Bloodlette (Story)

Krist

"It is difficult for historians to declare a certain date for the foundation of Wayrest. A settlement of some variety had been in existence where the Bjoulsae River feeds the Iliac Bay possibly since the 800th year of the First Era."
―Sathryr Longleat

His eyes opened, and instinct told him it was at the very moment the last rays of the sun were no longer directly beating down on the lands. The sky would be red, and a stillness would be settling in as the world seemed to be holding it's breath, awaiting the darkness to completely engulf it.
Night time was the time for his kind.
It was true, he would no longer burst into flames if he stepped outside in the sun light, but he could not hardly bear it. It pained and weakened him, and reminded him of what he was.

The little island near Wayrest served it's purpose well. Few people came here, but just enough that it was no longer a place that folks wish explore. Wayrest had been around for longer than even he remembered, some said since the First Era, and he had no reason to doubt it. The small cavern that lead below sea level was his refuge for now, though it was quite damp.

He did not mind, he barely noticed it.

Jerrin climbed from his coffin, the same one he had used for years now. It was comforting. It was familiar. He was unsure why his kind longed for the coffin so often, but it was more than just a preference that drove him to it. It may well be something to do with the disease. Of this, he was uncertain.
Jerrin was well dressed, but his clothes were always of another era. He was hardly able to keep up with fashions, as there were times when he slept for years. He had truly only been active again for about 6 months. His first weeks were spent feeling ravished, and having to sate his appetite. It was a dangerous time for a vampire, as they were not at strength. The primal instinct would take over more often than not, and one would come to their senses covered in another's blood.

However, for Jerrin, what happened after that was far worse. Once the brain was revived, and the body was properly gorged, his mind would turn to her. His wife of so long ago, taken by the same vampire that turned him. His last memories of his wife were of her screams, her blood lust having completely taken over her. She never became a full vampire, in control, as Jerrin was. She was something else. She was surely dead now, truly dead.

Jerrin walked to the edge of the cavern, letting all of his senses take in his surroundings. His senses were excellent, and he could push them further than any human. He was alone. Looking out he could see the lights of Wayrest, in the distance.
He hungered, and the first thing he must do is feed. It was a process that he despised at first, but came to understand as a necessity now. The ecstasy for him was the same as other vampires. The emotions that flooded him when he drank, emotions that otherwise he would never feel. This disgusted him, however, even as he enjoyed it. It was a strange mixture of joy and guilt.

It was still necessary.

If anyone were watching the cavern, they would see bats screech from it, and take to the sky, no doubt setting out for their nightly feeding.

Krist

I had indeed settled in among the mortals, as I do on most nights. The down trodden, the street walkers, the drunks and those of their kind seemed to pay little mind to the pale figure among them. They have their own worries, their own troubles to consider, and a stranger is of little concern to them, especially if they feel they cannot glean some wealth from the stranger. I have come to master the art of politics, which to say, I allow them to think of me what I wish them to think of me at the time. When the time is proper, I will be their friend, and even companion for however long the need arises. At other times, such as now, I am unapproachable, an apparent haughty gentleman with no need to mix with the rabble.

I must confess, if to no one else but myself, that is not the case. I have never looked down upon any, not in life nor in this undeath. If truth be known, I envy their mortal sufferings, for it is something I shall not feel again. Emotions that I can only steal from them, but never experience for myself. Not really.

False emotions, false sense of being. Fake. I am but a caricature of humanity, yet I refuse to simply embrace the undeath I suffer as a vampire. It is in this state of thought, for I cannot really call it emotion, that my mind turns to my lost beloved.
Palina. She was turned when I was, but she succumbed to the blood lust. Intellectually I remember the feelings, but there are no new feelings produced. Not of real grief, not of real pain. Just the memory of it. I oft think of what we would be today had she become a vampire such as I, but I cannot seem to even picture such.

I go on with this to reveal that I saw a stunning figure in Wayrest. She was pale of skin, but there was little room to mistake, she indeed appeared to be my Palina. Her wealth was on open display, as she was escorted by brutes with long swords on their side. She barely glanced about as she exited her carriage, and entered one of the many halls that the wealthy use for their balls. I must say she was on my mind at the time, and this could very well be the reason I thought I saw her, but another part of my intellect kept saying no, it was her.
It was Palina.

Krist

"Dr. Lette, let me remove your coat sir," the servant said even as he assisted Jerrin with the coat.

