Raven's story..

[Immortal Swine]

(((OOC: This is an intro the the series of writings in Raven`s diary, I will post Draken`s journal at another time. Once the number of entries has been set. I will write the story of Raven and Draken from their birth to present time in story form, but the first pages will be made in journal entry type.)))








My name Is Raven Meridius Vladmir, I am over three hundred years of age. Passing on the ages and time as if they were a mere path. I have loved, I have slaughtered, I have done many things, some satisfactory some considered an abomination to many. I am not mortal, I am not human. I have been born one of the children of the night, a daughter to mother wolf and brother to the bat. I am a child of the night, a vampyre. With an eternity before, and the blood hunger ever pulsing in my veins, there is little urgency for diaries, or much of anything. However, I am inclied to write about my never ending journey of Undeath.

Ever since I was born into the world, I have been dead. I was born dead. Some may consider this a curse, I consider it a blessing of fate itself. Vampirism spreads across Cyrodiil like a flood. Few people know of it, very fewer people are masters of it, or if you will; slaves. You may think I am evil, I am not. I am knowledgeable. Evil is a word used by the ignorant and the weak, Vampirism is about power, unleashing your hunger and wrath, pleasure and lust. I have escaped the grasp of death itself. Time has no effect on me. Honor is a fool's prize. Glory is of no use to the dead however, if one is living in undeath, then it is a different matter. Mortals shun us, turn away in fear and confront us with agression and hostility. Do they grasp what is is to be immortal? To live forever?. Their petty conceptions and disgusting ideals plague the very world we live in. They may think all vampires are the same, they are wrong; we are not similar.

As the nine and the deadra are different from each other, mortals and immortals are different as well. Vampires and any other creatre of the night may have the same traits, but that does not signify that they are the same.

Many various clans & bloodlines are spread across Tamriel. Each bearing the hunger for fresh blood, but each different in a way or another. The Vladmirius clan, founded by my great grandfather, Valerious the Elder, are a coven and family in which the Cyrodiils bloodline run. Know first that we are no simple tribe of savages, tearing throats with the orgiastic abandon of our scattered, tribal brethren. Ours is a civil fraternity, to which we are bound - every one - by our dual hunger for flesh and influence. By the virtue of Imperial structure and bureaucracy, Cyrodiil has become our stronghold in the third era, and we suffer no savage rivals within our boundries, reveal ourselves to none, and manipulate the hand of society to mete out our agendas. The mistake made by mortals, we are not the same!. Equality is a lie, it is nothing more than a myth to appease the masses of wretched fools. Simply look around and you will see the lie for what it is! There are those with power, those that wield the strength and will to lead. And there are those meant to follow the strong, those incapable of anything but servitude and a meager, worthless existence.



How we were born and created, is is all a mystery to many, but to us. It is a bedtime story. To Kin-father Molag Bal, who brought forth the Bloodmatron Lamae to spite Arkay, we owe our existence, as do all vampires, though not all honor Him. For him we revel in the feast, and acknowledge the gift adrift in our veins. To patron Clavicus Vile, beacon oer our affairs, we owe our successes and social stature. Our bond with Vile makes us unique among our kind, for his guidance steels our savage craving with reason and savvy. For him we live amidst mankind, and twist them to our will from offices of power.


I was born into privilage and nobility. Others to not share the same destiny. The Vladmirs have faced but a handful of rivals and dissidents. Jealous of our power and wealth. Our ability to walk in light, infront of the sun which its power cannot hold against us.
Most barbaric tribes think themselves powerful by the gift of Bals blood alone, and squander the gift. There are those, however,who show signs of enlightenments, and earn our attention - those such as Glenmoril Wyrd, who live within the walls of Breton cities, or the Whet-Fang sodality of Black Marsh, who use magicka to keep captives catatonic and harvest from them the red nectar. These foes may one day threaten to impugn our sovereignty within the boundries[sic, not boundaries] of Cyrodiil, thus compelling our vigilance. Should and enroach upon our dominion, our wrath must be swift and total.

My life has been diffcult since my thirteen years of age and beyond. Dealing with betrayal, loyalty, wrath, violence. Make no mistake, I am a killer, I was born under a tyrants rule, I am from a bloodthirsty family. But even the most wicked of such suffers a great deal of loss. My coven has been strong for centuries, me and my brother, Draken were destined to lead the coven when the time was right. My father did not agree to such destiny. Father`s choice was to rule as an Ancient hile we remained in the council of Elders. We had to deal with his blindness as well as a great many problematic clans and species that where most..taxing to us. We were deceived; Used by our own father. My mother did not know of it, neither did our brother and sisters & coven. By the time we saw his deception, it was far too late. Vamprism comes with a price. Any vampire would know that, rogue or not.

Those who use vampirism are also bound to serve it. To understand this is to understand the underlying philosophy of the Deadric Lord and prince, Molag Baal. Vampirism offers power for power's sake. You must crave it. Covet it. You must seek power above all else, with no reservation or hesitation.

