on his blade fed him with the other’s life force.  

The first attack was frustratingly predictable, but the Dunmer had to give the vampire credit when it rolled onto its feet and lounged again with an angry growl.  The dark elf knocked this clumsy attack to the side, his free arm hitting the injury like a battering ram.  He was surprised when the colliding force of the two jarred his arm all the way to his neck.  He hadn’t thought the lounge had been backed by so much power.
 
The other vampire got the worst of the encounter, however.  It whined, starting to cradle nerveless limb while it cowered on its knees.  It did not attack again.

The Dunmer approached, the tip of his ebony blade pointed at the intruding vampire as a precaution.  It was then, with the other maimed and effectively defeated, that he got a good look at it.  

It was utterly distasteful.  Long, matted hair fell past its elbows in tangled locks, covering his bare chest.  Every rib jutted out so that the dirty flesh stretched around them and his stomach had caved in from starvation.  He was almost naked, his only modesty being the tattered remains of a once pale blue mage’s robe and breeches that hung over a leather belt that hadn’t yet fallen from around the emaciated hips.

The Dunmer almost felt sorry for it.  Almost.  But he pitied it enough to forgo his plans to kill it slowly.  He raised the ebony blade, prepared to quickly decapitate the pitiful creature.

The blade was at its peak, when the other vampire, still trembling with pain, spoke.

“Please…don’t…” he croaked; his voice rough from disuse.

The Dunmer did not lower his blade, expecting a trick, but he did pause.  It was rare for a vampire so far gone from starvation to display any signs of cognitive ability.  Once feral, many vampires went mad and killed until they were killed.  This one, however, seemed to holding desperately its wispy sanity.  The thought was amusing.

The dark elf lowered his blade and studied the other vampire.  It was a Quarra accident for sure.  The forces of its attacks were evidence of that, but was he fresh?  He had been wondering through the ashlands long enough to starve, but not long enough to lose control completely.

“Hey,” he said, as he poked it in the ribs with his blade, wanting its attention.

He got it.  The other vampire- provoked by the perceived attack- turned on him with renewed ferocity.  Animalistic snarls tore from its throat as it twisted to its feet, its fangs fully extended and bared, its uninjured hand whistling through the air.  The Dunmer stepped back, but hadn’t had time to raise his blade in defense.  The slash missed, but the other vampire wasn’t deterred.  It slashed again and again, using both hands to deal potentially dangerous blows.

The Dunmer dodged each attack, his skill in battle vastly outstretching the other’s wild swings.  He quickly regained the upper hand.  He blocked a powerful swing, then used the momentum to force the other back so he could bring his foot up in a swift kick to its hollow stomach.  The other hunched over, its head bowed and its arms wrapped around its belly.  The Dunmer curled his free arm around the other’s shoulders and slammed the rounded hilt of his blade into the back of its head.

Had the other vampire been human, it would have died instantly, but the fatal blow only knocked him unconscious.  The deceivingly frail body went limp and the Dunmer allowed it to fall to the hard ground below.

The Dunmer examined the other vampire, debating his next move.  He could kill it, run his blade through its heart and cut off its head.  Or he could leave it and let the sunlight finish it, for it would not wake up before dawn.  The blow made sure of that.
 
But, the other had piqued the Dunmer’s interest, and that was a rare feat.

He was curious, and as luck would have it, he was just bored enough with his nightly routine to indulge in a change.  For a while, anyway.  He could always kill it later if it proved to be a nuisance.

The Dunmer sheathed his blade and heaved the other vampire over his shoulders like a deer carcass.  The other was impressively light, and the dark elf realized that keeping a starved vampire around- even if kept in a cage as a strange mockery of a pet- was not a good idea.  Until the other regained better control of itself, the Dunmer would have to hunt for two.

It seemed he had quite the night ahead of him.