Chapter Text
Maxwell sighs as his target and payday, a sleek snow leopard, races off down the snowy slope and out of view.
He had been steadily tracking and following this creature over the last half-day, hoping to get its fur for selling as he was low on funds due to it having been an unusually difficult hunting season, and one less predator around these parts was always good. After spotting it up ahead, he had descended from his horse so he could approach it lightly on foot in preparation for the kill. As he lined up his shot, the snow leopard perked its head then suddenly went from a slow walk to a fast canter and peeled off to the right.
Turning to retrieve his horse, the sudden whiff of smoke carried on the slight breeze surprises the hunter. Scanning the horizon as he doubles back and leaves the small pocket of snow-covered trees, a faint plume of greyness against the lighter grey cloud cover attracts his attention.
What on Nirn?
As the cold breeze blows through his armour, causing him to shiver ever so slightly despite his half-Nordic heritage, he squares his shoulders and cautiously moves over to the ridge. As the snow crunches under his feet, he drops to a crouching position just before reaching the cusp.
As his head slowly creeps over the verge of the thinly snow-covered rocky outcropping, the perspective he sees makes his heart pound against his rib cage and prompts him to flatten against the ground in haste.
From his position, the scenes of devastation unfold before him, as two individuals stand outside a snow-capped two storey building nestled in between two large rocky formations. Some of the building is on fire, with slightly different coloured lights momentarily flickering out of the far windows and doorway. The faint sounds of combat reach the hunter’s ears as the wisps of wind curl over the rocky outcropping he’s on.
This prompts an ever so familiar sensation to rise up from the depths of his being, but he manages to keep it restrained. Stomping it out like he has done over the last few years.
Sighing heavily in resignation, leaning his weary head against the snow in thought, Maxwell peers over the edge one more time before deciding to move on and leave these unfortunate souls to their fate. As he does so, one of the individuals standing outside, seemingly not partaking in the fight and happily observing from a distance, suddenly sniffs the air.
After a moment of turning their head this way and that, they immediately spins on the spot and focuses their gaze at his location.
SHIT.
He was sure he wasn’t upwind of them, but nevertheless mentally kicked himself for taking one last look.
The individual snarls, which attracts the attention of the other individual standing next to them. Both turn on the spot and charge, moving unusually fast.
A hint of concern spreads across his mind at this, as he quickly dons his leather helm, hops up onto the rock and pulls out his curved wooden bow. As he nocks an iron arrow, a greater degree of concern crosses his mind as he sees the two approaching individuals have elongated fangs in their open snarling mouths.
Oh shit…Vampires…
Dropping his wooden bow and summoning a bound bow instead, he looses a flurry of ethereal arrows in quick succession from the shimmering blue energised bow at the two approaching vampires, who attempt to dodge the incoming projectiles. One, a Breton female in black clothing, gets peppered with some of the arrows piercing her upper torso, and as she collapses to the ground her remains shimmer and turns to a purple hued dust that starts blowing away in the slow wind. The other, a Nordic male clad in similar black coloured robes, deftly dodges Maxwell’s last few arrows (despite having one stuck in his shoulder), as he closes the gap.
As the snarling Nord is within mere feet, amber red eyes wide in hunger and rage, he growls “It’s your unlucky day, meat.”
Maxwell changes tactics. Throwing the bound bow at the vampire to provide a momentary distraction and free his dominant hand, he draws his sheathed dwarven sword as the nocturnal beast aptly avoids the thrown bow by ducking, before reasserting his form and baring pointed incisors once more. The bound bow shimmers as it thuds onto the snow and dissipates into nothingness.
The Nord attempts to bite down on Maxwell’s forearm, but instead of finding leather and flesh the sound of enamel on metal rings out. As the vampire bites down on the conundrum coloured sword, confusion registering on his face, Maxwell falls to the ground due to the weight of the Nord with a stifled grunt as he wrestles with the vile beast. Saliva drips from the Nord’s mouth onto his leather armour.
After a few moments of struggle with the Nord viciously clawing at his leather cuirass, heavily scratching it, Maxwell yells as he heaves to and headbutts the vampire as he forces a roll, which sends it flailing away. Taking advantage of this momentary relief, Maxwell rolls the opposite way whilst letting go of the sword, tucking into a crouching stance before leaping at the Nord vampire which snarls at him again. It's nose, bleeding a blackish blood. As he turns his amber-gold eyes to the approaching form of the hunter, he angrily growls.