For those who were infected and new to the destiny have to understand that it will change you. It will transform you. Some fear this change. While living in the coven I have discovered that true power can come only to those who embrace that said transformation. There can be no compromise. Mercy, compassion, loyalty: all these things will prevent you from claiming what is rightfully yours. Those who accept the path of vampirism must also accept the challenge of holding on to it. By its very nature invites rivalry and strife. This is the most powerful strenght of our coven: it culls the weak from our order. Yet this rivalry can also be our greatest weakness. The strong must be careful lest they be overwhelmed by the ambitions of those working beneath them in concert.

In my centuries of living under my fathers rule, I have been rather rebellious, I did drink his lies as the rest of the family did. No one else understood my passion, no one understood the truth. My closest brother and friend did; Draken.

I shall write down what I have been through, my 'sworn' loyalties, my betrayals, my massacre, my first kill, my victories above rival clans, my thoughts about everything. Me & my brother`s apparent exile and banishment. The way my family lives, the way I have lived. The things I have done was for a purpose, the things I do is for a greater cause than mortals and immortals alike can understand. This is my path, my story, my BLOODLINE. I am Raven Meridius Vladmir and my glorious story is just the beginning.

[Immortal Swine]

The vampires, the Vladmirs -- ageless aristocrats with a sensual appetite for blood and luxury. Among their ranks are the Death Nights, an elite corps of the undead sworn to the destruction of their ancestral enemies....


Castle Vladmir was carved into the very face of a craggy black peak rising high above the surrounding forests and countryside. Its forbidding turrets and battlements stabbed upward at the starry night sky. The light of myriad torches and lamps shone through the fortress's lancet windows, making the isolated mountain stronghold appear to glow from within. Crimson pennants, the color of freshly spilled blood, streamed atop the watchtowers. Sculpted grotesques, in the shape of writhing plague victims, perched upon the eaves and ramparts. Flanking towers abutted the sturdy guardhouse defending the front gate. Armored Death Nights or Vampire warriors, known to peasents and nobles as the Desmodus Diphylla(Scientific name for Vampire bat), patrolled the tops of the high gray walls, which were more than ten feet thick in places. Rectangular stone merlons jutted up from the parapet like a bottom row of teeth. Flying buttresses reinforced the walls. Massive siege crossbows the size of catapults were mounted upon the outer palisade. Steel harthingys more than ten feet long were loaded into the formidable weapons, which were also known as ballistas. Steel winches were required to draw back the bow arms.

A slender youth, no more than sixteen years old, stood poised upon a parapet overlooking the drawbridge below. Dark black hair fell past her shoulders. A black velvet robe with golden trim clothed her narrow frame. Testified to her high status in the castle's hierarchy. Her clean black tunic and attire were well sewn and made. Piercing red eyes peered out from a beautiful face that had yet to require the touch of a razor. A brisk autumn wind rustled her. She gazed past the rampart at the precipitous thirty-foot drop before her.

Don't look down, Raven thought.

Despite her sage advice to herself, the young vampire could not resist peering down from her elevated perch atop the castle's outer walls. The drawbridge below looked impossibly far away. Any mortal who attempted to leap from this height would be smashed to pieces for certain.

Thankfully, Raven was no mere mortal.

I can do this, she thought. My father expects me to.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, closed her eyes, and stepped off the parapet. Gravity seized her and she plummeted downward at breathtaking speed. The night air rushed past her, roaring in her ears. Her eyes snapped open in time to see the hard wooden floor of the drawbridge appear to surge up at her like a battering ram. Her brief, inconsequential life raced before her eyes as she feared that she had fallen victim to some cruel joke on the part of her undead masters. Would it amuse her father and the others to see her brains splattered across the mountainside?

Perhaps. Perhaps not, she had yet to prove herself worthy of the Vampiric family.

It's not fair! she despaired, only heartbeats before hitting the ground. I haven't even begun to live yet!.

She braced herself for death, only to land nimbly upon the drawbridge in one piece. The impact didn't even knock the breath from her body, let alone kill her. She glanced down at her intact flesh and blood in astonishment. She gasped in relief.

I did it! she rejoiced. Just like father promised!

Her jubilation was cut short, however, when three beefy ruffians emerged from the shadow of the castle's high front gate. Raven recognized the men as mortal laborers employed in the ongoing expansion of the fortress's dungeons. Their unwashed hides had been baked brown by the sun, compared to the paler complexions of the castle''s more nocturnal inhabitants. Dried mortar splattered their filthy garments. Iron bludgeons in hand, they charged at the unarmed youth. Angry shouts and florid red faces made clear their hostile intentions. Their breaths reeked of strong spirits.

Raven had no idea what she had done to incur the men''s wrath, but she did not intend to be beaten senseless by the likes of these. They were just mortals, after all, and mere commoners to boot, not vampires whose harsh discipline she might be expected to submit to without resistance. Although she was nothing more than a serf herself, Raven owed no deference to these drunken louts. A hiss escaped her lips as she dropped into a defensive crouch. Her red eyes turned darker red.

The men spread out around her, clearly intending to assault her from all sides. The first man -- a bald-headed lummox with a neck like a troll -- came at Raven from the front. He swung his club at the youth, who ducked beneath the blow and butted her head into the human's chest hard enough to crack the man's ribs. Gasping in pain, the man staggered backward. His club flew from his fingers and Raven effortlessly snatched it from the air. She smacked it against the man's skull, dropping him to the ground, even as she heard the second man, who was a Nord -- a sallow-faced brute with bad teeth -- lumbering up behind her.