Jerrin looked about the large home even as the servant tended to him. The ceilings were high, the chandeliers were huge, and the furniture was expensive. Even as a mortal Jerrin Bloodlette new of the finer things. He was indeed a doctor at one time, his actual name, Bloodlette, coming from the method his family had perfected in curing most diseases. While he did not suspect many of knowing the name, as the name was lost long ago, among the educated of high society there were scholars that studied such ancient ancestry.

"The master shall be down soon," the servant said, motioning to the den. "Shall I fetch you something to drink?"
"Thank you no," Jerrin said, and watched as the servant left to fetch his lord.

Jerrin entered the den, and looked about. It was filled with fine furniture from across the lands. Intricate carvings decorated the chairs and settees. A large fireplace with fine etchings of angelic beings dominated the east wall. Revealing sculptures of most races filled the room, Jerrin noting that only the Argonians were not represented.

Dr. Enmon Ashford lived among high society, as his family had done for several generations. The mansion was large and old, but very well maintained. The Ashford's mixed wizardry with natural medicines to produce many cures for disease, much like the Bloodlette's had so long before. Jerrin wondered what his ancestors could have accomplished had he lived, instead of being cursed with this unlife. The methods of Master Ashford's family had made him very wealthy.

"Dr. Lette," Master Ashford called as he entered the room, his hand extended for a greeting.

The man was tall for a Breton, and known for his flamboyant attire. Golds and reds mixed and flared through his silk house clothes, a long robe reaching the ground and only somewhat gliding behind him. Everything he wore almost gave the appearance of flames waving about him, as it caught the light from the chandeliers and candles.

"Master Ashford," Jerrin said, accepting the handshake, noting the softness and delicacy of his appendage. He felt the warmth within it, and let it go, offering a smile and head nod.

"Please, sit. Can I offer you anything to eat or drink," Ashford asked, reaching for a bell he apparently used to summon his servants.
"Nothing, thank you," Jerrin said, sitting on a seat close to the fire place. The cool rain outside had chilled him, and while it caused no discomfort, it was best to allow the fire to warm him. Mortal humans, even with such weather, maintained a certain temperature.
"You must wonder why I would call you to me, with such nasty weather. In all fairness I would have met with you today, when it was at least a bit warmer," Ashford said, as if reading the vampires mind.
"I am sorry, but I had business today. Of course I would not wish to put off meeting with you any longer than necessary," Jerrin said, offering a smile.
"Of course. With that said, I shall get to business. Your practice in Wayrest has not gone unnoticed Dr. Lette. Among my peers you are all the talk. Rumor is you have managed to cure some of the worst diseases, yet you do not share your wisdom of how with any," Ashford said, forcing a smile, though Jerrin could see it was not sincere.

Jerrin had come to learn much of Ashford in the two months since he began to practice medicine in Wayrest. In fact, learning of Ashford was his reasoning for the practice. As a vampire, he found no use for the healing arts among mortals, and indeed it was difficult for him to be so close to them without feeding, especially at the times when their blood was flowing from a wound or surgery.

"It is not my intent to be so secretive, Master Ashford, but my family secret is indeed that. It has been kept for many generations, and not to be taught to any but my own," Jerrin said, and this was actually an honest answer. Bloodlettes throughout the generations before him coveted their secrets of medicine, and any taught their method of bloodletting was sworn to oath not to ever reveal it. Even now, Jerrin held to that oath.
Ashford nodded, looking to the fire place. Jerrin had no doubt the man was thinking of a method to force or coerce him into revealing this secret.
"I see. I suppose this is something I cannot help but understand, as you see, my own family has kept their secrets for many a generation. Methods I imagine are similar to yours, but in some cases not near as effective," he finally said. This somewhat surprised Jerrin, having learned much of Ashford, he knew the man to not take no for an answer.
Ashford smiled over to Jerrin then with a nod of respect, as if the two now shared some kind of bond. Jerrin again nodded his head, and their talk drifted from work to other things of society.

Waffennacht

Awesome.

Krist

I had been staying at the inn for now, though I may actually need to buy a home in Wayrest if I am to continue this charade. The meeting with Master Ashford went well, though it did not go exactly as he intended. He was looking to partner with me, but his kind intend partnering for their own benefit. His desire is my technique of healing, and that he cannot have.

