Not one for wasting time and effort, Isran took the spiraling staircase two steps at a time, striding his way up without the slightest hindrance. The interior of the fortress echoed his steps back upon him as the clapping of leather boots on ancient stones, but he didn't care. Something as simple as the sound of his footsteps was so far down his list of things-to-be-concerned-about that it was almost on a separate list entirely. Vampires were making their presence felt throughout Skyrim, Dragons were returning and burning entire villages, and both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks were seemingly determined to outperform the other in number of lives lost.

  And in amongst it all he was trying, almost desperately so, to re-establish an ancient order of vampire hunters that Skyrim hadn't seen the like of in the better part of a millennium. Even with the increasing number of towns and villages that had suffered outright attacks by vampires and their minions, the volunteers arriving at the fort were limited both in number and skill.

  "My pa's axe..." He thought bitterly to himself and shook his head. The couple of new arrivals that morning had potential, but whether the vampires were going to be gracious enough to give him time to make something of them, was yet to be seen. If such emotions weren't a foreign concept to him, he would have been deciding whether to laugh or to cry.

  His frustration burned its way into his limbs, and he soon began sprinting his way up the stairs, taking them three, or even four at a time. It was a considerable climb up the narrow staircases to the upper levels, but the past years he had lived within the fortress ensured that when he arrived on the sixth floor, he was barely breathing heavily at all.

  What had long ago been known as Fort Dawnguard had been built to last, even when it was nothing more than a tiny border outpost overlooking the southern pass between Skyrim and Morrowind. During its prime it would have been able to hold off an Imperial Legion, and comfortably house several hundred soldiers and supporting staff. Those days however, were long in the past. Like skulking mice, the few dozen members of the renewed Dawnguard lived a meagre existence, and despite living in the fort for over three years, Isran had barely made any identifiable changes to the fortress’s centuries long abandonment.

  Although, the sheer scale of the enormous castle gave him and the slowly growing numbers of future vampire hunters space for anything, and everything they could think of. The central hall had been turned into an archery range, the primary mess hall had been combined into a kitchen and dining hall, and the ancient smithies were being cleared of dust ready for plating weapons with silver. Almost most importantly, it was also large enough and spacious enough to give him some measure of peace, in the form of private quarters where the fort commander once resided.

  Muttering to himself, he pushed his way through the door into his room, but tensed within seconds as his finely tuned instincts alerted him to a presence before he saw or heard them. There was little within the bounds of Nirn or even Oblivion that would hope to catch him unawares, not that the person within his room had been intent on ambushing him. Sitting on one of the hard wooden chairs, leaning back with his legs outstretched and feet crossed at the ankles, the armoured figure looked upwards from the book that he was reading, and gave Isran a friendly smile.

  "Good afternoon."

  The habitual scowl on Isran's face deepened, and his lips turned into a thin pink slit, framed in his wiry beard.

  "I don't believe I was expecting a visitor."

  "Sorry.” A snap made itself heard as the man closed the book he was reading. “Durak sent me up and said this was the best place to find you. With how big this place is, I wasn’t going to go wandering around looking for you and thought it would be best to wait."

  "Who are you?” Closing the door behind himself, Isran glared in annoyance at the man who had entered his personal quarters uninvited. “And what do you want?"

  "I'm Kaius.” If he felt aggrieved by the bluntness or Isran’s tone, or was feeling apologetic for intruding, Kaius didn't show it, instead turning his full attention to the vampire hunter standing a few metres in front of him and continuing to smile. “I heard you were looking for vampire hunters, and I thought I'd come and offer some information and perhaps my services."

  Taking a moment and looking over Kaius, Isran grudgingly acknowledged that unlike most of the others who had come, he was experienced at least. A lot could be learned from a simple glance and he liked what he saw. The armour Kaius wore was extremely well made, but had signs that he didn't just wear it for show. He carried no shield, and while he might have left it elsewhere, his battered vambraces attested to a skilled swordsman who blocked with sword and forearms. Even his scars he wore were like badges of honour, especially the aged white line under his right eye, and there was little doubt in his mind that Kaius was well used to hardship. From the rough cut of his hair and goatee, to the pragmatic, effective repairs and maintenance on his clothing and equipment; they were all indications of someone who lived rough, travelled frequently, and didn’t shy away from conflict.

  "You heard right." A brief glance over his desk and throughout the room revealed that nothing had been moved, stolen, and besides the book Kaius had been reading, otherwise touched. He didn't expect anyone to be foolish enough to steal from him, and then be waiting at the scene of the crime for his return, but trust was a word that Isran didn't know how to spell, let alone one that existed in his vocabulary. "I'm glad word's finally starting to get around. But, that means it won't be long before the vampires start to take notice as well."

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  "I'd say that they have begun taking notice." Gently, and carefully, Kaius placed the book he was reading onto the top of Isran’s desk, and rose to his feet. "In fact, that’s one of the reasons why I’m here. I have what you could call a bit of… experience with vampires in Cyrodiil, but nearly two months ago, my companions and I had a run in with a nest of the vermin near Morthal. Just over a dozen of them, and twice as many thralls."