A backward kick sent Bad Teeth flying off the drawbridge. A startled yelp ended abruptly as he crashed down into the rocky slopes below, which were studded with jagged boulders. A high-pitched shriek gave way to agonized groans as the man was impaled upon a granite outcropping. He would have been better off breaking his neck instead.

Two down, one to go, Raven thought. She spun around to confront the third man, an Orc, who had attempted to waylay Raven from the right. A one-eyed stonemason who wore a leather patch over the empty socket, this one appeared both larger and cagier than his more impetuous cohorts, his green skin and large teeth made Raven giggle. Swollen veins bulged atop his meaty thews. A siren tattoo suggested that he had once gone to sea. Daunted by the preternatural speed with which Raven had dispatched his fellows, the cyclops took his time attacking. "Bloodsucker!, Witch!" he hissed at the girl as they circled each other warily. "I''ll send you back to the grave where you belong!"

Raven growled in response. She bared her fangs.

The stonemason''s face blanched, and, for a second, Raven thought he might turn tail. The Orc crossed himself fearfully but did not back down. Mustering his courage, he let out a ferocious whoop and raced at Raven with his club held high. His boots pounded against the wooden planks of the drawbridge, but, compared to the girl's inhuman reflexes, he might as well have been slogging through heavy mud. Grinning batlishly, Raven sprang from the ground and leapt over the mortal's head, landing nimbly behind his foe. She spun around quickly, before the startled cyclops even realized what had happened, and kicked the Orc's legs out from under him. The man fell forward onto his knees. His club slipped from his fingers and rolled away from him. He frantically scrambled for his weapon, but it was already too late. Clasping her hands together,Raven clubbed the man across the back of his head with both fists. Bone cracked and the stonemason collapsed face-first onto the hard wooden planks. Blood and brains spilled across the drawbridge.

So much for those ruffians!

In a matter of moments, the melee was over. Raven stood triumphantly over the fallen bodies of her assailants. She wasn't even breathing hard.

Before she could fully savor her victory, however, the girl's keen ears alerted her to another threat. Something came whistling through the sky behind her and she whirled around just in time to pluck a speeding arrow bolt from the air, only inches from her face. The silver glare of the arrowhead hurt her eyes, so she tossed the offending missile away. It rattled harmlessly onto the floor of the drawbridge. More males came, with female escorts. Some fired shots at her, employing a range of weaponary that displayed either lack of organization or restricted resources, or both. She dodged every shot with controlled fury and poured her rage into retaliation. She felt no need to hold back, those disloyal to the vampiric cause deserved everything they got.

Raven leapt and jinked, spun and rolled, an acrobatic wonder, impossible to target. She stopped once to raise her hand and pepper her opponents with a flurry of short lightning sparks, that charred the flesh of the female Dark Elf. The rest came at her. Four more. Raven wrenched one fighter down onto a wooden with enough force to snap the man’s spine. Her hand weapon depleted, the Wood Elf rushed to her, scrawny, weak and dirty; dispicable creature. Raven spun through a fleet kick, breaking the Elf's arm. Then, without lowering her leg, she broke the Argonian's neck. Now, it was over. The sixteen year old Vampire girl stood there, black hair falling to her shoulders, each dancing slightly as the wind passed near her face.








A smattering of light applause came from the castle. Raven looked up proudly to see her father and a small group of vampire courtiers and ladies gazing down at her from the grand balcony upon the central keep. The aristocratic vampires were clad in all their finery, wearing elegant gowns and robes of the darkest silk and velvet. Legend had it that Lamae rose from her funeral pyre, and set upon the coven that helped her, still aflame. She ripped the throats of the women, ate the eyes of the children, and raped their men as cruelly as Bal had ravished her. After that, Lamae, (who is known to us as blood-matron) imprecated her foul aspect upon the folk of Tamriel, and begat a brood of countless abominations, from which came the vampires, most cunning of the night-horrors. The flowing black raiment of their kind draped over their slender forms like folded wings, reflecting their true nature. Raven's father nodded in approval, plainly pleased by Raven's prowess.

Of course, Raven thought, as the reason for the mortals' unwarranted attack upon her became clear. It was another of
her father's tests.

The regal Elder had taken much interest in the young girl over the years, despite (or perhaps because of) her rebellious origins. Raven sometime wondered why so powerful a monarch concerned himself with the rebel child, any vampiric child that had such attitude would be thrown out, but she was grateful for the her father's patronage -- and for the fact that she had not been put to punishment for it. She knew that many in the castle wished otherwise; they made little effort to disguise their contempt and suspicion when they passed him in the drafty corridors of the ancient fortress. Nor could she blame them for their disdain. They were jealous of her. Despite her best efforts to prove that she was not an unreasoning animal like her savage kind, others who dont bear the civility of the Cyrodiic vampires, the taint of the savagery still flowed through her veins....