I must however be honest with my own self. I would not dither among the mortals as such if I did not have my own reasoning. Dr. Ashford would not be a name in my mind had it not been his own ball that I saw my Palina enter.
If it were indeed her.
My intellect tells me that it could not be Palina, for I know her fate. However, the resemblance was also too striking to be anyone else. Could she be reborn? With the Soul Burst and everything that has happened of late, is it possible that her essence escaped the confines of Cold Harbour? Is that where her soul was?
I will know none of this until I meet with this woman, and learn who she is. I will only gain more questions.

I once again secure the top floor of the inn, paying the inn keeper with a friendly smile. It is late into the night but the inn keeper cares little. Wayrest is alive as much at night as it is in the day, and my timing is nothing odd. I will not stay in the room however. I will leave before sun up, for I cannot rest well where any sun light is present. My room fills most of the top floor. One balcony faces toward the main street, perfectly situated to collect any southern breeze blowing. Another, smaller balcony, faces the alley where few tread. It is quite convenient for my escape and sometimes my return.

It is 3 hours before sun up, so I have some time still. The hunger grows in me, and demands to be sated. There was a time I fought it, sometimes for days, but I always gave in eventually, in one way or another. Even now I know I will not deny it, and even now the guilt begins to torture me.

I open the door to the small balcony in the dark alley. None are about. Mist flows ever slightly down to the street, the warm southern breeze pushing this strange cool mist out of the city. It is a strange form to take, one that took a century to master. In this form, as long as I can keep it, one does not really think, they are simply aware.

I am very aware that my hunger grows.

Krist

The figure walked slowly, relying heavily on a walking staff as he made his way through the crowded streets. His hood was pulled low, and if one chanced a glance beneath it they would see what appeared to be an elderly man. They would also see the shimmer of heat rising from him, ever so lightly. Most folks simply made way for him, as there was something sickly about him, but one could not tell exactly what. It was simply best to make way, and even with the crowded street, give him plenty of room. Besides, it appeared he was headed to the Temple, perhaps to beg one of the gods to fix his problem. Priests of Akatosh, Stendarr, or Mara would certainly assist him, for a price of course. This was not such an odd seen, but an unpleasant one none the less. Such riff raft should be conscientious enough to use the back alleys. Even the common street walker knew this.

Jerrin entered the Temple, leaving the burning of the sun behind him, but now feeling the pressure of the faithful within. He knew this would not be pleasant, and willed himself to stay in control and not flee. He did not have much faith in the Aedra, and considered them no better than the Daedra in some aspects. Their temples were usually corrupted with priests who rathered filled coffers than help the sickly. However, every now and again, he would run into one that was truly full of faith and kindness. Unfortunately, this was one of those days.
"My lord," the lady called, kindness in her voice. Her presence, in this holy place, sickened him more. Jerrin pushed past it though, looking toward her and offering a weak smile.
"I have business with Father Bedistair," he said.
The woman looked him over a bit. Jerrin knew what she saw. She saw what appeared to be a sickly elderly man, perhaps even a beggar of sorts. The truth was, it was not age that caused his lips to be thin and drawn, nor his eyes to be hollowed. What she truly was looking at was death, his death.
"Father Bedistair may not be available. Would you rather......", she began, but this was how they always began. Bedistair never wished see anyone.
"No, tell him Jerrin is here, and I insist," he said, then sat on a bench motioning for her to be off. He could barely stand her presence now, and only wished her gone. Had she insisted on standing there, he would have turned and left, rathering the torture of the sun than this pressure of the faithful. Luckily, the same faith that caused him such discomfort, caused her to turn and do as he asked.
Faith? Or was it simple kindness?
Jerrin cared little for that debate in his head. Whatever it was, as she walked away from him, the pressure decreased and became far more bearable.

Jerrin rested his head back against the stone wall that the bench was fixed to. He did not venture far into the Temple where the shrines were. While he had little faith in the entities that they represented, he had full respect of their power.
Jerrin's mind drifted, something akin to mortals dozing off. Day time to him was the same feeling as a mortal who had stayed up for two days and was now deep into the midnight hour of the 3rd night. It was exhausting.
To add to that he had not fed in near a week. This helped to increase some of his abilities, but decrease others. Right now he needed his will to be strong, which allowed his senses to be strong. Unlike a sleepy mortal, his mind was sharpened, which stretched his senses out further than normal. He knew Father Bedistair was here, he could sense him.
Jerrin stretched his senses to locate him, careful not to take in the shrines. He could not exactly hear the conversation, but he knew what it was about. Bedistair did not wish speak with anyone, until she told him who it was, and that Jerrin had insisted. His expression changed, and even softened as he nodded.