  This caught Isran’s attention and he gazed upon Kaius with growing interest. The stories of vampires in Morthal were spreading quickly through Skyrim, especially given the news of their destruction by some travelling adventurers. While it pleased Isran that a nest of the suckheads had been put down like the animals they were, he was still slightly disappointed because he hadn’t had the pleasure of doing it himself.

  “That caught your attention, eh?” Kaius muttered, smiling out of the corner of his mouth. “That’s not even the best bit. Now, you can never be a hundred percent certain with these things, but the Vampire leading that particular group appeared to be none other than Movarth Piquine.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “As best as I can be. He was certainly no typical vampire that’s for sure; a proper vampire ancient. Even if he wasn’t the Movarth of legends, he was at least a few hundred years old and was no pushover. It took a bit of effort to put him down.”

  Isran was struggling not to tap his fingers against his leg or pace back and forth in front of his new guest, especially how there was something that was eating into the back of his mind about the situation, or about Kaius. The news regarding Movarth, whether it was true or not, was interesting indeed. Most vampires barely lived beyond a couple of centuries, but unless killed through violence, they were truly immortal. The older they were, the more powerful they became, and those two, three or even four hundred years old, were the true stuff of nightmares.

  Movarth Piquine, if the vampire Kaius was talking about was indeed him, was one of the most ancient vampires that were known to exist within all of Tamriel. Easily six or seven hundred years old and born sometime in the middle of the Second Era. He was also infamous, being one of the very few vampires to have been written about through several stories, most famously Immortal Blood; the semi-autobiography of Movarth’s ‘sire’ whose own name had been lost to the centuries.

  “Something tells me that there is more to your story.”

  “Yeah.” Pacing slightly in the room, eyes wandering over the various collections of items, pieces of equipment and the sizable collection of books, scrolls and other literature, Kaius flicked one of the many chains hanging from the ceiling in passing. “Something weird is going on with the vampires in Skyrim. There’s always a nest or two of them around, but this was different. I’m used to the likes of the Vampyrum Order in Cyrodiil keeping their heads down and staying hidden in the towns and cities, but Movarth’s coven was actively working towards establishing something in Hjallmarch. They were enthralling some of the locals, and had started infiltrating the city. And not just a few thralls to feed on here and there either, but actively working towards weakening the guard, gaining control over some of the burghers and even one of the Thanes. They were looking at taking over and were well on their way to doing so, before one of their newer members did something stupid.”

  “But you and your… companions stopped them?”

  “As far as we can tell.” Kaius shrugged. “Going by a fraction of what I have seen from you and your group here, you will know as well as I, that it's difficult to burn out any infestations completely. The thing that really got me curious and worried in equal measures, is that there was a lot of evidence showing that this was not just a random coven with dreams of grandeur, but something larger scale and organised. The increase in vampiric attacks over winter just adds to it.”

  Kaius was right. There had been a massive increase of attacks by vampires throughout winter and Isran had been gathering the reports and news and could see that over the past two years, vampires in Skyrim were increasingly active. While that could be easily explained away by the opportunistic parasites taking advantage of the increased fighting between the Stormcloaks and Imperials during the long winter nights, Isran knew better. This was beyond simple raids and feedings by the odd handful. The targets, the attacks and the damage was too clean, too precise, and too organised even between cities and Holds. Especially for typically ravenous, disorganised and unaffiliated groups of bloodsuckers.

  “Now, the odd one or two clans joining or working together, that’s one thing.” Moving away from the seat he had been reading one of Isran’s books in, Kaius moved closer to the wall and the collection of books on their shelves, tilting his head slightly to read the covers. “But there was way, way too much evidence in Movarth’s lair showing that he was not only working with others of his kind, but was actually an underling. I don’t think I need to tell you, of all people, what it means when a vampire from the Second Era is the literal lesser of two evils.”

  While he was listening to Kaius as he spoke, Isran’s sense of unease was building and it was not as a result of the topic of conversation. Whether it was the spawn of Molag Bal, or the children of Oblivion, there was nothing in this world or the next that was capable of increasing Isran’s heartrate. His entire life and all the experiences in combat against daedra and the undead, ensured that even in the heat of battle his blood was cold. But here, in his own quarters and staring at the man in full armour running his finger along the spines of his prized collection of books, his heart began beating one, or two beats faster than normal.

  "A treatise on Porphyic Hemophillia, Sanguinare Vampiris and the Undead." Reading the title off the spine, Kaius drew the book from the shelf and briefly thumbed through the pages. "Second edition as well. This is a really impressive collection."

  Eyes lifting from the pages, Kaius stopped in mid-motion, meeting Isran’s gaze for a moment, before glancing down to how the vampire hunter’s hand was resting on the weapon at his hip. Ever since he had entered the room, Isran’s instincts had been screaming at him, and he now knew why. For anyone else, it would have been impossible to notice, but a lifetime of experience let Isran know exactly what Kaius was. It was in the details; the way he moved, the way his feet pressed into the floor, and especially the way his hands and fingers grasped at items. There was a dexterity and smoothness to his muscles that no mortal could match, and an overwhelming strength that had to be constantly held at bay, lest it broke everything that he touched.

  "Look, I'm not here to fight." Kaius said simply, carefully and respectfully placing the book back into its spot on the shelf. “I merely came here to pass on some information, and retrieve something of mine.”