"What do you think, Ilona?" Her father's voice carried from the balcony as he addressed his wife, her mother; Ilona, who stood beside him behind the railing. The woman's birth, eight centuries ago. "I am impressed. You have shown exceptional skill, my dear" The mother said.

Raven's father cleared his throat. "She has overpassed Draken in combat skill. She IS impressive" the father said. Ilona placed on a disaproved look, it showed and confirmed that she always liked Draken more than Raven. It made Raven angry. However, Raven had her father's love, he loved her more than Draken. She was sure of it, even more than Vaultren and Irvana, Raven's other siblings. A crest-shaped pendant, centered around a polished turquoise gemstone, dangled on a chain around her neck. Wide red eyes peered down at the defeated enemies. Pure-born vampire children were never rare in the castle. In fact, all of them were pure born. Raven wondered what she would be like when she grew up, powerful? strong and mighty like her father, she always had hoped so. Raven knew she had more training to do before she would be accepted fully.

Draken stood on the other balcony with Irvana and Vaultren, their velvet and black leather outfits gleaming under the moonlight. They all seemed proud, except Draken, the youngest male child of Patriarch Vladmir. Of course, Raven never liked him either, angry, snotty and very bad tempered, no self restraint. A hot headed leech, as she always called him. One day, she would hope to fight and defeat him in the training sessions. Soon.

[Immortal Swine]

Four Hundred years ago, Cyrodiil, The Great Forest.
========================

The Horsewoman raced through the dark, primeval forest. The hooves of her ebony steed pounded against a muddy dirt road as she urged it onward. Skeletal trees, their jagged branches denuded by winter's chill, snatched at her flowing black cloak. Moonlight filtered through the dense arboreal canopy overhead. Swirling mist blanketed the ground. Inky shadow filled the gaps between the enroaching trees and the underbrush. The trail winded through a maze of naked oaks and breeches. Grayish lichen clung to the mottled bark.

Raven's eyes searched the sylvan shadows, fearful of what they might hide. Black polished armor, crafted to fit her svelte figure, gleamed in the moonlight. Intricate runes and rosettes were embossed upon her ebony cuirass and gorget. Which she wore over a chain mail gusset, skirt, and leggings forged metal plates guarded her shoulders and knees. A menacing steel helmet concealed her features. A matching shafron and crinet shielder her horse's head and neck. Steam jetted from the steed's flaring nostrils. Lather dripped from its sides.

"Easy ShadowNight" Raven whispered to her mount. She drew back the reins and the horse skidded to a halt. Trees lined like the narrow road like the columns of some forgotten temple. The crisp night air smelled like damp wood and loam. Ever sense alert to danger, she looked about her in every direction. She listened to the nocturnal murmurs of the forest. Unseen animals rustled behind the bush and bracken. An Owl hooted in the branches above her. Bats flapped in the darkness. A cold wind shuffled the scattered leaves hidden beneath the fog. Raven held her breath, every muscle in her lithe body primed for action. Her tongue traced the smooth contours of her fangs. No obvious threat presented itself..and yet.


A savage howl tore through the night, sending a thrill of terror down her spine. Glancing over her shoulder, she glimpses large dark shapes skittering towards her from the road. Bounding from tree to tree. Flock of crows, abrutely roused from slumber, flapped noisily as they took to the sky in panic. ShadowNight reared up in her hind legs. Almost throwing Raven off the saddle. The Horse's eyes rolled wildly. It whined in anticipation.

Hellfire! Raven cursed herself for recklessness as she struggled to bring the agitated mount under control. Her father often warned her against riding alone at night, yet the desire to escape the claustrophobic confines of the castle, as well as stiffling proprieties and expectations that came with being the Elder's daughter, had driven her to ignore his advice more than a single time on occasion. Tonight, it seemed, she had tempted fate once too often. I'll not hear the end of this...should I be lucky enough to survive. Drawing her sword from its scabbard, she dug spurs into Shadowgraces flanks. The horse sprung forward without hesitation, no doubt eager to flee as Raven was. She held on the reins with one hand, and galloped swiftly through the foggy woods. The silver plated blade caught in the moonlight. Silver stars glinted upon its ornately crafted hilt. Greedy branches grabbed at Raven, making her grategul for the helm protecting her face. She ducked beneath an overhanging branch, only seconds before it took her head off.

A fallen log blocked their path, but ShadowKnight vaulted over that obstacle with ease. Raven's heart pounded under her burnished steel breastplate. Cold vampiric blood raced through her veins. A chorus of blood chilling howls as an entire pack of Werewolves dropped from the trees and bounded after her on all fours. Fierce growled echoed through the lonely wilderness. Glancing back over her, Raven was alarmed to see the pack gaining on her. They tore up the trail with such frightening speed that she doubted her long exhausted steed could outpace them. Tearing her eyes away from her rabid persuers, she peered desperetly through the fog before her, hoping to catch site of the sanctuary. If she could just make it back to the castle!. They burst from the woods into the rocky road. Raven braced herself for an ambush, which came upon her almost at once. A snarling Werewolf lunged at her from the right, dagger-sized fangs and claws extended to ward her throat. Foam sprayed from ithe monster's lips, cobalt eyes blazed with carnivorous fury. Not so fast! she thought defiantly. Her own eyes shifted from red to crimson. She slashed out at the beast with her sword, the silver weapon cutting a bloody gash across the Werewolf's chest. Roaring in pain, it somersaulted backward, landing hard on the rocky ground. Raven smiled grimly behind her helmet, but there was little time to savor her victory as a second Werewolf leaped at her from the left.