Krist

I wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who are reading this, and for the positive feed back. Anyone that really enjoys writing knows that stories in our heads demand to be told, but there is no demand on a person to read them. I deeply appreciate your kindness, and hope this story is worth the time you have taken. I am trying to keep the entries short, and assure you the story will not go on forever.

Krist

"He said his name is Jerrin?" Father Bedistair asked, looking Sister Sharpe over.
Surely she was mistaken.
Sister Sharpe had found him in the corridors below the Temple, a place that once served as a preparation place for the dead. Now he had his own little corner with a small library of books all about him. As was typical of the priest, he was at a table, burning lamps over old tomes. He was not the most faithful, though some say there was a time when he actually was, but he was well read, and highly intelligent. She figured this was the reason he was allowed to stay.
"That is what he said to tell you, but I must warn you, he looks very ill. I was thinking....", she began tentatively, but stopped when she saw the expression on Bedistair's face.
"You were thinking if his illness was bad enough, I could not help him," Bedistair said. Though she shook her head and began to protest, he knew better. He waved it off, showing little concern over it.
"Bring him to me," he offered, but then held up a hand. "Send Sister Ishna to get him. I wish you to return to your duties."
Sister Sharpe nodded, a bit confused on why he did not wish her to retrieve the man, but did as Bedistair asked.

Father Bedistair leaned back in his straight backed chair, and found himself unconsciously straightening his robes. They were dusty, and worn. He did not give much thought to appearance, as he did not entertain often.

He was a young man when he first met Jerrin, and while he was now looking every bit of his 63 years, he was sure Jerrin was not.

Krist

Bedistair showed me some degree of mercy I suppose, he sent another to fetch me and bring me to his basement office. I felt none of the pressure felt from the other lady, and knew this woman had very little faith.
The same was true of Bedistair.

I met the priest years ago, before my last long sleep. He thought he would kill me, and was ready to do it but I was stronger than he thought. In the end I spared him. Or he spared me, of this I am not completely sure. We both recognized the disillusion in the others eyes. This war of good and evil, that does not really exist. It is a mere continuation of faction on faction, race on race, reality fighting reality. It is a lie.

If Bedistair lost his faith that day, I do not know it, but we both seemed lose something. His loss is evident to me. I wonder to myself if mine is evident to him.

After awkward greetings and casual conversation, I get to my point.
Palina.
He knows little of Dr. Ashford, only that the man is what I thought, a high society healer who delves in magic instead of faith. He has a reputation of a high success rate even with the worst diseases. The faithless and unbelievers are in high volume among the wealthy, and they choose someone other than a priest, wishing to owe no god or religion. They pay Ashford, and the deal is done.
"Jerrin, be of care around this one. I do not know what game he is playing, but something evil is afoot," Bedistair warns.

I nod, but he knows being careful right now is not in me. I saw her, I know I did. Palina is alive, or something.

"There was a soul burst in Cyrodiil, and dark anchors attaching Nirn to Coldharbour. If Palina is alive, or at the least walking Nirn again, it would surely have something to do with that, and Molag Bal even, in some way." Bedistair looked strained mentioning the Prince of Domination, as if the mere mention would warrant the Daedric prince's attention.

I left the Temple ravished, not having fed in so long, the mere presence of such powerful shrines so close taking its toll. It made for a great disguise, for no one would think this old dead looking beggar was indeed Dr. Lette. However I felt weak, and knew I would be feeding this evening. The mere thought, as always, brought me shame, instead of comfort.

Krist

"I know what you are," Ashford smiles when he says it, looking Jerrin in the eye.
Jerrin sipped the brandy from the fine crystal glass, not returning the look. He closes his eyes, and leans back, as if in deep thought. Ashford, for his part, only pours himself some more brandy.
"What am I, for this is indeed something that I would love answered," Jerrin says, finally opening his eyes and looking to the physician.
Ashford continues to smile, the brandy making his head swim ever so slightly.
"Jerrin, you have been around for a very long time," he finally says.
Jerrin nods a bit, and wonders if his secret has been revealed. He had been very careful not to let on that he was a vampire, but even the best laid plans can come undone.
"You have been around, but no one has heard of you before you coming to Wayrest and using some of your talents to heal some of the worst sicknesses. Even some of my own patients, whom I could not help, have sung your praises. You heal them but you do not keep them as patients once done. You work at night mostly, out of the spying eyes of others, as you tell them. I have heard all of this. You my friend, are a very shrewd businessman," he says, tipping his glass to Jerrin and offering a sincere smile.