“You’ll pay for that, mea….”
The ebony dagger Maxwell took from the small of his back during the roll thuds into the vampire’s chest, cutting off his sentence. Maxwell grunts as he thrusts the dagger into the vampire’s chest to the hilt, which pierces its heart. The Nordic vampire’s eyes widen in surprise at the weapon sticking out of its chest, before releasing a death cry. As the cry ceases, the vampire collapses to the floor before turning to a pile of purple dust.
Panting heavily and sweat beginning to drip from his brow, Maxwell retrieves his fallen weapons. As he picks up his curved bow, he turns and looks to the burning building, fire now covering more than half of it. The sounds of combat have diminished somewhat.
That familiar sensation claws back with a vengeance. Unable to suppress it this time around, he sighs again in resignation, unsheathes his dwarven sword, and dashes towards the burning building. Bracing against the intense heat and acrid smoke that assault his senses, he enters the building as he struggles to keep his eyes open from the sting of the smoke.
After a tense few minutes, which involved beheading another vampire and kicking a grotesque dog-like creature with a spiked collar into a fire, he carries out an unconscious woman clad in iron armour, and then goes back in and drags out a grey robed male.
As the fire moves to consume the rest of the building, Maxwell - coughing madly due to the increasingly dense smoke - manages to pull the two people he saved from the building, dragging them some distance away from the inferno.
Gingerly dropping the two rescued individuals into the cold snow, Maxwell kneels into the soothing cold snow and takes a deep breath as he throws his helmet to the side and wipes his sweaty brow with the back of the bracer. Looking over them quickly to ascertain their injuries, he takes in the detail of the two unconscious individuals.
A garbed Breton male in bloodied grey robes that he pulled out from under a fallen bookcase, a blonde haired Breton woman clad in iron armour above a similar grey robe who is unconscious and bleeding from a wound on her thigh. Both heavily covered in soot and blood, smelling of smoke and sweat.
Pulling off his gloves, and putting as much magicka as he could muster into a Restoration healing spell, he lays a bright yellow glowing pair of hands on the bleeding wound of the woman. As the deep wound knits together, she suddenly awakens and viscerally screams in pain for a few moments, before Maxwell puts a free hand on her shoulder to keep her still as he finishes. As soon as the wound is closed and blood reabsorbed, he moves his hands away and she turns over coughing up a mix of blood and bile and takes deep inhales. After a few moments, she turns her blue eyes to Maxwell, who is sitting on his knees next to her and breathing heavily; sweat, blood and soot covering his own features.
“Th….Thank you…sir…” she utters, before another coughing fit interrupts her.
He simply nods, tiredness now catching up with him. As he moves to tend to the other Breton, who is stirring and mumbling to himself, the sound of whinnying horses, clomping of hooves and a mix of battlecries draw Maxwell’s weary attention.
Glancing over his shoulder, a posse of mounted riders charging up the slope towards the trio, armoured to the teeth and dressed in unfamiliar armour with weapons drawn. He pulls his sword out again and raises it in weary readiness. A hand from the Breton woman pulls his sword hand down, and Maxwell looks at her with a mix of shock and surprise.
*Cough* “Don’t…” *cough cough*
Wearing unfamiliar iron armour that is adorned with a sun and shield motif, they settle into a circular pattern around the three. A few of the riders aim their drawn crossbows at Maxwell, as he’s still holding his weapon.
“Hold fast!”
The blond woman speaks up, standing stiffly and holding out a hand in a stopping gesture, but doubling over slightly due to a shockwave of pain emanating from her internal injuries. The riders look at each other then at their leader, a black-bearded and close-shaven Redguard holding a glowing two-handed war hammer, who after a tense moment of looking at Carcette then Maxwell stiffly nods. They lower their crossbows, keeping them in their hands. Maxwell sheathes his sword.
“This stranger….saved Brother Tolan and I….from the fire…he’s okay” The woman says, coughs punctuating her sentence. She lays a hand on her stomach, a soft yellow glow emanating from it, and a wave of relief passes over her.
The leader, donning his giant two-handed war hammer onto his back, and a few others - also sheathing their weapons – dismount. Approaching the trio as their boots crunch in the light snow covering the ground.
A couple of the dismounted riders pull out water skins and various potions, which the two Bretons graciously accept. Another of the riders, in a grey-vestament similar to the pair and holding a staff - apparently a healer - tends to the Breton male who speaks in lowered tones and points to various injuries on him.