The creature's powerful forequarters slammed into ShadowKnight's side, slamming both steed and rider into the side of the tree. The impact jarred Raven to her bone and threw ShadowKnight off her stride, but, to her vast relief, the horse recovered from its stumble and kept on running, even as the determined Werewolf climbed up its side towards Raven. Its frothing jaws snapped at her back--until she burried her jagged steel-shod elbow into the beast's mouth, breaking several of its teeth. The move brought her a precious moment, which was all she needed to flip her sword into a backhanded frip. She drove the blade into the wolf's skull with all her strenght, then yanked it back out again. The slain beast tumbled to the ground, throwing up a pulme of pulverized dust and rock. Hot blood streamed from ShadowKnight's flanks. Raven didn't look back, instead she squinted through the fog to see another Werewolf racing to intercept her. The monster was several yards away from her but closing fast. It seemed to grow before her eyes as it charged a her like a shaggy white thunderbolt. Raven realized, she had to move fast if she wanted to avoid another battle at close quarters. Despite her thick metal gauntlets, her nimble fingers found a concealed latch on the guard of her sword. She released the hatch, releasing two shining enchanted silver stars craddled in the hilt.

Steel points radiated from the miniature pentagram. In a practiced motion, she swung her sword at the oncoming Werewolf. The stars spun along the edge of the blade, before flying past the sword point as though propelled by a slingshot. They whistled through the air to smack against the Werewolf in the head and the shoulders. Their keen edges, which had been honed to razor sharpness, sank deep into the Werewolf's hide as the beast yelped in agony. Acrid white fumes rose where the toxic silver burned the Werewolf's flesh. It crashed in the ground directly in the horse's path. Thank you, inventor. Raven thought. Althought she had little respect for the sniveling scribe and inventor, whom she has regarded as both a toady and a lecher. She had to concede that his ingenuity had its uses. The built in throwing stars had been his idea. Proving her valor, ShadowKnight vaulted over the convulsing Werewolf, who clutched frantically at the poisonous enchanted missiles with its clumsy paws. Raven pushed her horse to the Castle. Now, to face what is worse than a Werewolve's howl, the bark of a infuriated vampire Elder, her own father.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The great hall of the keep dwarfed any other chamber in the castle. Ponderous granite pillars supported the high vaulted ceiling, while arched doorways led off to murky passageways lit by racks of torches. Dried rushes carpeted the floor. Iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, holding an array of beeswax candles. Chains and manacles, as a reminder that all those who prospered within the keep, only did so by sufferance of the Elders. The somber stone walls had witness bloody executions as well as courtley celebrations. Raven payed little attention to the familiar surroundings, which had been her home for seventeen years now. She strode briskly through the hall after leaving ShadowKnight in the care of her glooms, to her relief, the horse's wounds did not appear life threatening. Still encased with gore splattered armor, Raven hoped to make it to the privacy of her own chambers without further incident. She wanted nothing more to shed her metal carapace and, perhaps indulge in a soothing tub. Alas, her father intercepted her before she reached the spiral staircase to her bedchamber on the topmost floor of the keep. "You were sorely missed at council" He approached her.


She was not in the mood for another one of his lectures. "There are other demands, on my time, as you know".

"Yes, I see." He swept over her with a withering gaze over her battle gear. He had never approved of her dressing as a warrior.

"I do hope then that you enjoyed your little moonlight ride."

"Father, I was patrolling!" she said indignantly. As always, she always chafed at her father's overprotective ways. Why shouldn't she be a warrior like Irvana? Or Amelia? Her mother?


Other female vampires served as Dark warriors. Why was her father so determined to mold her into some pampered aristocratic lady instead? She could not imagine spending a lifetime as a dainty creature of the court, let alone eternity.

"No, you were disobeying" He shot back. he came up beside her. "Time and again, i've told you to remain behind these walls. You risk too much, you will lead danger to us and the warriors"

Raven turned to confront him. "Then why is my risk any greater than theirs?"

"They are not my children!" His voice quaked emotion, betraying the deep love he felt for her. The outburst caught them both by surprise, and he needed a moment to compose himself.

"They are not part of the council, you are. And one night you shall become an Elder, your birthright should you endure long enough" He leaned toward her, intent on making her understand.