It had been months now since Jerrin saw the woman he believed to be Palina, and he had not seen her again. He had however come to know Ashford, and despite himself, he had come to like the man.
At the very least, found him interesting.
"That is indeed a compliment I think, coming from one such as yourself," Jerrin smiles back, and salutes with his own glass. It was true, Jerrin had added quite a bit to his diminishing coffers. He had treasures all over Tamriel at one time, but that was from a stage when he was trying to fill the emptiness of his soul with the riches of the mortal world. He had left it all behind and began sleeping away from the cities, always finding himself a cave or an old dungeon to rest in, until his next long sleep. Now, he would be considered quite wealthy again by Wayrest standards.

"So Dr. Lette, how do you do it?" Jerrin had come to know Ashford as being a blunt man. It must have been difficult to wait this long before coming out and asking him.
Jerrin smiles, and forces out some air from his lungs. It felt odd to him, as breathing was not a necessity, except to keep up the appearance of mortal.
"I am serious my friend. I have asked, but your patients never seem to know exactly what went on. They drink some elixir, I imagine to cause them sleep, then they awake feeling much better. Some say they feel better than they have ever felt. I must know, how do you accomplish such. I test them, and they seem fit as can be."

This was what Jerrin was waiting on. Ashford now wanted something from Jerrin.

Angelfire_Arisen

Nice work. I enjoyed reading so far. I really like the addition of pictures, brilliant way to set the scenes.

Krist

Ashford would never know my secret, for I swore to keep the family secret of blood letting centuries before he was even born. It involves sorcery mixed with doctoring, but proves to be very capable of relieving others of their disease, and actually making them healthier than before.
I told him what I wished of him none the less.
"I wished meet the woman with the white skin and raven hair. Her eyes an ocean green."

He told me he knew of whom I spoke, and that he would indeed arrange a meet. It was all I wished, for more years than he could ever know. It was hard to believe that I would be meeting my Palina again. I was sure it was her.

"I shall be throwing a ball this weeks end, and she shall be there," Ashford assured me. "Attend, but be ready to hold your end of the bargain my good friend."
I nodded, but knowing full well that he would not get what he wished. I contemplated what to give Ashford in return, but I was sure he would settle for no less than my family secret.

"It shall be done," I assured him.

I am no liar, but alas, I would do anything to hold my love again. Anything.

Rohamad_Ali

You paint a wonderful canvas with your words . Enjoy reading these .

Krist

The ballroom was large, and filled with all sorts of the upper crust. The participants were dressed in all manner, and most of it was outrageous.
Jerrin did not feel at all comfortable.
The music was soothing at least, but the dances were nothing of what Jerrin remembered. He was forced to turn away offers, ladies hoping to draw the eye of the wealthy doctor. Jerrin simply acted as if he was waiting on someone important, which is exactly what he was doing.
Jerrin scanned the room constantly, and he soon found what he was looking for. There she was, dark hair, pale skin, and very green eyes. She was across the room, and the dancers continued to block him, as well as courtiers. She wore a long dark blue gown, the train short. Her hair was pulled back, and set high. She wore no jewelry.
Glimpses of her face was all he could get.
As Jerrin stood to cross the room, Ashford appeared in front of him.
"I am glad you could come, my friend," Ashford said, a smile on his face. For his part he was dressed in a white shirt with full sleeves and a long red doublet.
Jerrin forced a smile, and nodded his head.
"It is a fine ball, Dr. Ashford," Jerrin said, trying to find a way to remove himself from any long conversation. As he looked around Ashford, trying not to seem impatient, he lost sight of her. She was gone from where she sat before. He was beginning to panic, until he finally listened to what Ashford was actually saying.
"So I have told Lady Crawford that you wished meet her, and she seemed interested as well. However, as you know, there are duties of a lady to her house, and she must keep her own appointments. Even at a ball, we must all work to further our needs and goals," Ashford said with a sigh, as if it were some great burden.
Jerrin looked to Ashford, and nodded as if understanding.
"I have arranged a private party of only a few select after the ball, back at my own home. It is there that you will have your chance to court her, if that is your intent," Ashford chuckled ever slightly, and it irritated Jerrin, though he fought to not show it.