One of the other riders offers a water skin and healing potion to Maxwell, who cautiously accepts and downs both, returning the empty vessels with an appreciative nod.
The Redguard speaks in a deep, gruff voice.
“Keeper Carcette, we got your message for assistance via Brother Ghrant” nodding to the grey robed individual who is helping Brother Tolan to their feet. Looking at the burning building, he continues “What happened?”
Carcette, the blond woman, looks at him.
“As you thought, Isran, the vampires are after something of importance. We’ve been monitoring them as you requested, and they’ve been excavating various ruins throughout the Rift hold.”
“Do you know what they are after? Where they are most interested in?”
“No, but it’s certainly something big. Brother Adelvald” she pauses for a moment, looking back at the burning building and a hint of sadness passes over her features “thinks they’re close to finding whatever ‘it’ is, as they have it narrowed down to three potential sites. He had just described the sites when the vampires attacked. I think they followed him.”
“Damn it….” The Redguard utters, stroking his black beard as he intently takes in what Keeper Carcette is saying. “We need to find what they are after before they do.”
Turning his attention to Maxwell, who is now standing slightly awkwardly.
“I am Isran, of the Dawnguard” the Redguard gruffly states, looking over Maxwell and taking in the detail of the leather-clad hunter. For Maxwell, the name Dawnguard rings a faint bell. He’d heard folks in a few hamlets and settlements he passed through, gossiping about an order of vampire hunters who were after new recruits. He paid them no heed, having no desire to join in on another good versus evil campaign. He had enough of that in his previous life.
“What’s your name, stranger?”
“Maxwell”
“Maxwell…?”
“Just Maxwell”
“Profession…hunter?”
Maxwell nods. The leader looks at him intently before nodding slightly in return.
“How did you get involved?”
“I’ve been tracking a snow leopard over the last half day, and came across what was happening. Two of the vampires saw me, and well…” he gestures further up the slope, the remnants of where two piles of purple dust have settled.
Isran’s expression remains passive, but Maxwell sees a slight twitch of his eyebrow indicating respect.
He thrusts his gloved hand out in offer of a handshake, which Maxwell takes. Shaking his hand thrice, Isran continues “Maxwell, for your timely intervention and saving of Keeper Carcette and Brother Tolan of the Vigilants Order, you have my personal gratitude. If you are interested, we always need able-bodied individuals to fight the growing vampire menace.”
Maxwell shakes his head “Thank you but no, I was only passing through the area.”
Isran considers him for a moment, sizing him up and contemplating his response.
Turning to his compatriots, Isran raises his gruff voice which draws everyone’s attention.
“Looks like things are developing faster than we feared, folks. The vampires” he says through gritted teeth, hatred seeping into his tone “are clearly emboldened enough to attack our allies in broad daylight.” Pausing for a moment “We have no choice, we ride for the Riften hold to confront them. May the Divines favour shines upon us.”
Turning to Maxwell, and opting to try a different tactic “Taking down not one but two vampires on your own is no small feat, and you clearly have skills which we need. Every hand will be useful in the upcoming fight. If you won’t join us out of honour…”
Isran looks to and signals to the individual on his left, a blonde haired Nord who looked far too young among the others, who produces a bag of coinage and passes it to Isran.
Holding the bag in front of him, Isran continues.
“This is a down payment to engage your services. 400 septims now, 500 later when the vampires that did this are dealt with. This is more than what you would have got for the fur.”
Looking at the tied leather coinage bag, a thought pops up.
I really shouldn’t accept.
Another thought pop up, and his mind drifts to his extremely light coin-purse.
Then again, that is more money than I would have got from the fur...
Against his better judgement, he accepts the offered back of coinage. As he stows it on his person, Isran nods with a grunt.
“Good. I presume your horse is nearby?”
Maxwell nods "It's not far, maybe 5 minutes"
“Noted. Agmaer, take him to his horse” he says in an authoritative tone, nodding to the light blonde haired individual behind him who had passed the coinage.
As Isran turns to Keeper Carcette and Brother Tolan and speaks briefly in lowered tones, presumably to find out what sites the vampire menace is interested in, the other warriors standing idly by. A few look over Maxwell who approaches Agmaer who gives him a solemn nod before guiding him to his horse.
I hope I don’t regret this…