"Raven, my child. You are well thought of the council, but that is a precarious thing, my dear. They grow tired of your games and your perpetual absenses. The dangers of the forest are no greater than those of the council chamber. You will learn the dance of politics, to be ruthless and cunning. Above all else, you must be loyal to your family, to me"

Raven held her tongue, she had not been unmoved by her father's spontenous display of emotion; despite their frequent quarrels, she never doubted that he cared for her profoundly. And yet this talk of politics and duty bored her to tears. Palace intruiges and diplomati maneuvers held no attraction to her. Where was the life? the passion? In such bloodless games. The prospect of wasting her precious immortality thus filled her soul with dread. She'd sooner be trapped in Oblivion or be chased by dozens of dark creatures than suffer through another interminable council meeting, unlike a certain brother, Draken, whom always enjoyed it and always wanted Raven to suffer by participating in such torture. Why couldn't father understand that? Instead of leaving, he stepped forward and cupped her chin in his neck. A little more warmth crept into his stern voice and gaze. "You are expected, be in the chambers in two hours. We will discuss what happened recently. The facts of the enroaching Werewolves. Do not dissapoint me" He sighed with heavy breath, leaving Raven alone in her chambers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Raven locked her door with the dark black key, after, removing her armor, then heading towards the bath section of the keep. The entire keep was her own, Raven had her own dining area, her own quarters and chambers, her own bath, training room. Each of the four children owned a keep, six keeps of a large single castle. It was truly a wonderful life. Raven gracefully walked towards her bloodbath, fresh, new clean people drained from the red nectar. Altmer's, Nord's, imperials, all of them freshly drained to fill the large deep pool of sanguine. On her way there, she encountered a disturbing individual that pestered her by his very existance. Draken Decimus Vladmir, closest sibling to Raven by birth. Of course, Draken was never caught snooping around her keep, but now, he was. Draken widened his eyes, a look of surprise and embarrasment caught him. He immidietly left the training room that stood at the hall, which kept three rooms. The dining area, the training area, the bastion. Raven growled between her fangs, almost making an agressive hiss.

"Why do you flee the very sight of me?" Raven called out, halting her mysterious brother to a stop. Draken said nothing. "Did father send you to check up on me?" Raven added, louder.

