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Kruliak's Thirts
By
Anonymous
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<img src='img://Textures/Interface/Books/Illuminated_Letters/K_letter.png'>ruliak's journey to Risen was arduous. Unable to find sleeping victims he wandered through fight after fight in the wilds, and with no love of the imperials he acted on that hatred with steel and fangs. His undead servants would rise shortly after their death but he quickly realized they were of little use, lasting mere seconds. He stumbled in to Whiterun, weary for blood and waited patiently in the shadows for an old fortune teller to retreat to her house for rest. She was damnably content to sit on her bench waiting for who knows what. Finally the night darkened to nearly pitch, and he knew with his lock picking skills he could force entry. He removed most of his armor, for fear of waking her up but as soon as he entered, she began to stir. Moving quickly to hide, he patiently waited for her to go back to sleep.... Finally, returning to rest he descended upon her. He drank deeply, but it was not enough and some strange power kept him from drinking again. He would have to find another victim.
Returning to the night...he could barely see, heading out at this time could be dangerous. As he searched around whiterun he stumbled upon a locked cellar door...breaking several picks he was finally able to get in. Inside were coffins, and candles.... was this some undertakers cellar? Or perhaps some other vampire's refuge? Regardless, he felt that the comfort of a coffin, would provide him the rest he needed while preserving what satiation he had acquired from fortune teller. He would wake in the morning, perhaps weakened in the sun, but better able to navigate the terrain.
Heading out of Whiterun he stumbled upon a farmer walking idly down the road, off to join the storm cloaks. While Kruliak's allegiance was to the storm cloaks, they would never see this farmer in their ranks. Today, Kruliaks desire to evolve and leave his fledgling life outweighed the worth of one more soldier to fill their barracks. He was sure the price was worth it. One day he would be a powerful tool in their arsenal, surely his unlife was worth more to them than the life of a peasant farmer turned soldier. He circled the farmer from behind, and attempted to take what he needed through stealth. The farmer was more attentive than he had hoped. He turned on Kruliak, withdrew a sword. No matter, Kruliak would get his satiation by force if necessary.
Afterwards, the farmer lay dead. His still warm body might provide a fresh heart that he could use in desperate times. As he tried to remove the heart, he realized something was wrong, he was still under attack. Returning to his feet he saw in the distance the whiterun guards giving chase, bows nocked with arrow and drawn. Then the all too familiar dance of undeath embraced the farmer, and he rose to his feet for a short beat of service. This would provide a measure of distraction, as Kruliak did not want to go toe to toe with the guards, or disgruntle the whiterun authorities. He bound the other way as the farmer bolted for them.
As he approached Fort Greymoor a small troop of Imperial Soldiers with a prisoner in toe unsheathed their weapons. They were not as happy to see Kruliak after the last run in he encountered, and Kruliak, still wounded from the Exchange with the farmer, and out of stamina was not happy to see them. He was forced to engage. With a cold steel axe in his right, he readied his drain ability and turned on all three, but he was hardly a master of steel, or a deadly Sire, and he quickly began to falter in combat. He knew he must sacrifice the one fresh heart he had saved to restore him. He took great pleasure eating one of their comrade's heart in front of their disgustful eyes.
Restored, he was able to continue the onslaught. As the fight ended, he found himself short of stamina, but good on health. Again, he bent down to harvest a fresh heart, and again, he was still under attack. The bandits that took Greymoor had noticed his presence and were shooting arrows. He stood…out of reach of steel he aimed his Life Drain at two of the weaker ones and took them down. Standing in the sunlight at nearly high noon, however, provided little shade and he was depleted of stamina and magicka once again.
He turned to hide under the arches of greymoor and stooped…his was in the shadows, regenerating when the others came upon him. They were dispatched quickly. Checking his journal while resting in the shade, he was getting close. Perhaps the denizens of Greymoor would provide enough.
As he entered Greymoor, his armor clanked and roused suspicion in a nearby bandit. Fully restored, Kruliak was no match for him. In a short burst of drain, and a single swing of his steel bladed axe, the bandit had lost his life and for a third time, Kruliak was denied his heart. There were others about, having been alarmed by the guards cries of an intruder.
Room by room Kruliak dispatched of the Bandits, leaving a trail of bloodied necks, bloodied floors, and bloodied steel. His satiation still short his final goal. One last bandit…. A Bandit Thug. He would do. Blow after blow and glance after glance they exchanged but he would not falter but shortly, as the fight began to draw in Kruliak’s favor he had the Thug on his knees asking to spare his life. He took pleasure knowing that this man would die twice tonight. Sinking his teeth he drank as full a drought as he could take, and the bandit fell to the floor. Reaching down, Kruliak tore open his chest, and retrieved the still slowly beating heart. Moments later, the vile bag of flesh rose to his feet. Readying his hands, Kruliak let out a charge of light and the now undead servant before him disintegrated into ash, restoring vital magicka, health, and stamina after the fight.
Pausing for a moment in the quietness, he referred to his journal. If he had a beating heart, it would have skipped. Devastated he read that his bloody journey to freedom, to power, could not conclude. He was shy of his goals by only 2 drops of blood.
"I never know who’s here anymore, they just keep coming and going." He heard an elderly voice behind him. He turned, bewildered to see her there. He knew what he must do. He left the room, and rounded to the other side out of her sight. Sneaking back in, he crept up upon her to get a taste of her blood. But again, his abilities and weakness as a Fledgling did little to achieve what he desired, and she pulled a dagger in defense. Feeling a bit of remorse that he could not steal what he needed and knowing what he was about to do, he stifled it, and placed that remorse into the pit of his undead heart. Turning on her with a staggering first blow, weakening her to her knees, she bled out upon the floor. He took what he needed, and drank deeply. Her death was quick but as a painful reminder of what he had done, she rose from her death and groaned. Staring at her….unblinkingly….she waited, until some small time had passed that seemed to him an eternity, and she collapsed to the floor.
Shakened at what he had done, he re-ordered his thoughts. Rest! He searched about the fort, sure he had seen some resting place for which he could enter into stasis and having found it, he climbed in to bed and slept a full day and night away. As he woke, he felt a strange sense in his being, and giving into the temptation of power he rose to that of Risen.
As he left Fort Greymoor he realized, his battle through this run down fort must have taken longer than he expected, for he surely thought it would be daylight as it was when he entered, but it was the night, pitch as black that greeted him. A smile krept across his face as he summoned his Vampire’s Sight and behold, a new world was before him for the taking. His next step, to Master this power.
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Là