Krist

"Father Bedistair," Sister Sharpe called into the small room, tapping only lightly on the door. It was not odd to find the man asleep over the old tomes he enjoyed more than actual live company. He spent many hours in the small room below the temple. The other priests seldom bothered him, in fact, they seldom spoke to him at all. He did not seem to be bothered with it.
He was not asleep, though his eyes told a story of a man that was in dire need of such.
"Come...come in sister," Bedistair motioned, letting out a sigh as he looked up from a large book. The room was dusty, though Sharpe and the other sisters always tried to keep it clean for him, it never seemed to work. Dust and spiderwebs always found their way to this room.
In fact, Bedistair, who was a very clean man, seemed dusty as well.
Sister Sharpe just stood a moment, mayhaps a second or two, but the time felt to go slow, and she felt foolish for what she wanted to tell him. In fact, she almost turned to leave, but her good conscious and strong faith kept her all the same.
"Yes, sister," Bedistair asked, but it was not in a way to make her feel foolish. He seemed kind, even if withdrawn. She liked him, though most others avoided him. To the others, he seemed too quiet, as if he was holding a secret that he refused share with anyone else.
"I had a dream, father Bedistair, I have had two, actually," she said. She did not need to qualify what that meant, he knew. They all knew that she had dreams that were visions of sorts. They came and went. There were times she was given dreams for specific reasons, without any interpreting needed. Other times the dreams were vague and hard to understand. Those she seldom shared with any, and if she did, only to a select few that helped her untangle them.
Bedistair nodded for her to go along, giving his best "I am interested" look. It did not always mean he was interested, this she knew of him as well. It meant he was kind enough to hear one out, even if you were taking him from his old books and studies.
"The first dream is not very clear to me, father. I had it a couple of weeks ago. It was of a man, his hair was a dark red, maybe even blood in his hair. In his left hand he held a goblet that was over flowing with blood, pouring down his arm to his elbow. In his right hand he was reaching toward the light, that was shining down to his elbow. From his feet though, darkness was climbing. It was not a shadow, it was an ugly darkness that was threatening, but what kind of threat I am unsure," she finished, and shook her head only slightly to indicate she had no idea what that one meant.
Bedistair was sure of who she spoke, but chose to not comment.
"And the other," he asked, looking on with the same interest.
"The other was stranger, but there was no doubt the warning. There was a room, and in the center of the room there was this terrifying statue that hovered over everything. People surrounded the statue in dark clothes. While it seemed one should be able to just look at them, their faces always seemed shadowed and unrecognizable. On the statue a blemished ram appeared. It was very strange to look upon. It was a mixture of blight and innocence, much like the man that I saw. Those surrounding it suddenly pounced on it with daggers, repeatedly stabbing it. I could no longer see it, until the people backed off. In the place of the blemished ram rose a very dark ram, and by its side was a pale woman with raven colored hair and dark green eyes. The people then worshipped the ram as a prince, and gave him blood to drink. It drank, over and over, so many times I cannot count. That is how my dream ended."
Bedistair stood slowly, a look of worry replacing the look of interest.
"And you said, you said no doubt the warning," Bedistair asked.
"Oh, the statue. The statue was Molag Bal," she said, looking around ashamed to even speak the name.

Bedistair fell, more than sat, back into his chair.

Krist

I did as Ashford bid, and met at his home for the after party. It was high societies influential. In my actual life, I rubbed elbows with these types, even to my beautiful Palina's dislike. She was more drawn to the poor, the down trodden, and those who lived more simple lives. I was never scared that she married me for my money, she never seemed have much use for it.

It was those thoughts that made me wonder why she would now be around such folks, if this indeed was her. Of course the biggest issue would be how it is she was alive? I never saw her die, but I had assumed she wasted away as a blood fiend, having no thoughts left except to feed. I left her caged for I did not have the will to destroy her myself. I was coward, but now I have a chance to make this up to her.