Draken turned around, slowly and sinisterly. "No, I came to see if you would allow me to borrow one of your weapons. Mine broke and the inventor denied me to fix it. I now realize I am late for the council meeting. I-I must go" He said, avoiding any other talk with Raven. He dashed out of the room and ran out the exit. Raven scoffed and shook her head slightly. Raven removed her clothes and locked the door, slowly walking into the large round pool, that was filled with the red nectar. She arched her head back, grabbing a cup and sipping the mixture of blood.

~~~~~~~~~
As was tradition, The High Council had convened in the crypt of the Ancients, above the buried tombs of the father and mother of the Elder. The patriarch presided over the session of from an imposing granite throne. An ornate capital V was inscribed on the high stone, behind the throne. The High Born, Lords and Ladies of the Council were seated in two rows, of six seats each. Embroidered cushioned their high-backed seats. Burning torches and braziers cast dancig shadows upon the somber gray walls. Mosaic tiles, depicted the history of the Coven. Capering skeletons symbolized the glorious Undeath, while subsquent panels celebrated the rise of the Vampires, the secrecy of their nature, the ongoing war against the other clans and mortal individuals. Bashilen, stood beside the Patriarch, transcribing the proceedings for posterity. His quill pen scratched against an unrolled parchment. Looking over the crypt, The patriarch irked to see that one of the Council member's seats were conspicuously empty. D'amn that girl, he thought impatiently. Where in perdition is she now

To add to his displeasure, Corovan had the floor. "The matter before the Council is simple." The troublesome boyar declared from the center of the masoleum. "Were are under attack. Eight times, in half as many weeks. Werewolves have come to our borders" He paused to let that ominious figure sink into the minds of his peers. "What mayhem, would follow if one of them got past our defenses?"


Hushed gasps and murmurs emerged from the Council, as they envisioned that appaling prospect. Not all of the castle's diverse inhabitants were seasoned warriors; after all, many more of the refined Council members and their families would stand no chance against an invading Werewolf or other. Coroman smirked in satisfaction at the audience's response. He felt clearly that he had made a point. Draken's nostrils flared, small flames began to flicker in his fingers, obviously showing regret for ever allowing Coroman as a Council member. The Patriarch was not amused.

"Your...fear...is misplaced" His acerbic tone called Coroman's courage into question. His hand flew towards the defenses outside, the sentries have been armed with swords and lances.

"Are we not protected by Molag Baal and an army of Immortals?"

Coroman bristled at the implication that he was a coward. "Superbly, milord. However the nobles and peasents of this region are not. And, as I have pointed out, they are the grass on which we graze".

A well-preserved vampire lady, Orsova by the name, rose from her seat to join Coroman before the throne. Her silver hair was bound up in a bun. A black satin corset cinched her waist. A diamond choker adorned her swan-like neck, while her jeweled bracelets were fashioned in the shape of glittering cobwebs.

"If we cannot protect our mortal vassals, it makes us look weak"

Draken's eyes flared dangerously. Orsova was also one of the newly elected Council members. So there was little love lost between her and Draken. Rumor had it, perversly, that she enjoyed the taste of her own blood as it circulated through the veins of her various maidservants. Draken's sharpened nails scratched against the carved stone armrest of his seat.

"And how exactly would you project strenght?"

"As our vampire Knights patrol the country side by night" Coroman proposed. Having plainly anticipated the young challenge. "We could use our slaves and cattle to patrol the day"

The Patriarch could not believe his ears, incensed, he lurched to his feet. "Slaves? patrolling the day? Unsupervized by their Vampire masters? Have you lost your mind?!" He found it difficult to grasp, how even Coroman could not grasp the manifest insanity of such a proposal. Slaves would get the first chance to escape when it presented itself. Coroman would be a naive fool if he thought otherwise. "They are uncivilized and determined. The savagery of this dispicable fact cannot be bred away".

"I think your fear of this idea is misplaced." The boyar insisted.

"We can create a priviliged clan of slaves---greater rations, finer quarters. Perhaps, put them under the command of one we can trust, your youngest daughter. She displays a cunning command and authority unlike others." A sly smile lifted the corners of his thin lips. "In fact, I think we should her her thoughts on this matter"

He made a production of turning dramatically to ward Raven's empty seat. As usual, the impetious heir was no where to be seen. Fuming, the Patriarch leaned over to his youngest son. His presence was not required at the moment. "Find her"


Coroman feigned surprise at Raven's absence. "Mmm, she seemed to be needed elsewhere"

The Patriarch growled. "I will take your suggestion, under advisement" The patriarch said icily. He considered explaining away Raven's lack of attendance by citing her narrow escape earlier that evening. But decided against it. That would simply provide Coroman's and his lackeys an opportunity to remind the Council of Raven's many previous absences. Better to offer no excuse or apology, lest that be taken as a sign of weakness. The patriach remained a stoic facade as Draken quietly exited the crypt in search of the missing heir. The Elder wondered what exactly his errant daughter was doing right now. She had best have a very good reason for embassing me like this!. "Thank you, Milord" Coroman said, enjoying his victory.

"It would be gratifying to be able to reassure the nobles when they arrive with their slaves tommorow. They will be glad to know we have their interests at heart."

The Patriarch recalled that a delegation of wealthy mortal vassals was expected at the castle on night hence, to pay tribute to their lords and masters. Frankly, the best interests of insignificant mortals were of little concern to him, but he conceded relunctunly that such rituals helped preserve the social order. He would have to make sure Raven was on hand to welcome their guests. Even if he had to drag her phisically from her room.



























NEW STORY
===============

Alright, so I have decided to take a new direction in the story of vampires. We know Janus Hassildor is part of this Order, a clan of Cyrodiilic vampires that live in Cyrodiil(As mentioned in "Manifesto Cyrodiil Vampyrum".) I thought it would be interesting to tell the tale of two of these vampires. Note, some of the vampire lore is confirmed in many in-game Elder Scrolls books.

Vampire in the Elder Scrolls can slumber for a long time, as mentioned in a book in Morrowind(Need to find which one)

Vampires can feel pity and love, notable vampires are Janus Hassildor towards his wife, Rona and Lord Loviticus, father of Agronak-Gro Malog

People can be born with vampirism, Agronak-Gro Malog was born with it, his father a vampire, his mother an Orc, so he received half of each. It is only possible the child would be born a vampire if BOTH of its parents were vampires. So I added the "Pureblood" thing.

Cyrodiilic vampires are organized, ruthless and civilized. Its no wonder why they "Suffer no savages" within their lands, because they "Outsted" all other competitors. By far, being the best Vampire clan known in the Elder Scrolls universe.

Vampires can have servants, even if they break the biggest rule of "Reveal thyself to no one". Jakben Earl of Imbel, a vampire masquerading as a nobleman had a man servant who mentioned his master was "Seaching for his supper".







"Now, tell me, of the vampires of Cyrodiil"

"There was but one tribe in Cyrodiil, a powerful clan who had ousted all other competitors, much like theImperials themselves had done. Their true name was unknown, lost in history, but they were experts at concealment. If they kept themselves well-fed, they were indistinguishable from living persons. They were cultured, more civilized than the vampires of the provinces, preferring to feed on victims while they were asleep, unaware."-Excerpt from Immortal Blood.



Manifesto Cyrodiil VampyrumTenets of the Cyrodiilic vampires

To you whom We have seen
Stalking at night by eyes keen
Transcendant of savages
Sating thirst sans avarice
Your coffers stay stuffed
By social graces robust
None know your nature;
save Us
None share your fate;
save Us
None welcome you as kin;
save Us.


On Our Order:

Know first that we are no simple tribe of savages, tearing throats with the orgiastic abandon of our scattered, tribal brethren. Ours is a civil fraternity, to which we are bound - every one - by our dual hunger for flesh and influence. By the virtue ofImperial structure and bureaucracy,Cyrodiil has become our stronghold in the third era, and we suffer no savage rivals within our boundries, reveal ourselves to none, and manipulate the hand of society to mete out our agendas.


On Our Dual Patrons:

To Kin-father Molag bal, who brought forth the Bloodmatron Lamae to spiteArkay, we owe our existence, as do all vampires, though not all honor Him. For him we revel in the feast, and acknowledge the gift adrift in our veins. To patronClavicus Vile,beacon oer our affairs, we owe our successes and social stature. Our bond with Vile makes us unique among our kind, for his guidance steels our savage craving with reason and savvy. For him we live amidst mankind, and twist them to our will from offices of power.


On Our Rivals:

Most barbaric tribes think themselves powerful by the gift of Bals blood alone, and squander the gift. There are those, however,who show signs of enlightenments, and earn our attention - those such as Glenmoril Wyrd, who live within the walls of Breton cities, or the Whet-Fang sodality of Black marsh who use magicka to keep captives catatonic and harvest from them the red nectar. These foes may one day threaten to impugn our sovereignty within the boundriesof Cyrodiil, thus compelling our vigilance. Should and enroach upon our dominion, our wrath must be swift and total.

On Our Conduct:

To preserve our ideals and way of life, two primary edicts shall be observed. Above all, reveal thyself and our Order to no other, for discretion is the greatest of our virtues. Do not feed where you may be found out, or on those who may not suspect your passing. Avoid daylight by life-**** dispel common belief in our kind, and maintain supple appearance through satisfaction of the thirst. Second, devote your pursuits to the procurement of influence, political and otherwise. Our strength is not in physical numbers, but in skillful manipulation of society. Always be mindful of our Patrons, and preserve the Order. Devote yourself to these ideals always, and the Order shall count you amongst our own.



==========================================


from his throat. “What is it!”


Beloved brother was not yet himself, of course, but Raven knew that he would recover quickly, given sufficient time and blood.




Draken had awakened, for an unkown reason, all he saw was his room and a female individual in front of him., he concentrated on her. Raven filled his vision, to the exclusion of all else. She grows more lovely each time I see her, he thought ardently. Like the very embodiment of all that is pure and unblemished. My sister never changes.

“Why did you wake me? Few years too early!” Draken complained, despite the rest he had, he still wanted to remain in his coffin. Draken walked out of his “bed”, feet touching the cold ground.

“Good to see you too.” Raven barked.

“Excuse my rudeness, sister” Draken apologized “I..I am thirsty”

Raven handed him the bottle of human blood, insufficient to regenerate him, but it helped. Draken opened it and gulped it down, blood rushing down to his stomach. Although he remained as gray and wizened as a corpse, he had already regained much of his vitality. Crimson eyes, alert and penetrating, stared out from sunken sockets. Strength and authority radiated from his commanding presence. Raven detected no trace of infirmity in his manner, aside from his grotesque appearance. Raven nodded, the urgency of matter could wait awhile longer, she gestured for Draken to follow her through the house, but her brother rushed past her and decided to lead the way. Draken dismissed his emaciated state with a wave of his hand. “My vigor returns forthwith.” He gazed at her, and a gentle smile softened his fearsome visage. “Ah, my beautiful sister… look at you! When I last went into the ground, you were but a mere slip of a girl. Now I find you transformed into a fetching young woman!”

His loving words brought joy to her heart, She clasped her hand over his own skeletal claw. “I have missed you as well”

“How fares our other family” Draken inquired

“Well enough” Raven remarked, with hesitation in her voice that confirmed something was not right.


“Now, why did you awaken me, how did you get in?” Draken asked again.

Raven sighed, “We have a serious problem in our hands. I awakened you so we can set a meeting with members of the Order, this threat has grown to large to a single individual to handle” Raven said, avoiding the explanation on how she entered his lair.

“Why havent you dealt with it?”


This I cannot say. I have refrained from expressing too much interest, lest mortal attention turned towards us”

“What is the situation?”


Another clan has breached our territory and they encroach upon our dominion. While I do not know for quite what purpose they have arrived, I believe the Order is in great danger. They established themselves all over Cyrodiil.

Draken’s face grew weary and he walked towards his dining area.

“Come come, we must discuss this in an appropriate place”

Dining area
======================
Raven entered another room, lit by the torch Draken had retrieved from a crate nearby, he activated the flames and lit the entire room by passing the fire into the other torches along the walls, illuminating the room once more.
============


The converted blood cellar was as good a place as any to speak to Draken. After moments of thinking, the Noblewoman sat herself down on an antique wooden chair. Her brother walked around and began to search for the food he had left preserved in his cupboards. Human hearts soaked in blood, among many other delicious food, though old, they still had good taste and nullified the hunger until both vampires emerged from underground.

She glanced around at the lavishly appointed cellar. Draken had obviously made himself quite at home over the years. Goblets and cutlery were made of gold or pewter, knives and forks of silver. Draken truly did enjoy the clean and the fancy.


Draken was also skilled with cooking, strangely, he made the most delicious meals. Raven sat silently as Draken’s awkward silence grew more and more as he carefully prepared dinner. Draken approached the table, a spectacular subtlety of sugar, marzipan, and gelatinized blood, molded into a perfect recreation of a heart itself.

“Exquisite!” Raven declared as the subtlety was placed before her. She used her own knife to cut a thin slice. After swallowing, the taste of the food still lingered on Raven’s tongue. She did not gnaw savagely on the bones of her entrees or wipe greasy hands upon her clothing. Instead, she neatly picked apart her meal with her fingers and knife, making little or no mess.








‘Library
========================
Draken wrested another dusty tome from his bookshelves. He slapped it down onto the table in front of Raven. After blowing a thick layer of dust from the moldering volume, he opened the book to a specific page. A woodcut illustration depicted works of art and many different tales.

DEPARTURE
=======
He lingered in the squalid lair, thinking ahead to his departure. Choosing what to take and what to leave behind would be excruciating, especially where his library was concerned.