Ashford's servant led me through the large mansion, then down some stairs into a basement of sorts. It was well furnished, and the aristocrats sat about chatting with their low tones and haughty chuckles. That is, until I entered and my presence was made known by a clearing of the throat of the man servant. At this point all eyes turned to me, as well as smiles. It was an odd feeling for a creature that has done his best to stay unnoticed, to suddenly be in the mist of such.

"Our guest of honor," Dr. Ashford said, and the wealthy men and women clapped ever lightly, like only the wealthy can.

There is a natural instinct that one gains as a predator, as a vampire. You understand the prey, and at just that moment, I understood I was the one being hunted. I must have stared too long because Dr. Ashford hurried to my side, his warm smile still in place.
"I did not mean to embarrass you my friend," he said, and removed my jacket, handing it over to a female servant who disappeared out of the door with it.
It was then I saw her. She was sitting and talking to someone else, but her eyes kept turning to me, until she finally smiled and offered a hand out for me to approach her.
"Go to her," Ashford whispered to me, as if he was in on the secret and knowledge of my Palina.

Krist

Bedistair hurried to the large home of Dr. Ashford, after being told by the servants cleaning up the ballroom where to find Jerrin. To his astonishment, there were guards watching the door, and they ushered him in, as if they were expecting him.

A dark skinned servant showed him to the basement, leaving him at the door. She seemed anxious to leave.

Bedistair touched the pendant under his shirt. It was a sign of his faith, but that was about all he had left of his faith. It was gone long before he met the vampire. The vampire he now hurried to rescue, though he was not even sure from what.

Bedistair opened the door, and looked into a large room filled with aristocrat. Well dressed ladies and gentlemen were watching a scene play out. Bedistair followed their gaze and saw Jerrin, kneeling down, his head in the lap of a woman with raven hair and green eyes.
"Palina," he said, over and over.

The woman was not looking at Jerrin, however, she was looking to Bedistair. She motioned for him to come in, and despite everything in the priest's being warning him to not enter, he could not resist. He entered, and approached as well.

The woman was speaking, and the people about were murmuring. Bedistair could not tell what they were saying. His eyes were fixed on the green eyed woman, and found himself kneeling in the center of the room.

"The blemished lamb must die," the woman said, even as she caressed Jerrin's hair.
"No," Bedistair heard a voice say behind him, and the spell was broken.
Bedistair looked over to see Sister Sharpe stood there, small and meek, but a determined set to her jaw. He then looked to the woman with green eyes, and saw something far different. It was a woman, but there was something different about her now. Something, off. Not human.
"Be gone with you, you were not invited," she said, but her voice now sounded like many voices, a beautiful singing from a chorus of angels.
Jerrin also looked up, and he now looked quite confused, much like one looks when they are woken suddenly from a deep sleep.
"Father Bedistair, leave here now. Your friend is not...." she began, but was silenced quickly when a sword blade came from her chest. It took a moment for Bedistair to understand that someone had stabbed her from behind.
"Finish it," the woman said, even as Jerrin began to stand, his red eyes now staring about, trying to take in exactly what was happening.
All that were in the room fell on Bedistair with daggers. Jerrin moved to stop them, but a cold steel hand held him in place.
"No, it must be done," the woman said, even as Bedistair was screaming.
Jerrin now knew this was not his Palina. He slung her off, using his vampire strength to send her back into her chair, and tipping it over with her.
Jerrin pushed the crowd from the priest, and knelt to look him over.
Bedistair was dead, many puncture wounds throughout his body.
"Forget him, he was nothing but a blemished priest," the woman said, still on the floor. "It is more important that you know who your god is, and begin serving him now."
Jerrin looked to her, and could now see what she truly was.
"Seducer," he simply said, then looked about the room at the faces of the men and women. "Worshipers of Molag Bal."
"And you my friend are a prince of his," Dr. Ashford said, a smile on his face.
Jerrin watched as the entire room took a knee before him. He then looked to the woman.
"They killed your friend," she said, getting to her feet now. "I offer you them as a sacrifice."

Ashford quickly looked up, a sudden understanding showing on his face now.

The most trusted of the city guards would find Dr. Ashford and his many guests, dead, drained of blood. A strange creature also was found beheaded among them, no doubt a Daedra of some sort. It was all cleaned up and the guards were to be kept quiet. While the dead bodies were astoundingly disturbing, even more disturbing was the small statue of a grinning Molag Bal that was found in the center of the room, no more than a few inches tall.